For people like my grandparents, aunt and uncle, and friends Jim, Ken and Carol, growing up in the American Midwest during the Great Depression was hard, but certainly not impossible. Constantly I hear these folks exclaim, "We never felt poor;" "We never had any money but we always had what we needed;" and, "We only knew we were poor because other people told us we were." For these families, living on or near a family farm provided them with practically everything a growing family could need. There was no reason for them to leave their farms, "We never went hungry."
Unfortunately, across America during the 1930s, others were not so lucky. Farther south and to the west, at about the same time Daryl's family gave aid to a straggler in a suit, and Carol lost a whole dollar on her way to town, millions of Americans were fleeing their homes. In all of America's history, the Dust Bowl exodus remains the greatest human migration - 2.5 million people moved out of the Plains by 1940. Consider this excerpt, found in a 1935 article from Collier's magazine, and referenced on PBS's "American Experience" Web site:
Of the millions of Americans who fled the Plains, some 200,000 arrived in California. There, they were received less than kindly. "Very erect and primly severe, [a man] addressed the slumped driver of a rolling wreck that screamed from every hinge, bearing and coupling. 'California's relief rolls are overcrowded now. No use to come farther,' he cried. The half-collapsed driver ignored him - merely turned his head to be sure his numerous family was still with him. They were so tightly wedged in, that escape was impossible. 'There really is nothing for you here,' the neat trooperish young man went on. 'Nothing, really nothing.' And the forlorn man on the moaning car looked at him, dull, emotionless, incredibly weary, and said: 'So? Well, you ought to see what they got where I come from.'"
The dust storms that plagued the Great Plains were eerie, and without reprieve. They crawled across the landscape like a living, breathing menace. Towering thousands of feet into the air, the suspended soil particles caught and reflected sunlight in brown, red, or orange - depending on the storm's origin. This refraction gave the storm an organic look, as if a monstrous, deranged beast was charging across the land, bristling with rage. From these storms, there was no safe haven. Silt would seep through windows. Dust would puff through keyholes and doorjambs. House residents would wake to find neat little dunes throughout the house. Nothing kept out the dust; sweeping it only raised an impenetrable cloud of haze, and damp sheets hung on windows and doorways only turned black and muddy.
The perpetual dust clouds accentuated health hazards in humans and livestock. In his brilliant novel "The Worst Hard Time," Timothy Egan describes the misery of cows, left outside and unable to cope with the airborne silt: "The dead cattle, some with their eyes frozen and glazed over with sand, were pinned in grisly repose against fences holding tumbleweeds and dirt. [A man] cut open the stomach of one dead cow ... His autopsy found the stomach packed so solidly with dust that it blocked food from getting any further. ... Animals [were dying] from starvation caused by internal suffocation" (Egan, 234).
Not even was the dust retained locally. My grandmother told a story many times of red dirt blowing into their farmhouse, "Us kids could go and write our names on the wall in every room in the house. My mother was constantly cleaning, but she couldn't keep anything clean because of the dirt." My grandmother grew up in Wisconsin - the Dust Bowl was in Oklahoma.
On a much larger scale, a massive set of winds brought prairie soil all the way to the East Coast on May 9, 1934 - exactly 74 years ago today. During this particular storm, 379 MILLION TONS of soil was picked up and hurled east. Pilots had to climb to 15,000 feet to get above the storm - the altitude at which humans will pass out due to oxygen deprivation. Chicago received a dump of 6,000 tons, and by morning, New York turned dark. On an otherwise cloudless day, streetlights turned on and cars drove with their headlights. People coughed, a whitish film covered the ledges of the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty was neatly coated with a layer of topsoil. Further south in Washington, dust fell on the National Mall and swept into the White House. Out to sea, ships that were more than 200 miles out reported being covered with dust (Egan, 152).
The dust also brought static electricity, so powerful that simply shaking hands with another would knock down a man. Cars shorted out, and barbed wire fences glowed red whenever a storm passed through. As if suffocating dust and electric currents were not enough, a new menace appeared. It was no wonder people fled the plains.
This new menace blew across the land much like the dust, so thick that it blocked out the sky. My uncle Daryl went to grade school with someone who faced this menace, "[This kid] told me about the grasshoppers - so thick you couldn't see the sky. There were so many of them you just couldn't conceive it. And they ate everything; grasses, plants, shovel handles - even the leather off the horse harnesses. Can you imagine that? The leather off the horse harnesses."
The Great American Dust Bowl originated mainly in the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles, but was something that directly or indirectly affected the entire nation. I started out this article by referencing the mass movements of people during the Depression. Not all were escaping the dust, or poverty in the cities. It seems some people simply drifted across the United States in nomadic tribes. The 1930s was a different time, indeed - tune in next week.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
Unfortunately, across America during the 1930s, others were not so lucky. Farther south and to the west, at about the same time Daryl's family gave aid to a straggler in a suit, and Carol lost a whole dollar on her way to town, millions of Americans were fleeing their homes. In all of America's history, the Dust Bowl exodus remains the greatest human migration - 2.5 million people moved out of the Plains by 1940. Consider this excerpt, found in a 1935 article from Collier's magazine, and referenced on PBS's "American Experience" Web site:
Of the millions of Americans who fled the Plains, some 200,000 arrived in California. There, they were received less than kindly. "Very erect and primly severe, [a man] addressed the slumped driver of a rolling wreck that screamed from every hinge, bearing and coupling. 'California's relief rolls are overcrowded now. No use to come farther,' he cried. The half-collapsed driver ignored him - merely turned his head to be sure his numerous family was still with him. They were so tightly wedged in, that escape was impossible. 'There really is nothing for you here,' the neat trooperish young man went on. 'Nothing, really nothing.' And the forlorn man on the moaning car looked at him, dull, emotionless, incredibly weary, and said: 'So? Well, you ought to see what they got where I come from.'"
The dust storms that plagued the Great Plains were eerie, and without reprieve. They crawled across the landscape like a living, breathing menace. Towering thousands of feet into the air, the suspended soil particles caught and reflected sunlight in brown, red, or orange - depending on the storm's origin. This refraction gave the storm an organic look, as if a monstrous, deranged beast was charging across the land, bristling with rage. From these storms, there was no safe haven. Silt would seep through windows. Dust would puff through keyholes and doorjambs. House residents would wake to find neat little dunes throughout the house. Nothing kept out the dust; sweeping it only raised an impenetrable cloud of haze, and damp sheets hung on windows and doorways only turned black and muddy.
The perpetual dust clouds accentuated health hazards in humans and livestock. In his brilliant novel "The Worst Hard Time," Timothy Egan describes the misery of cows, left outside and unable to cope with the airborne silt: "The dead cattle, some with their eyes frozen and glazed over with sand, were pinned in grisly repose against fences holding tumbleweeds and dirt. [A man] cut open the stomach of one dead cow ... His autopsy found the stomach packed so solidly with dust that it blocked food from getting any further. ... Animals [were dying] from starvation caused by internal suffocation" (Egan, 234).
Not even was the dust retained locally. My grandmother told a story many times of red dirt blowing into their farmhouse, "Us kids could go and write our names on the wall in every room in the house. My mother was constantly cleaning, but she couldn't keep anything clean because of the dirt." My grandmother grew up in Wisconsin - the Dust Bowl was in Oklahoma.
On a much larger scale, a massive set of winds brought prairie soil all the way to the East Coast on May 9, 1934 - exactly 74 years ago today. During this particular storm, 379 MILLION TONS of soil was picked up and hurled east. Pilots had to climb to 15,000 feet to get above the storm - the altitude at which humans will pass out due to oxygen deprivation. Chicago received a dump of 6,000 tons, and by morning, New York turned dark. On an otherwise cloudless day, streetlights turned on and cars drove with their headlights. People coughed, a whitish film covered the ledges of the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty was neatly coated with a layer of topsoil. Further south in Washington, dust fell on the National Mall and swept into the White House. Out to sea, ships that were more than 200 miles out reported being covered with dust (Egan, 152).
The dust also brought static electricity, so powerful that simply shaking hands with another would knock down a man. Cars shorted out, and barbed wire fences glowed red whenever a storm passed through. As if suffocating dust and electric currents were not enough, a new menace appeared. It was no wonder people fled the plains.
This new menace blew across the land much like the dust, so thick that it blocked out the sky. My uncle Daryl went to grade school with someone who faced this menace, "[This kid] told me about the grasshoppers - so thick you couldn't see the sky. There were so many of them you just couldn't conceive it. And they ate everything; grasses, plants, shovel handles - even the leather off the horse harnesses. Can you imagine that? The leather off the horse harnesses."
The Great American Dust Bowl originated mainly in the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles, but was something that directly or indirectly affected the entire nation. I started out this article by referencing the mass movements of people during the Depression. Not all were escaping the dust, or poverty in the cities. It seems some people simply drifted across the United States in nomadic tribes. The 1930s was a different time, indeed - tune in next week.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes
a weekly column for Friday editions of
the Times. He can be reached
at dwegs@tds.net.
