Throughline - Four voices from the Great Depression

Episode Date: May 12, 2026

A glimpse into life during the Great Depression from the people that lived it.To access bonus episodes and listen to Throughline sponsor-free, subscribe to Throughline+ via Apple Podcasts or at plus.npr.org/throughline.See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for sponsorship and to manage your podcast sponsorship preferences.NPR Privacy Policy

This is America in Pursuit, a limited-run series from ThruLine and NPR. I'm Randadavid Fet-Tah. Each week, we bring you stories about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the United States that began 250 years ago. There are no jobs. Most of us have had no breakfast. Some have had scant rations for over a year. Hunger makes a human being lapse into a state of lethargy. especially city hunger.

The Great Depression was one of the worst economic disasters in modern history. It started in 1929 and lasted through the next decade. Is there any place else in the world where a human being is supposed to go hungry amidst plenty without an outcry, without protest, were only the boldest steal or kill for bread, and the timid crawl the streets? It was marked by massive unemployment, hunger, homelessness, and a general sense that the country's future was in peril.

It's too terrible to see this animal terror in each other's eyes. The Great Depression left a lasting imprint on the people who lived it. So today on the show, we want to immerse you in the era and let the people who live through it tell their own stories. Stories captured in oral histories, diaries, and essays brought to life through reenactment. four people, four vastly different experiences from different ethnic and racial backgrounds from all over the United States.

My name is Henry Wright. I never missed a meal, but I postponed a few. Henry Wright went looking for adventure in the Great Depression. Riding the rails from coast to coast, he learned things about himself and the world. With a certain amount of pride, he called himself a hobo, bouncing from city to city, seeking his fortune. Is this thing on? Oh, hello.

Meridel Lasor was a writer born and raised in the Midwest. I've lived in cities for many months. Broke. Without help. Too timid to get in the breadlines. Meridell spent the depression in unemployment offices and soup kitchens, talking to people, mostly women, documenting what she saw and heard. I was so broke. Quite often, I was with no money in my pocket.

The most I ever had is maybe one or two dollars. The lease was, well, normally I got 10, 15 cents. You can call me Fong. Fong spent the Great Depression in San Francisco's Chinatown. He experienced the era at the street level and the everyday minutia of economic struggle. Hello, I'm Dorothy Haidt. In a strange way, everybody had a feeling of common suffering.

There was a kind of sense that everybody's having a hard time. Dorothy Haidt grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, and when the Great Depression hit home, she was eager to escape to the big city for college. She moved to Harlem in New York. But as luck would have it, the Depression would follow her there. Henry, Meridel, Fong, and Dorothy's stories captured in oral histories, diaries, and essays, give us a window into what it was like to live through this time,

a moment that often gets reduced to one archetype of American suffering. Their stories, their voices are the ones we don't generally hear. So with that, we give you four lives of the Great Depression. In a strange way, everybody had a feeling of common suffering. There was a kind of sense that everybody's having a hard time. You didn't have a feeling that some people were making it and some were suffering. But at the same time, everybody had to compete with everybody for the scarce things that there were. My fellow citizens, this broadcast tonight marks the beginning of the mobilization of the whole nation for our

great undertaking to provide security for those of our citizens and their families who, through no fault of their own, face unemployment and privation during the coming winter. In the shadow of the elevated, a nickel is still a piece of money, and everything can be bought from a 10-cent necktie to a 30-cent flop, which means a place to sleep. The very fact that the young men and women of today have nothing easy to look forward to is a good thing for them, because the very thing that is a stumbling block to one man is a springboard to another. The very thing that crushes one man elevates another. Many have lost the savings of a lifetime. Many are unemployed. All know the misgivings

of doubt through the grave concern for the future. On church steps after dusk are sprawled unfortunate who must be up at the crack of dawn for a front spot in the red line of Mr. Zero, who somehow manages to obtain food for men who don't seem able to get it for themselves. It's one of the great mysteries of the city. Where are women go when they are out of work and hungry? There are not many women in the breadlines. There are no flop houses for women, as there are for men, where a bed can be had for a quarter or less.

You don't see women lying on the floor at the mission in these free flops. They obviously don't sleep in the jungle or under newspapers in the park. There is no law, I suppose, against their being in these places. But the fact is, they rarely are. Yet, there must be as many women out of jobs in cities and suffering poverty as there are men. What happens to them? Where do they go?

This is from Maradal-Lussure's essay called Women on the Bread Line. It was published in 1932 in a Marxist publication called New Masses. Try to get into the YW without any money, or looking down, at the heel. Charities take care of very few and only those that are called deserving. The lone girl is under suspicion by the virgin women who dispensed charity. I've lived in cities for many months, broke, without help, too timid to get in breadlines. I've known many women to live like this until they simply faint on the street from privations without saying a word to anyone. A woman will shut herself up in a room until it's taken away from her and eat a cracker a day

and be as quiet as a mouse so that there are no social statistics concerning her. You have guys going around from building to building selling meat. They sell pork for 25 cents, 35 cents, a pound, cheaper than the butcher shop. And you don't have to walk around. They come to you. What we know about Fong comes from oral history interviews that he gave in San Francisco's Chinatown when he was 67, decades after the Depression ended. He was a big man. He wore a windbreaker and an old woolen sailor's cap, Navy Blue. He didn't say where he lived or his name.

He just said, call me Fong. Now, during the Depression, I was so broke. Quite often, I was with no money in my pocket. The most I ever had is maybe one or two dollars. The lease was, well, normally I got 10, 15 cents. I never missed a meal, but I postponed a few. We went to Oakland on the chili pepper and crossed the bay on the Hobos ferry to San Francisco.

For Henry Wright, the Great Depression was a journey. born in Missouri in the early 20th century, Henry grew up in an orphanage. At age 16, he got kicked out with just $20 and a change of clothes. So with few options, he set out to find adventure. The skid row was full of bums. About noon we passed the St. Francis Church. There were about 2,000 depression steps lined up. The priest was giving each a nickel as they filed by one at a time.

some going around the block to line up again. It's not a very fast way of getting rich. We celebrated Christmas in Oakland. It was on the main drag on New Year's Eve in Oakland that I got in another inevitable fight. It lasted nearly a block past a swell theater and ended up when a voice behind me said, Beat it, the cops.

I escaped down a side street and down an alley. Dorothy Haight was living in Harlem, New York at this time. She was a college student, and she knew she was lucky. She had food to eat, a roof over her head. So she wanted to find a way to do something, to help where she could. Well, there were all kinds of organizing efforts in the churches. One of the most significant ones, I think, was at the time that we realized that we were spending what little money we had and were getting nothing. And Adam Powell came into the picture and he organized a people's committee.

and what he called for was that we learned to spend no money where we could not work. And he taught us that no matter how little you had, your power was in what you did with it. And that to me was an indelible lesson. Dorothy had also seen the Depression destroy her hometown. But it was in Harlem that she saw how resilient people could be in the face of utter desperation. When Adam Powell called this group together, he said to us, you can take your own condition in your own hands. And that was the time that he started the movement to get jobs on 125th Street.

In June 1933, Washington became the spawning ground for what was perhaps the most startling egg ever hatched by Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal, the National Recovery Act. AIM of the NRA was government control of major American industries through codes of fair dealing. These fixed maximum hours and minimum wage. Roosevelt come out and he created the word NRA. Gave work to people, a lot of guys. But later on, it got so sour. Like they got jobs. For instance, I went in on one of them, a railroad job inside Elko.

They paid $72, I think. And they gave you jobs like that so you can make a living. And I worked there a few months. It was awfully hot, hot like everything. In fact, you could see the blaze in the afternoon. When the sun shines so blazing, you can actually see the atmosphere of it. Just the blaze moving around hotly. And people come back working in the railroad.

They come back for dinner. They practically stink because their clothing been in the sunlight so damn long. And that's the way it is. In the working out of a great national program that seeks the primary good of the greater number, it is true that the tolls of some people are being stepped on and are going to be stepped on. But these tolls belong to the comparative few who seek to retain or to gain position or riches or both by some shortcut that is harmful to the great people. I lived out there. You don't go nowhere. It's right out in the middle of the desert, see. That's the way it is. I did almost any kind of work. But nevertheless, at that time, I was nothing but a helper, a waiter, dishwasher, and all that. See, they're always trying to push you down to these jobs, no matter how much or how good you are. Like, that NRA was like all the other things. At first you don't realize, but nevertheless, in due time and in the long run, you find out it will never have any advantage toward the Chinese.

I met a fellow on the corner of Wall Street, who, from casual observance, would have been taken for an office worker or a dapper salesman with his Panama hat, his nice suit, and his sports shoes. After I introduced myself, he said he wasn't having much luck. I've been bombing them right and left since the morning rush, and I've only made $2.90. I thought that seemed like a good day's work at 15. cents an hour. Trouble with me is that they know me too well, and when they see me come and they cross the

street. It does give me pleasure, though, to bomb some of those big financiers, but it seems to break their heart to jaw loose a dime. It is appalling to think that these women, sitting so listless in the room, may work as hard as it is possible for a human being to work, may labor night and day, wash streetcarts from midnight to dawn and offices in the early evening, scrubbing for 14 and 15 hours a day, sleeping only five hours or so, doing this their whole lives, and never earn one day of security, having always before them the pit of the future.

The endless labor, the bending back, the water-soaked hands, earning never more than a week's wages, never having in their hands more life than that. By the mid-1930s, more people were returning to work, and people like Henry, Dorothy, Meridale, and Fong forged ahead. But the memories of the Great Depression would continue to linger for years. And that's it for this week's episode of America in Pursuit. If you want to hear the full-length episode, check out Lives of the Great Depression. And be sure to join us next week.

We're going to stay with the Great Depression and turn to the story of Francis Perkins. the first woman's secretary of labor who saw the nation's suffering and pushed for solutions. They needed to have a system that would provide some income support for people when they get to the phase of their lives where they're simply less employable. The woman behind Social Security and the New Deal. That's next week. Don't miss it. This episode was produced by Kiana Mogadam and edited by Christina Kim with help from the ThruLine production team.

Thank you to our amazing cast. I'm Jamie York. I was the voice of Henry Wright, my grandfather. I'm Lawrence Wu, and I played Fong. I'm Natalie Barton. I read the writings of Meridale Lassir. My name is Kia Miacanates,

and I was the voice of Dorothy Haidt. The soundtrack for this episode was composed and performed by one of our favorite artists, Hania Rani. You also heard music by Ramtinada Blui and his band Drop Electra. Special thanks to Julie Cain, Irene Noguchi, Beth Donovan, Casey Minor, and Lindsay McKenna.

I'm your host, Rand Abad Fetach. Thanks for listening.