Stokes: Farmers
By Thomas L. Stokes
Valentine, Nebraska –
We were sitting in front of the hotel on Main Street, our chairs on the sidewalk against the big front window, and I was learning from the farmer who sat at my side how it is with the farmers out this way.
They don’t seem to like what’s going on in Washington, judging by the man who was talking.
An auto with big loudspeaker horns blossoming out in every direction passed slowly by, and the voice rang all up and down the street, saying there were only 90 grandstand seats and seven boxes left for the rodeo in the afternoon which Governor Thomas E. Dewey was to attend. Tickets were available at the courthouse, the voice said. It was then 11:00 a.m.
Autos rolled down the street, bringing visitors from miles around. Some were crowded with big families, the kids sticking out at the edges. This was the big day. They all wanted to see the Republican presidential candidate, who do a day and a half, after a brief appearance here the day before, had been virtually in hiding at the ranch of former Governor Sam McKelvie, 20 miles away. Governor Dewey’s picture beamed all along Main Street, and his name was on banners which fluttered overhead.
Nobody very hilarious
Little knots of men stood along the street – stolid Sioux Indians with wrinkled, leathery faces, ranchers, brown and squint-eyed with the sun, farmers in overalls, cowboys, and just plain hands. Nobody was very hilarious. These people are not just that way, there was an occasional drunk, waddling and grinning.
My friend had come from his quarter-section farm, 150 miles to the southeast. He was a wiry fellow, slight of build. He wore a big hat. His tanned face was unwrinkled and did not look as if it had seen 50 years, but that was his age.
“If Roosevelt’s reelected, I’ll sell out my farm.”
A blunt statement thrown into the conversation. What would be do then?
Oh, I don’t know. I’m not worrying much. I beat around for years, working with rodeos, working on ranches and farms. I never had any trouble getting a job. I might go down to old Mexico. I’ve been down there before.
What’s the trouble?
He repeated the story you hear so often. Too many regulations from Washington. He’s a cattle feeder, said he feeds about a thousand or 1,500 head a year. The cost of corn is too high, the ceiling price too low for feeders. He lost $450 this year on hiss cattle. He raises hay and soybeans. The prices have been good for them.
They don’t like ‘this rationing’
He said dolefully:
But they won’t let them go up anymore.
Folks down our way don’t like all this rationing. They could give us our gasoline and sugar. They could have just told us what we could have, without all this rationing business. We wouldn’t have hoarded. There was a ration official down our way who was just as mean as he could be, wouldn’t let anybody have anything. His house caught fire one day, and the fireman found all kinds of things hoarded away in his attic.
He was particularly irate about high wages in war plants.
And they aren’t saving a thing. Living high, buying liquor, getting drunk, it’s bad for our young folks.
He had a stern morale strain, characteristic of lots of folks in the farm country.
How bad off was he really? Not so bad when he let out the facts, gradually. He bought his farm in 1931. It had a $7,500 mortgage on it. He borrowed some from a neighbor. Later he got a loan from the Federal Land Bank. That’s nearly all paid off now.
I had a big year two years ago. I could pay off the rest now easy, but they told me it’s better to have a mortgage on if I want to sell.
He was very bitter about President Roosevelt.
“We’ve got to get rid of one-man government,” he said.
He added, as I got up to go:
And I wish if you see Dewey, you’d tell him not to let Hoover or Willkie make any speeches in this campaign. Hoover’s bad stuff among our folks. Willkie could have been elected two days after he was nominated – but he talked too much.
And that’s how it is with the folks out this way.