Mother's Faith

by Lee Gomer

August 2000

It was a Sunday evening and quitting time at Miller’s Waffle Shop, and I was almost sick with worry about what I had to do. I had been back at this restaurant for a couple of months, working five to five-and-a-half hours a day for my meals. I had lost my paying job at Droll’s English Grill and had come back here to work for meals only in order to finish business college.

Somehow, I seemed to sense that Mom was having trouble sending the two dollars a week that I needed for room rent and extras. Room rent was $1.50 a week at a flea-trap hotel. I had to do something! My hopes of getting anything from the Greek bastard who owned the place seemed an impossibility, but I had to try.

I was such a beaten, scared hick that facing this Greek was beyond any fear that I can now imagine. But I had to do it! It was my only salvation. Jobs were at a premium. Actually, you couldn’t buy a job if you had money to spend on one. No one today can imagine how things were back then in 1938. The black dishwasher with whom I worked made $1.00 a day, and on occasion had hired me to fill in for him in order to get one day off. That’s how scarce jobs were.

I timidly approached the Greek, and so humbly presented my case. I don’t want to do it, I suggested, but I have no choice. I either must make some money, or I must quit the job, quit school, and go back home. I can’t get any more help from home. Greed shone from his eyes, and almost hatred. (How could a ragged little shrimp like this approach him for money?) I could almost see the brain turning this over. (Is this smelly little beggar giving me a snow job? Does he think I can’t replace him in five minutes, right from off the street?) And he could. But then he no doubt realized that I worked my ass off throughout my shift. I was so damned afraid of not keeping a job that I put up with anything and everything! I know he realized he’d have a had time replacing a worker like me.

“How much do you have to have?” He glared as he asked.

I almost said two dollars, the same as I had been getting from home. But I had suffered the tortures of Hell to bring myself to this point, so I shot for the stars. “I have to have $2.50!” He hesitated, and I thought, Oh, God! Why didn’t I just say $1.75? That would cover room and 25 cents extra!

He agreed!

I raced to my room, wrote a letter to Mom telling her I didn’t need any money from her, and went out and mailed it. I’d have money next Saturday, when my rent was due.

Mom always sent the money on Thursday so I’d get it on Saturday. I know it seems unbelievable today, but if a Saturday had come and I hadn’t had my rent money available, I would never have asked for an extension. I would have packed up and moved out.

The next time I was home, Mom told me that the week I’ve told about came, and on Wednesday she had no way of raising any money. There were no chickens to sell, no milk money available. No money was available in any way. She said, “I was so worried! But I went to bed and said my prayers. The next day your letter came.”

She also told me that on another Wednesday that she had never told me about, the same situation had arisen. No money in sight. No way to raise any money. She had done the same: gone to bed and said her prayers. The next day, a man came to the door and paid her for some pasture rental that she had long ago given up receiving.

I think many times how fortunate it would be to have such faith. Mom lived through some terrible times. Widowed at 50 with Orville and me, 11 and 9, to raise. Never having even written a check. Two debt-ridden farms and a blacksmith shop to handle. She had managed somehow. Her faith somehow helped her through!