Lost Money

In the worst years of the Depression, 1933 and 1934, I was nine and ten years old.

The dry cleaning business was very, very slow. In ordinary times summer months were, as a rule, the slowest months of the year for the cleaning business because people did not usually wear clothes that required dry cleaning in that season as in the other seasons of the year. But this summer, business was particularly slow because of the depressed economic situation. On some days, the store was earning a few dollars, not much more than that. To economize, walking from the house on Aubert Avenue to the cleaners on Easton Avenue in the morning and evening was routine, to save money on carfare; the adult fare was ten cents, children under twelve years of age paid five cents. The distance was three miles each way. Even after working in the store from eight o'clock in the morning to nine o'clock in the evening, a thirteen hour day, and since we had no other transportation, no automobile, the distance was valiantly walked. Very often, with my father was my mother or one of my siblings or I. I never heard my father or mother complain about the situation.

Fortunately, we had another source of income to see us through the slow business periods, the rent from the flat upstairs that we owned.

Sometimes I would walk the same distance, from our house to the cleaners, by myself; I knew the route, and even though I was so young, there was no risk to get lost. It was commonplace for me, I was familiar with the route. My family and I had walked the distance many times. I had no thoughts of fear.

One summer I walked to the cleaners to take my father his lunch. Later on a friend gave us a small two-wheeler bicycle that I used for that purpose. At that time my mother would put my father's lunch in a basket and strap it on to the small shelf above the rear wheel. I would then ride the bicycle to the cleaners, and take my father his lunch. I would ride north on Aubert Avenue a block to Fountain Avenue; I enjoyed riding down that street, admiring the two and three story homes; after turning right, ride four blocks to Lewis Place and through the Triumphal Arch. I enjoyed Lewis Place because it was a private street of well-kept homes, and with the many trees lining the sidewalk, I felt there was a leafy canopy above my head. I could ride all through Lewis Place, and the sun could not penetrate through the dense coating of leaves, to shine on me. The many trees and the thickness of the leaves blocked out the sunlight; so that I rode in continuous cover of shade. I would emerge at Taylor Avenue, turn left and ride about four blocks to Easton Avenue, turn right, past the shoe store on the corner, past the dress shop, the restaurant, the grocery store, the empty store and then the cleaners, 4480.

I also took him his lunch several times when school was in session. During my lunch hour I would go home, quickly eat my lunch, and take the small basket with my father's lunch that my mother had prepared. I would walk north down Aubert Avenue to the street car stop, board the Hodiamont streetcar, which was at the end of our street, going east, and since I was under twelve years of age, my fare was a nickel. I would get off at Taylor Avenue, transfer to the Taylor line going north, and ride to Easton Avenue and the cleaners. After delivering my father his lunch, I would take the Wellston streetcar which ran on Easton Avenue, going west, again pay five cents fare, get off at Euclid Avenue, walk four blocks to Washington school to go to my classroom.

The only problem with that procedure was that it was not as efficient as we had hoped for. Several times my trip back to Washington school was slower than anticipated. When I got to school, the schoolyard was empty, the bell had rung, and the children were already in class. I was marked tardy for class by the teacher. Worse yet, I did not have a note from a parent explaining why I was late to enter my classroom. I bravely did go into the classroom late once or twice more, but then I became embarrassed to be late again. On the next occasion, seeing the schoolyard empty, and realizing I would be tardy again, I went home. After this happened for the second or third time, my parents abandoned the idea of my delivering my father his lunch on my lunchtime.

On several occasions, in the summer, in addition to taking my father his lunch, he was to give me money so my mother could buy groceries.

On one particular occasion, when I took my father his lunch, I found him alone in the store. That was usual at that time of day. It was cool inside, since the steam had not been turned on and the pressing machine was not working. Besides, the large, black ceiling fan overhead was stirring up a little cool breeze.

I stayed there for about an hour. My father ate his lunch. There was nothing for me to do there.

As I got ready to leave the cleaners, my father gave me a round, fifty cent piece to take home to my mother for groceries. I put the money in the pocket of my dress. I started the trip to go back home, going in reverse to the way I had come. I recall playing on the way home, skipping in a few places, but did not stop anywhere, not even at Fountain Park with its refreshing and inviting water fountain.

When I finally got into the house, my mother was in the kitchen. She greeted me warmly. She asked me if my father had given me any money. I said yes, he had, fifty cents. I reached into the pocket of my dress for the fifty cent piece. It was gone! I had lost the money. There was no explanation. I had talked to no one, had not gone into a store, had not bought anything; nothing. I had played, though, coming back home, skipping on the sidewalk.

I had lost the fifty-cent piece, the money my mother needed for groceries. The money I had gone to the cleaners to get. The money was gone.

My mother said nothing. She looked at me, and asked me if I was sure I didn't have it, perhaps I had overlooked it in my clothes. I searched my pockets again. No, I didn't have anything in my pockets. She did not yell at me, she did not scold me, she did not rant or rave, she did not punish me. Nothing. All she said to me was to be more careful next time.

Quietly, I left the kitchen and went and sat on the back porch, feeling sad, but feeling worse, because my mother accepted my misdeed so graciously, and I had failed her in an important mission.

© 2003 by Jennie Constantinides Vlanton

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