My Father

was 50 when I was born, and I was born in 1962. And since that's math even I can do--that means he was born in 1912. Which means he lived through the Depression. As did my maternal grandparents (and paternal grandparents-but I never knew them, they died when I was a baby).

I do recall a story my dad told a long time ago about his father being run out of business as a barber in upstate Florida because he put a sign for a presidential candidate in his store window. The sign only had the last name of the candidate, and I think it was Wilson.

My maternal grandparents were from the Bristol TN/VA area-very much the heart of Appalachia. I think it's a safe bet they knew from the Depression. I can remember my Grandmother saying they actually didn't notice the Depression that much. I reckon because when things have always been hardscrabble, a Depression is a distinction without a difference.

My granddaddy died in the early seventies, and never came back around to trusting banks, although he and Granny had accounts. When my Grandmother died in 2001, she had a bank account with a little bit of money in it. Don't be fooled, though, because a couple of my uncles knew exactly where to go to find the cash she had hidden, a lifelong habit, learned from hard experience.

I see today where everyone is on the bandwagon of raising the FDIC limit from $100,000.00 to $250,000.00 per account. Which, nice but, it's been widely reported the FDIC is so underfunded now that it couldn't handle paying out its current obligations, so how could it pay...more?

And there's a lot of talk that the Community Reinvestment Act is at fault for today's mortgage and financial crisis. This analysis from Businessweek explains why that's just not true. But hey, never pass up a chance to blame the poor.

A pickle jar stuffed with cash in a hole in the backyard is looking better and better.