My father, one of the town's selectmen, had been assigned to distribute the goods given townships by the government during the Depression, destined to help townships in need. He reasoned that storing them in the town warehouse would be an invitation to both rodents and desperate citizens. They would be safer stored in the security of our house.

There is much I have forgotten about this helping project, but a few incidents stand out in my mind. One client walked six miles to the house for flour and sugar to get by. He refused the offer of soap, saying his family washed in the river.

The other client remembered was a lady of Canadian descent. She obtained some help and left by car.

In March, all Vermont towns decide their business in town meetings. Prior to the meeting, the town clerk prepared and distributed reports of the business for the year. This report included all the issues to be discussed and voted on. This debated information was on the back of 5-inch by 9-inch colored booklets featuring the state seal, with the meeting date prominent on the front cover.

All the committee reports were submitted, and, most importantly, the finances of the year. This, of course, included the supplies provided by the government.

No sooner had this information reached the lady I mentioned earlier, when she appeared on our doorstep and blessed out my father for listing her as accepting charity. She had only received help once, and she was not a person to accept charity. She wanted to be taken off the list, which my father tried to explain was impossible to do because all supplies must be justified. Charity was never accepted by hardworking, honest, God fearing people and, in this respect, I think my father was a master. He took "helping out" to heart as he saw the great need of his neighbors.

There was the day he stopped to ask a neighbor with four children if he would have time to help out with planting potatoes. Of course, the man said, "Sure," in the way only a real Vermonter says the word.

The afternoon was spent by the two men congenially prepping potatoes for planting. My father said he thought he had more than he could use and asked the man if could use the rest in his garden. This became a ritual of helping out for years - and potatoes from both gardens supplied others in the community as well as supplying the school with potatoes so the mothers could make hot potato soup for lunches.

In this era of critical need, no offer of help was given in a condescending way. My father well knew who was hurting. He remembered a teacher with her favorite beef liver after every butchering. The family at the other end of the road was invited over for an evening of fishing, saying the fish were jumping and it looked like a good time to wet a hook. He saved a few trout or bass for our table and sent the rest home with the guests, knowing they would eat well for a couple of days. The churches needed wood, and he would round up a group of men to take loads of wood to be sure the Christmas programs were comfortable.

These are examples of the refusal of people to accept what they absolutely could do without. They would prefer the help they received was not publicized. And, there were the individual efforts of those who were subtly, inoffensively offering to help out.

We did what we had to do at the time, and most of us didn't even know we were underprivileged.

T&D Correspondent Bettylou R. Terry can be reached by phone at 803-793-3381. Discuss this and other stories online at TheTandD.com.

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