Depression, Saltines, and I

I was fascinated with his "nicotine-stained" fingers -- that's what everyone called them then, even though the chemical is colorless -- as he plucked saltines one by one from the box and crumbled them into the soup. Campbell's Chicken Gumbo, Beef Noodle, or Cream of Anything, made no difference, in they went. "Thickening," he said, and of course Dad was right, because after he stirred it, the mingy housewife shortcut became something a man might want, a solid stew, a filling meal. Yet his stained fingers treated the crackers with a delicacy … [Read more...]