Ora at work

Ora had gone nearly two months without work. This was the longest spell, and his lack of employment was wearing on all of them. Stretches like this were not uncommon for a house painter or anyone for that matter during the Depression, but the word in the air was that he was simply not working enough to take care of a wife and two children. The money he and Leta had set aside from previous employments was basically gone, and she was even forced to raid her secret reserve.

No one could accuse Ora of being driven. He was just as content to sit on the porch, sip lemonade tonics spiked with gin and watch the grass grow as he was to work twelve hour days. He enjoyed the company of his wife and step-children, neighbors and colleagues and could chat with them about the weather, baseball, the economy, automobiles and politics all day. He slept like a baby, free of concern. And he rarely argued. In fact, he was so easygoing that Leta would sometimes need to leave the room to calm an escalating anger before returning.

When she would report that all she had to eat in the house was a few pieces of bread, he would nod understandingly and then grin. “Looks like we’re having butter sandwiches for supper then, eh, sweetheart?”

Much of the time Leta couldn’t fault him. When he worked, he worked hard and made a good wage. Aside from a night out to bowl and visit the local speakeasy with friends each week, he kept his own expenditures minimal. Having lived a lifestyle of sporadic employment for much of his life, he was well-practiced in making it work.

Leta, however, was often frustrated. She hated to fret about family finances. As a girl and into womanhood, she had observed such worry not only age her mother, but also create in her a kind of bitterness toward life. She detested borrowing from her reserve, and every time she did she would snap at Ora and even the children for a day or two. Usually when she felt herself descending to her wits’ end, Ora would stride into the kitchen and triumphantly announce that he had a job and would be back to work for a few weeks.

He rarely went more than a month without some work, even if only painting a room or two, but this time was different. He had gone nearly two months, and Leta knew that his options were limited. Day after day the newspaper talked about a particularly hard time for folks. During hard or anxious times, there was no new construction and most people were content to leave their houses as is, or do a little touch-up themselves. In addition, winter was coming on, and there would be absolutely no work during the cold months. She feared what would happen to her family, her children, should what little money they had dwindle.

When she was married to Ralph, she had worked a little when their needs exceeded Ralph’s income, and that had not been pleasant. Ralph resented her for it, even though they needed the income. Once she asked Ora if he would mind if she made a few cents sewing dresses and repairing hats. He adamantly refused, chastised her for not having faith in him and and declared decisively that as always he would have work soon. He did.

This time, however, even he began to show signs of anxiety. The signs were subtle, but Leta recognized them. Early in the morning, as he was drinking his coffee, his hand would shake a little. This happened immediately after he glanced at the clock on the kitchen counter. At lunchtime, his appetite was nearly non-existent. Every couple of days, during the night, which he never had done before, he would get out of bed and go into the kitchen for a glass of milk. And he began taking long walks in the afternoon. He didn’t tell his wife that he was leaving; she would simply step outside to shake a rug or bring him a beverage, and he would be gone. The first time she was startled and waited. When he returned and she inquired about his absence, he replied stoically that he simply felt like walking.

Although she didn’t tell her husband, Leta started a small credit account at the nearby grocery store. Secretly, she began to do piecework with her needle and thread to make a few pennies. This was very difficult, since Ora was home so much of the time. One evening he looked at her at her work inquisitively and asked about the garment she was sewing. She had prepared an answer, but even as she said it was for her sister Nellie, she knew that he caught her in the lie. Fortunately, he didn’t pursue it, but that night he got up for at least an hour, would only take coffee for breakfast and then disappeared for the entire afternoon.

On October 15, as she was picking through the apples at the grocer’s, selecting those that were nearest to rotting, the ones she would bargain down, the grocer approached her and touched her on the arm. “Choose what you like, Mrs. Freeman,” he said. “Your account’s been paid in full.”

As anxious as she was pleased, Leta hurried home. Ora wasn’t there, but he had left twenty-five dollars on the kitchen table with a note that said, “for the bills.”

He never explained, and she knew better than to ask, but at the moment, they were able to meet their financial obligations.