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had an old Singer treadle sewing machine. I remember that almost every evening she sat at that machine sewing something. That old machine was the “King.” We kids didn’t dare touch it. The “King” had a wooden box that covered and protected it. When Mom lifted the box, it was awesome what she could produce from the “King.” She could take it apart and put it back together again. I remember watching her as she adjusted the bobbin with a hairpin. The bobbin looked like a bullet, and that fascinated me. The machine’s belt had been patched numerous times. Over the years, I can’t remember my mother’s ever getting a new belt. When Mom got finished adjusting everything, she gave it a shot of Singer Machine Oil. I don’t know what was in that oil, but it kept our household humming.
    My mother never had a store-bought pattern. I would pick out something I liked from the Sears Catalog, and Mom would cut a pattern from newspapers to make my dress. The dresses were usually made from feed sacks, but sometimes for special occasions I would get a dress made from store-bought material that cost twenty cents a yard. Before I left home, I learned to sew on the “King” and made my own clothes.
     
    A String of Beads
    One year at Christmas time I got sick, and Mom wouldn’t let me go to the woods to choose a tree. I described my tree to my brothers. It was a beautiful cedar tree. The boys bought a tree and brought it to me. I was sure it wasn’t the tree I had picked out, but it was a tree. I put my tree up and decorated it. I thought it was beautiful! It didn’t matter that most of the bulbs had been used so much there wasn’t much color left on them. Also, the tinsel was so worn that it wouldn’t stay on the tree. We had made some decoration at school, and I put these on the tree. I sort of looked like a peppermint stick of candy. I thought it was grand!
    I waited and counted the days until Christmas. I didn’t see any presents, but I thought my mother was hiding them. The days continued to pass with still no sign of presents. Finally Christmas Eve came. My mother brought out two little sacks. We looked at my brother’s first. He had gotten a car that had headlights on it. He was happy with his present. Then I opened my sack, and there was a little white box. There lay a string of the ugliest brown bead I had ever seen. I threw the box down and started to cry. “Is this all I get for Christmas?” To this day I can still see every little mark on those brown beads. I began to have a real tantrum. My brothers started kicking me under the chair. I didn’t understand why they were kicking me since I didn’t know my behavior was breaking my mother’s heart. My mother said that maybe it would be better next year, and she said to have some candy and fruit. It finally sank into my young mind that she had done the best she could do. Those beads cost ten cents. I was just a child, but I never forgot my hurt—or the hurt I had caused my mother.
     
    Making “Shine”
    One year we were having a rough time, and I overheard my dad and our neighbor Zack Nicely talking. They were discussing their plight and what to do about it.
    My dad said, “We probably could make a buck by making some moonshine.” Zack said, “Walter, we probably will get caught, but if you’re game, so am I.”
    My dad told my mother about his plans, and she said, “Oh, Walter, you don’t want to do this. What will the neighbors say?”
    My dad replied, “I don’t plan on them knowing.”
    I found out later that many people made shine during this period. I don’t remember how long my dad and the neighbor made shine, but my friends began to tease me about it. I felt very bad and ashamed. I talked to my dad about it, and he said, “Everybody has to live. You tell your friends you haven’t been on the ‘dole’ yet.” I did as he told me. No one ever said anything about making shine after that.
    Roosevelt started several different projects to