The Poor

My mind has lately returned to my childhood and a place that I once held very dear, my maternal grandparents' home in East Gate, Texas, on the prairie in Liberty County, near Gum Grove, Texas, not far from Huffman, Texas, and Dayton, Texas. My grandparents lived there in a wooden house built by my grandfather and his father. My mother and her siblings were reared there. And I spent many summer days there, picking peas and then shelling them in the shade of pecan trees, shucking corn, playing board games and dominoes with my grandmother, who never seemed to tire from playing those games with her grandchildren. In the evening, we would watch westerns on television or the Grand Ol' Opry with my grandfather. My grandmother would prepare food that sent us home in despair when we were teenagers; one summer one of my sisters gained ten pounds after staying a week with my grandmother. The typical breakfast spread? Fried eggs and bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits served with milk gravy and butter from the Jersey cow, fig preserves, and very black coffee. My grandmother would also prepare spice cake, lemon meringue pies, chocolate meringue pies or pecan pies for later desserts. Supper was frequently fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a selection of vegetables we had perhaps helped pick.

My grandparents' education did not go beyond 9th grade. My grandmother told me that when she was in ninth grade, she caught flu and stayed home to recuperate. She never returned to school. My grandfather worked the rodeos, labored in the oil fields before I was born, and worked for Liberty County doing odd jobs. He raised cattle and sold cattle. He, my father, and one of my uncles herded their cattle together, with that of other friends, on government land in the marshes of Old and Lost Rivers when I was a child. I still have clear memories of my grandfather on a horse, of the sound of boots on a wooden floor, of the jangle of spurs and the whispering shush of leather chaps--and of Papa playing "Redwing" and "Orange Blossom Special" on his harmonica.

My grandmother's favorite television show was a morning show called "Dialing for Dollars." At the beginning of the show, the host would announce a password, and later in the show, the host would dial a telephone number. If the person answering the telephone knew the password, that person would win prize money. We couldn't be far from the telephone on those days that my grandmother watched; she always hoped that she would win. And I think she did win some groceries one time. Other than that, my grandmother didn't watch much television. But she loved the Houston Astros, and she would listen to games on the radio.

Only occasionally was I reminded that my grandparents were poor, especially in their old age.  My grandmother clipped coupons, counted her change, and was careful to purchase items on sale. When I was a very little child in the early sixties, she made her own cotton dresses on a treadle sewing machine. I remember the old wringer-washing machine that was in the side yard next to the house and the clothesline where we hung out clothes to dry. Later, of course, she had an electric washer and dryer installed in what we called "the back porch," rooms enclosed at the back of the house near the kitchen. I suspect that the electric washer and dryer were gifts from family, perhaps her children. The house itself lacked air-conditioning. Instead, someone had installed an industrial fan in the dining-room window. The fan didn't have a switch. We would have to plug it in and then give one of the fan blades a push to get it going.

And, then, once when I was a young adult, maybe still a teenager, we had a family gathering at which I was forcibly reminded of my grandparents' poverty. A young woman from Houston whose mother had married into the family was visiting with her fiance, a very well-off young man. As they walked under the shade of the pecan trees into the yard bare of grass and up to the un-air-conditioned house, I overheard the young woman say to her future husband, "Can you imagine living here?"

I can still feel the hot flush of anger...and shame...that I felt then, loving my grandparents as I did and also realizing that they were indeed poor, specimens of poverty in the eyes of the suburban middle-class and the Houston wealthy.

What we never lacked at my grandparents' house was plenty of love. My grandmother's freezer and refrigerator were always full of food, and she loved preparing meals for her extended family. She and my grandfather were generous and kind.

I think of them when I hear pundits sneer about the poor today, about how 51% of Americans don't pay federal income tax because they are, indeed, poor. Those pundits easily forget that those Americans pay other taxes,  payroll taxes (if they have jobs), taxes on goods, property taxes, and state income taxes in those states with such taxes.  I was enraged by Fox News pundits claiming that Democrats, President Obama, and even that really wealthy guy Warren Buffet were inciting class warfare against the rich -- and at the language used on Fox News to describe the poor as "takers" and "moochers." And I was happy to see Jon Stewart expose the hypocrisy and meanness of those who think the poor can't be poor if they own a refrigerator or a microwave or a cellphone. Watch Jon's takedown here: Jon Stewart's The Daily Show, August 18, 2011.

We owe a lot to the working poor.