Evening star., 1940-01-02

country trips. Those memories will
not soon fade.
There comes to my mind the
images of two people living in Amer
ica's slums, two people for whom
this new year has brought little
cheer and little happiness.
A Ramshackle Slum Shack.
One of them is a woman who
lives in a small town somewhere
in the deep South. She is little.
old and frail. Her face is lined with
wrinkles, her back is bowed from
years of toll. will never forget the
ramshackle house in which She
and her family-lives. Were able
to speak to you tonight over a
television hookup from that hovel
you would see life in a slum shack
as no words can portray it. I wish
could show you the holes in the
outer walls of her shack-some big
enough so you could slip an egg
through without fear of breaking
1t. I wish you could see for your
self the crazy angle at which an
entire side of the house is leaning
We stared at that house and mar
veled how-defying the elements
1t still stood.
A little old lady came out to greet
us and, noting our interest, cordially
invited us in. The shack itself was
divided into two rooms-in one a
bed and dresser and in the other an
old pot-bellied stove, on which some
slabs of salt pork and pan of hoe
cake were cooking. Glancing up
ward, I saw sunlight streaming
through the roof. I turned to the
woman and asked: How do you
manage to stay dry inside this place
when it rains?" With shy smile,
she replied: We'll, you know, son,
don't worry much when it rains,
because even when the water comes
through I get into bed and keep
dry, but when the wind starts blow
Ing, day or night, I run outside in
q hurry, because don't know when
this old shack is going to blow
down." That shack is the home of
an American family tonight.
The other story that I cannot
soon forget is of younger woman
who lives on small Northern farm.
1t was Tuesday morning when visi-
tors drove up to her farmhouse and
saw her hanging out the family
wash on the clothesline. Say, how
does 1t happen that you are hang
ing out the wash on Tuesday?"
they asked her. "I thought that Mon
day was wash day around here"
Monday is wash day." she re-
piled, chat is, for folks with water,
but I never get around to washing
until Tuesday, because it takes me
all day Monday to haul enough
water up from the we'll over there at
the bottom of the hill"
Typical Of Millions.
The stories of these two women
are not unusual or out of the ordi-
nary Unfortunately they are typi-
cal of millions of families living
today under such conditions. Our
hospitals can tell their tale of the
slums which takes its toll in sick
ness and disease Of those who have
no shelter which protects them
against the elements, those who
lack the decencies of adequate sani-
tary facilities. Our jails can tell
tales Of the slums, too, the tales of
men and women and youngsters
who grew up in crowded sordidness,
whose lives have been warped by
slum environment.
There is no one section of the
country that has escaped the creep
ing blight of the slums. Those of
you who think that slums are some
thing confined to the big cities have
never sought out the by-ways and
side streets of the towns, villages
and hamlets.
May I say to you, on the basis of
my travels through % States visit
Ing cities, towns, villages and farm
lands, that the Squalor and dirt and
misery of the blighted areas in the
small towns is as bad as anything
that can be found in the slums in
New York, Chicago or Philadelphia.
East, West, North and South, there
are slums. From Massachusetts, to
California, from New York to New
Mexico, In every town and village,