To Sail Beyond The Sunset

Footnote: if I had more than a hundred dollars in a savings account, why did I serve my family fried mush for their evening meal? Answer: do you think I am crazy? In 1906 in the American Middle West, a sure way for a wife spiritually to castrate her husband would be to suggest that he was incapable of keeping food on the table; I didn't need Dr Fraud to tell me that. Males live by pride. Kill their pride and they won't support wives and children. It would be some years before Brian and I would learn to be utterly open and easy with each other. Brian knew that I had a savings account but he never asked me how much I had in it, and I would serve fried mush or do any symbolic equivalent as often as needed before I would buy groceries with my own money. Savings were for a rainy day. We both knew this. If Brian fell ill, had to go to a hospital, I would use my savings as needed. We had no need to talk about it. Meanwhile Brian was the breadwinner; I did not intrude into his responsibility. Nor he into mine.

But what about Foundation moneys? Didn't that hurt his pride? Perhaps it did. It may be indicative to take a look into the future: in the long run every dime we received from ringing the cash register wound up with our children, as each got married. Brian never mentioned to me any such intention. In 1907 it would have been silly to do so.

By early 1907 my savings account had grown to over three hundred dollars, by nickels and pennies and tightest economies. Now that I was working at home and could no longer go to school downtown it seemed smart to me to move my account to a little neighbourhood bank near the southside post office substation. One of us four had to go to our post office box each day; whoever did it could make deposits for me. If ever I had to withdraw money, then that one could be I.

- Nelson parked his runabout on Grand Avenue and we walked around to 920 Walnut. I took my passbook to a teller - did not have to wait; the bank was not crowded - and told the teller that I wanted to withdraw my account.

I was referred to an officer of the bank, over behind the railing, a Mr Smaterine. Nelson put down the newspaper he had been glancing at, stood up. ‘Difficulty?'

‘I don't know. They don't seem to want to let me have my money. Will you come with me?'

‘Sure thing.'

Mr Smaterine greeted me politely, but raised his brows at Nelson. I introduced them. ‘This is Mr Nelson Johnson, Mr Smaterine. He is my husband's business partner.'

‘How do you do, Mr Johnson. Please sit down. Mrs Smith, our Mr Wimple tells me that you need to see me about something.'

‘I suppose I do. I attempted to withdraw my account. Ht told me that I must see you.'

Mr Smaterine gave a smile that displayed his false teeth. ‘We are always sorry to lose an old friend, Mrs Smith. Has our service been unsatisfactory?'

‘Not at all, sir. But I wish to move my account to a bank closer to my home. It is not too convenient to come all this way downtown, especially in this cold weather.'

He picked up my passbook, glanced at the address in the front, then at the current amount further on. ‘May I ask where you propose to transfer your account, Mrs Smith?'

I was about to tell him, when I caught Nelson's eye. He didn't actually shake his head... but I've known him a long time. ‘Why do you ask that, sir?'

‘It is part of a banker's professional duty to protect his customers. If you wish to move your account - fine! But I want to see you go to an equally reliable bank.'

My wild animal instincts were aroused. ‘Mr Smaterine, I have discussed this in -detail with my husband' - I had not - and I do not need to seek advice elsewhere.'

He made a tent of his fingers. ‘Very well. As you know, the bank can require three weeks notice on savings accounts.'

‘But, Mr Smaterine, you yourself were the officer I dealt with when I opened my account here. You told me that that fine print was just a formality, required by the state banking act, but that you personally assured me that any time I wanted my money, I could have it.'

‘And so you can. Let's change that three weeks to three days. Just go home and write us a written notice of intent, and three business days later you can close your account'

Nelson stood up, put his hands flat on Mr Smaterine's desk. ‘Now just one moment,' he drawled loudly, ‘did you or did you not tell Mrs Smith that she could have her money any rime she wanted it?'

‘Sit down, Mr Johnson. And lower your voice. After all, you are not a customer here. You don't belong here.'

Nelson did not sit down, did not lower his voice. ‘Just answer yes or no.'

‘I could have you evicted.'

‘Try it, just try it. My partner, Mr Brian Smith, this lady's husband, asked me to come with Mrs Smith' - Brian had not -‘because he had heard that your bank was just a leetle bit reluctant -‘

‘That's slander! That's criminal slander!'

‘- to be as polite to ladies as you are to businessmen. Now - Do you keep your promise to her? Right now? Or three days from now?'

Mr Smaterine was not smiling. ‘Wimple! Let's have a cheque for Mrs Smith's account'

We all kept quiet while it was made out; Mr Smaterine signed it, handed it to me. ‘Please see that it is correct. Check it against your passbook.'

I agreed that it was correct.

‘Very well. Just take that to your new bank and deposit it. You will have your money as soon as it clears. Say about ten days.' He smiled again, but there was no mirth in it.

‘You said I could have my money now.'

‘You have it. There's our cheque.'

I looked at it, turned it over, endorsed it, handed it to him. ‘I'll take it now.'

He stopped smiling. ‘Wimple!'

They started counting out banknotes. ‘No,' I said, ‘I want cash. Not paper issued by some other bank.'

‘You are hard to please, Madam. This is legal tender.'

‘But I deposited real money, every time. Not bank notes.' And I had nickels and dimes and quarters and sometimes pennies. Once in a while a silver cartwheel. ‘I want to be paid back in real money. Can't you pay me in real money?'

‘Of course we can,' Mr Smaterine answered stiffly. ‘But you will find, ah, over twenty-five pounds of silver dollars quite cumbersome. That's why bank certificates are used for most transactions.'

‘Can't you pay me in gold? Doesn't a great big bank like this one carry any gold in its vaults? Fifteen double eagles would be ever so much easier to carry than would be three hundred cartwheels,' I raised my voice a little and projected it. ‘Can't you pay me in gold? If not, where can I take this to change it for gold?'

They paid in gold, with the odd change in silver.

Once we were headed south Nelson said, ‘Whew! What bank, out south do you want? Troost Avenue Bank? Or Southeast State?'

‘Nellie, I want to take it home and ask Brian to take care of it.'

‘Huh? I mean, yes, Ma'am. Right away:

‘Dear, something about this reminds me of 1893. What do you remember about that year?'

‘Eighteen ninety-three... Let me see. I was nine and just beginning to notice that girls are different. Uh, you and Uncle Ira went to the Chicago Fair. When you got back I noticed that you smelled good. But it took another five years to get you to notice me, and I had to slide a pie under you to manage it?

‘You always were a bad boy. Never mind my folly in ‘98; what happened in ‘93?'

‘Hmm... Mr Cleveland started his second term. Then banks started to fail and everybody blamed it on him. Seems a bit unfair to me - it was too soon after he was sworn in. The Panic of'93, they called it'

‘So they did and my father did not lose anything in it, for reasons he described as pure dumb luck.'

‘Nor did my mother, because she always did her banking in a teapot on the top shelf.'

‘Father accidentally did something like that. He left Mother a four-month allowance, in cash, in four sealed envelopes, each with a date. He took with him cash, in gold, in a money belt. And he left money behind - whatever it was beyond what we needed - in a lockbox, again in gold.