For the sharecroppers and day laborers along Po Biddy Road in South Alabama, the coming of the New Year, 1931, had pushed the raw stinging nettle of the Great Depression into full flower.
The banks had slammed and boarded their doors. The fortunate people left with a few dollars closed their purses with equal desperate resolve.
The cruel noose of abject poverty was tightening. 1932 found long, thin lines of scarecrow shadows traversing Po Biddy Road looking for a day's work or a hand-out of food from a compassionate stranger to placate an empty, growling belly. There are no bread lines or soup kitchens along Po Biddy Road. Still most idolized President Roosevelt; their Moses who would lead them across this deprived land.
"Shoes for Mr. Hoover" is a time capsule of the Depression era. With years of time these desperate travail years healed and began to fade into memory along with their rolling stores, ice trucks, bay fish peddlers and German prisoners of war who worked the fields alongside them.
Look for them no more. They will never again ply the narrow dirt roads of Alabama. They have slipped quietly and obtrusively into history.
They are gone more swiftly, more completely than last year's sprinkling of snow.
