[Mr Rogers]

I lived in Alabama in the 60s. I remember tar-paper shacks. My grandparents lived in a 700 sq ft house and considered themselves blessed. When my Dad was a Colonel, we lived in a 1500 sq ft house and only owned one car. We literally ate at the kitchen table - a metal and Formica thing we all squeezed in to, although my Dad considered himself a wealthy man. I was an adult before I lived in a house with a ‘dining room’.

Growing up during the Depression, my Mom wasn’t allowed to wear shoes to school until there was frost on the ground. Everyone else did the same, and no one felt ‘poor’. In fact, her Mom kept a second table so she could share their food with the bums who were poor and in need of help. The bums were polite, and usually offered to help with the chores.

Very different times.

[Carriage Hill]

We all have a lot of personal and family memories, in common.

[hinckley buzzard]

I recall the late forties, when my father was still in Germany as part of the Occupation Forces, we lived in what was euphemistically called "tourist cabins." More like one room shacks, with plumbing, electricity, and an icebox. That was it.

[hinckley buzzard]

In fact, her Mom kept a second table so she could share their food with the bums who were poor and in need of help. The bums were polite, and usually offered to help with the chores

Working with the elderly today I hear of this scenario time and time again. Putting a plate out--but you know what, the old folks I talk to today who reminisce about this don't disparage the men they fed when they came to the door--they understood intuitively the epigram, "But for the Grace of God..."