Late 1930s, Minneapolis, Minnesota

By Kristin Barton

When I was a child in the ’70s, my mother would entertain me by telling me stories about her youth.

I would sit in my footed pajamas on the avocado-green shag carpet in our living room, and Mom would tell me all about how it had been when she was a girl. One of my favorite stories was about the “magic coin purse.’”

Our mother grew up during the Great Depression. She lived in Minneapolis in a one-bedroom house with five other people. Mom used to tell us that her mother would make dinner for six with a third of a pound of hamburger, and they were happy to have it.

Often, there wasn’t any dinner at all. Many days, the family would eat oatmeal for all three meals. They felt that it was a great treat to put sugar on the gruel because sugar was a luxury.

Mom never had any new clothes. She wore her mother’s old dresses, taken in. She said it didn’t bother her much because she wasn’t the only girl in school who had hand-me-down clothes. One thing that did bother her was that she never got any treats.

Well, I shouldn’t say never. At Christmas, my mom and her older brother got candy in their stockings. Several pieces.

For my mother, the hardest part about growing up during the Great Depression was that she had to walk past a candy store on her way to and from school every day. She would see other children stop in at the store and buy root beer barrels, penny taffy, caramels, and licorice.

Of course, she pretended that she didn’t want any candy. Poor kids learn very early to create a dignified persona; an outer shell that says, “Don’t feel sorry for me.” But still, what 10-year-old wouldn’t love to have a piece of candy after school?

One day, in her twelfth winter, mom was walking home from school. She said she remembered that it was winter because the snow stung her bare legs. Girls couldn’t wear pants to school back then; they had to wear dresses.

As she walked, her eye caught something red lying on the ground. She stooped to pick up the object, and in her cold-numbed fingers, she held a coin purse. It looked old, and it was made of thick leather.

Looking around to see if she was being observed, she cautiously opened the purse. Inside was a quarter. A whole quarter! Back then, a quarter was worth a lot more than it is today. There was nothing to identify the purse’s owner, so mom ran home excitedly with her prize.

Mom found her own mother sitting in the kitchen, weary with work and worry. There was so little in the house to eat, and my grandmother was trying to figure out how to stretch the food just one more day. My mother showed her mom the coin purse and told her animatedly how she had found it in the snow.

“Of course, we will have to see if we can find the owner,” grandmother had said. My mom saw grandmother’s eyes fill with tears as she looked at the shiny coin. A quarter would buy bread and soup bones for several days.

Nevertheless, they were honorable people, and so my mother was instructed to make signs that read, “Lost: Small Purse. Please tell us what color it is to claim.”

Mom dutifully made the signs from old cardboard in the garage and posted them up on all the telephone poles on her way to school the next day. A week went by, and no one claimed the purse.

The family used the money to buy groceries, and they ate well that evening. Mom said she felt like a queen because she got two bowls of soup, which made her feel full and sleepy. She kept the red purse under her mattress in the little alcove in which she slept.

A couple of weeks went by, and spring was beginning to make the walk home from school more pleasant. Mom still walked by the candy store every day, and every day, she turned her head and pretended not to look at the other children who were buying sweets.

One evening, she stripped her bed to change the sheets, and the red coin purse fell to the floor. She picked it up, and to her surprise, it felt as though something was inside.

When she opened it up, she almost dropped the purse in shock. Inside was another quarter.

Mom’s head spun. How could this be? Where did the money come from? Should she tell her mother? She would surely get the strap for telling tall tales. No one would believe that a quarter had just appeared in the purse. She decided to hold on to the money this time, for fear of being accused of stealing.

The next day, as she walked home from school, my mom strode a little bit faster than usual. She could hardly contain her glee as she rounded the corner and went into the candy shop.

Inside, she stared for long minutes at the different penny candies. The man behind the counter grew impatient with her. “Well?” he grumbled. Mom settled on black licorice, which has been her favorite ever since. She said that no candy ever tasted so sweet and good, and she sang to herself on the way home, pleased with the world.

“So what ever happened to the red purse, Mommy?” I asked my mother as she sat with me on the green shag carpet.

“Well,” she said, “I had it for several more years, and periodically, when I had no money and really wanted something for a treat, the purse would produce a quarter. There was no rhyme or reason to it. It just happened once in a while. I was always so thankful for the extra treats that I got that I mentioned them in my prayers. My magic coin purse made life bearable in an unbearable time. Then one day, it just disappeared. I think I was about 15 years old. I had gotten a job to help make ends meet at home, and things had gotten a little better. The purse just went away.”

“That’s too bad,” I said.

My mother smiled at me. “No, I don’t mind,” she whispered. “Another little girl found it. I’m sure of it.”

Kristin Barton is a professional holistic healer and freelance writer from Coon Rapids, Minnesota. Her Reiki website can be found at: http://www.kristinbartongaiatransformations.com.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Tuesday, August 7th, 2007 | Email This Post

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