Poverty in America
When I look at the photo of Mary Coin, the famous one that was taken during the Great Depression, I see my first husband’s mother, a Cherokee woman who had worked in the fields. Her face, her hair cut, even her many premature wrinkles, all Helen’s. Mary, too, was Cherokee and had worked in the fields.
Mary CoIn was raised in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, a town that I have called my home since 2006. It is the sseat of the Cherokee Nation. My great grandmother and perhaps great, great grandmother, had passed through here on the Trail of Tears. How many greats were before grandmother, I have forgotten.
Mary fell in love with her neighbor’s son, and they married. Together they had five children. Toby Coin worked at the sawmill in town, but when the Great Depression hit, his worked slowed down. They moved, and they moved again, until the sawmills could hire no more. Next, they took to the fields. Work was hard; paying little.
Helen, my mother-in-law, was divorced. She feared her husband and didn’t wish him to find her. I met her oldest son in high school and fell in love. After we married, we moved in with her for a while, just a while. She had a total of four boys, and her own mother lived with her. She fed us all on $35 a week. This being 1963. I saw what she bought, I saw how she stretched the welfare money, and I ate it, but it was not tasty. Beans and potatoes, hot dogs, canned stewed tomatoes to which she added bread and sugar before heating it up. I remember little else that we ate. I suppose Mary and her children ate less. While Helen had welfare, Mary had none, not even medical care. If you didn’t have work, you could starve. Many had. If you didn’t have medical care, you could die. Again, many had.
When the now famous photographer met Mary Coin and her children, they were sitting by their car on the side of the road. Mary’s man had walked with one of her boys into town to get car parts. Dorthea Lange asked for permission to take photos and set up the scenes. Mary’s baby was sick and feverish, and Mary was trying to nurse it. Her baby would not live. After taking her photo, Dorthea got back into her car and drove off. It would later become the most famous photo of the Great Depression. This book is about Mary’s life, but fictionalized. It is also Dorthea Lange’s and a Dodge, Mary’s boss.
My then husband and I were driving down the road with his mother Helen, when she asked us to pull off the road and stop. Someone had thrown a trash bag out of their car. She opened the bag. Clothing. She then proceeded to take the zippers and the buttons off the clothing, that is, if the cloth was not salvageable. She knew how to be thrifty; she had to be. Nothing could be wasted.
I divorced years later. Then I heard that Helen had moved with her other three boys to Arkansas where she had grown up. Her husband found her, and the welfare department made him pay her the money he owed. She then went to nursing school and graduated with honors. A few years after becoming a nurse, she died of cancer.
How many women had to live like Mary Coin and even Helen? How many women have watched their children die or go hungry? And this in a country of wealth. Even today people are living on the streets, and the bread lines are long. The poor continue to be treated as though it was their own fault. Here in Tahlequah, we have a day care center where the homeless can get one meal a day, and we have food lines at the C.A.R.E. Center. We have little shelter, but when it gets too cold, I was told, the police know where the homeless sleep, so they gather them up and take then to jail for the night. And people complain everywhere because they don’t wish to see the poverty.