Paintings a reminder of Depression struggles

When I saw the picture of the Vail-Davis building illustrating Eileen Daday's story about the calendar of Arlington Heights landmarks sponsored by the Peoples' Bank in the Oct. 12 Neighbor Section, I had a feeling of profound sadness.

There was Jack Musich's marvelous drawing of the old building dressed as for Christmas, lights on in every storefront and apartment. With its crenelated turret and seven gables, reminiscent possibly of The House of Seven Gables, the building in Musich's rendition exudes complacent satisfaction, even holiday gaiety.

You can see in the background the carpenter Gothic houses that were the common architecture of Arlington Heights at the time, and appreciate the imagination and hope that went into this architectural innovation.

But what I saw was not hope, but the destruction of hope that was part of the history of the building and of the Depression days when it was built.

What I could see was Herman Redeker in a bed at Americana Nursing Home. He looked like a big teddy bear as he talked philosophically of his history with the Vail-Davis building.

Herman told me how his grandfather had set him up in the realty business in a little building in the triangle between Miner and Northwest Highway at Dunton. Subsequently, he and three partners created a Vail-Davis Corporation and developed the corner of Vail and Davis. They had great plans for their future.

But the Depression intervened. As Herman Redeker recreated the scenario, during the Depression "I lost the building for $1,500. The interest was due. We had the money in the bank and the bank closed. In five days' time, they sent a receiver out and took the building."

Those were the days before bank deposits were protected by the FDIC. Herman lost his home, too.

His family split up in the face of the difficult situation. His children went to live with their grandmother in Seattle. He and his wife had what he called "a friendly divorce" so she wouldn't be involved in the debt incurred. As Herman said, "Those were rough years. I would not wish them on anybody."

Is it any wonder, then, that I sighed when I looked at Jack Musich's painting? Hope, that thing with leaves "that perches in the soul," in Emily Dickinson's words, flew from Herman's view for a while until he got a job with the WPA and rebuilt his life.

Depression stories like this are common. Another that touched my heart when I was doing oral histories was also told from a nursing home bed. Ida Harth, as diminutive under her covers as Herman had been large, recalled full-time babysitting a swarm of children as a teen. She made 10 cents an hour, as I remember.

She didn't go to high school. Eschewing frivolity, unlike a teen, she put all her money -- hundreds of dollars -- in the bank where it would be safe. Or so she thought.

Like Herman Redeker, this elfin old woman felt the need to tell her searing story during her last days. Depression stories were not easily forgot.