Sarah Steinlauf Schuman, Ellis Schuman, Frieda Schuman. See notes.
Ellis coming home from Hebrew school, Chicago , 1934.
Ellis
This photo tells part of a long story. It brings tears to my eyes. By 1940 we were still in the grip of the Great Depression. Times were bad. World War II was imminent.
We were the poorest ones on each side of the family. Each day brought some trial to overcome. We lived on Chicago’s old west side in a first floor rear stove heated cold water flat. It overlooked an alley littered with rubbish. There were no uniform garbage cans then. Peddlers on horse drawn wagons often could be heard calling out their wares.
The kitchen was the only room heated. An old pot belly stove was in the center of the room. A large tank stood in one corner to heat the cold water. Clothes were hung on a line stretched from wall to wall. That was the center of activity.
The other rooms were closed off in the winter. The two bedrooms were cold. An upright piano given to us by an aunt who stopped lessons, stood against the living room wall away from the windows. I wore a coat and scarf when I tried to play little tunes on that out of tune piano during the winter months. My little fingers were so col but it was my only joy. My dear mother managed to save the twenty five cents for my first piano lesson. My first teacher was an eight grade girl who looked so big to me.
Our few clothes were used and handed down from those who took pity on us. There was so little to eat; just enough to exist. Some basic rations like powdered milk, cheese, corn meal, hominy and beans were available at relief stations in the city. Stern case workers with green eye shades working under bare light bulbs often made my mother cry when she pleaded for assistance. I hated to see my mother cry. Her true love and sacrifice nourished us. My dear father worked very hard for the WPA as a street laborer. He came home hungry and exhausted after a long day. Sometimes he came home drunk. He spent most of his meager allowance after work with the other guys from the street gang. It
Ellis
This photo tells part of a long story. It brings tears to my eyes. By 1940 we were still in the grip of the Great Depression. Times were bad. World War II was imminent.
We were the poorest ones on each side of the family. Each day brought some trial to overcome. We lived on Chicago’s old west side in a first floor rear stove heated cold water flat. It overlooked an alley littered with rubbish. There were no uniform garbage cans then. Peddlers on horse drawn wagons often could be heard calling out their wares.
The kitchen was the only room heated. An old pot belly stove was in the center of the room. A large tank stood in one corner to heat the cold water. Clothes were hung on a line stretched from wall to wall. That was the center of activity.
The other rooms were closed off in the winter. The two bedrooms were cold. An upright piano given to us by an aunt who stopped lessons, stood against the living room wall away from the windows. I wore a coat and scarf when I tried to play little tunes on that out of tune piano during the winter months. My little fingers were so col but it was my only joy. My dear mother managed to save the twenty five cents for my first piano lesson. My first teacher was an eight grade girl who looked so big to me.
Our few clothes were used and handed down from those who took pity on us. There was so little to eat; just enough to exist. Some basic rations like powdered milk, cheese, corn meal, hominy and beans were available at relief stations in the city. Stern case workers with green eye shades working under bare light bulbs often made my mother cry when she pleaded for assistance. I hated to see my mother cry. Her true love and sacrifice nourished us. My dear father worked very hard for the WPA as a street laborer. He came home hungry and exhausted after a long day. Sometimes he came home drunk. He spent most of his meager allowance after work with the other guys from the street gang. It
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