Children of Depression thrifty, not eccentric

A friend called to tell me about an article she’d just read in a national magazine about one of our neighboring towns.

“I’d like to read that,” I responded.

A neighbor had lent the magazine to her and she had to return it.

“Could you copy it for me?” I asked. “Just print it off on both sides of the paper and don’t reprint if it comes out crooked.” I know how hard it is to get perfect copies when you’re folding a magazine over to squeeze into your printer.

She laughed. “Typing paper isn’t that expensive,” she said. I laughed too, recognizing the familiar symptoms of one who grew up in the Depression.

She brought me the article, seven pages, printed on one side only. I told her I never throw away a sheet of paper that’s blank on one side or only has a line or two. I use the blank sides for drafts and to print off material I’m only going to keep temporarily. I tear off the blank parts of reports, bills and correspondence that come in the mail and keep it in a stack to make notes on. I keep envelopes that have nice blank backsides to jot down temporary notes — phone numbers to call back; a reminder to take out the trash.

She confessed she saves pieces of soap until they are all used up.

Children who grew up in the Depression — the one that started in 1929 — grew up thrifty in ways we don’t have to be now but are too ingrained to change.

For instance, I never throw away leftovers, even though I never once went hungry as a child. We sometimes had only mush or rice and raisins for supper but there was plenty and I thought both were delicious. But there were desperate people who did go hungry. Children were taught not to waste food, to eat whatever we had, clean our plate and not complain.

So every year, I am eating Thanksgiving leftovers until Christmas and Christmas leftovers until the middle of January. I save small amounts of leftovers in little jars or plastic bags in the freezer. I save boxes. I save empty jars, wrapping paper, pieces of wire and rope and buttons. I save broken things. Every now and then, a piece comes in handy.

But I don’t want to be labeled “eccentric” like the people they write feature stories about who save stacks of newspapers until there are only trails between them through their houses. I used to save stacks until I took them to recycle. But now that there aren’t any handy places to recycle, just a trail through the house looms. I save magazines I haven’t read yet and I worry that eventually they may take over a room or two.

Now that I have these seven pages that are blank on one side from my friend, I can add them to that stack by my computer.

Maybe I should give her a nice new bar of soap in return.

Mary McClure lives in Lawton and writes a weekly column for The Lawton Constitution.