Richard Russell continues:

“I include a daily chart of GDOW below. You can see that GDOW has formed a pattern that is a potential head & shoulders formation. The base and the support for the formation come in at a value of 1700. This formation tells us where the world manufacturing and production stands, just as the Dow Industrials tells us where US manufacturing stands.

I intend to keep my subscribers abreast of the action of the important GDOW. Let me put it this way. As long as GDOW holds above 1700, we can rest assured that the world is all right. But if GDOW breaks below 1700, my instinct is to ‘run for the hills.’ We live in an international world today. All nations are now connected closely in a way that they have never been before in history.

This makes GDOW maybe the most important single index ever conceived by man. For this reason, I'll monitor it, and let my subscribers know just what is happening to GDOW. I might add that I don't like the fact that GDOW is in a potential head & shoulders formation. But when I say "Potential" it means that it has not happened yet.”

Russell also wrote about living through the Great Depression:  “I'm walking down Broadway with my collar turned up around my frozen ears. It's a hellish winter morning during January of the year 1939. Manhattan is beset by a blustering, freezing wind. I'm strolling down the west side of the avenue -- Broadway, past Jack Dempsey's, past the record shop, past Lindy's, past the spaghetti and meatball joint, past the Automat, past -- wait, I duck down stairs into the Automat.

I've still got three nickels in my pocket, and I'm freezing my ass off. I walk up to the hot chocolate booth, and I drop a nickel into the slot. I yank the handle down and a stream of steaming hot chocolate fills my cup. A scraggly-looking bearded old guy walks up to me and groans, "Hey, young fellah, can you spare a coppla nickels? I've got a case of walking pneumonia, and I gotta stay warm." I shake my head, no, and shuffle off to sit at an empty table. Next to me is another empty table.

There's a plate on the table with what looks like a half-eaten sausage on it. A few seconds later another old guy wearing a French beret hat sits down at that table. He's got a fork in his hand. He scarfs the sausage down, looks at me and winks as if nothing has happened.

I nod to the old guy. I've got a job designing and selling piece goods. So I feel entitled to goof off at the Automat and have a cup of chocolate. And so far today, no luck -- not one lousy sale. I had a job with the George W. Button Co. up near Harlem but they laid most of us off when things got slow. It was a union job paying $18.75 a week, six days a week including Saturdays. My job was loading trucks with Max Factor women's cosmetics and the cases were heavy as the devil.

Now I'm a salesman and proud as hell to have a real job. As I'm walking, I pass an employment agency, and there's a long line of grizzled men, hands tucked into their overcoats, all waiting outside the agency. Most are stamping their feet to keep warm. They're hoping that maybe some kind of work comes up. I feel kind of guilty because I'm young, and I have a job.

I cut over across Fifth Avenue towards the west side and head into frozen Central Park. I'm going to look up a few friends from the West Side.  Cutting across the sheep meadow I see all the "Hoovervilles," little huts made of crushed cardboard boxes and flattened tin cans -- all taped or stapled together. Kids and their moms are peering out from the make-shift doors of the huts. I wonder how they all keep warm, because the cops don't let the squatters light fires.

I cross 84th Street, Central Park West, Columbus Avenue. A shivering lady beckons to me. "C'mere sunny, I want to show you something." I say a bashful "No thanks" and keep walking. I pass a bleary-eyed guy selling apples on the corner. He's holding a hand-painted sign, "Help a vet. 10 cents for an apple." I look away.

"Hey, Russ," calls Wayne, "I know this chick who can get us in the side door of the Paramount. Tommy Dorsey's playing with Sinatra. Want to go?" I shrug my shoulders and say "Sure, I can't sell anything worth a damn any way." And we're off to the Paramount. We skip the box office. Seventy cents admission before 12 o'clock, and that includes a new movie and the floor show. But we don't pay.

... Leaving the theater I trip over some guy. Wouldn't you know it, he turns out to be a cop. He's sitting there with two of his buddies. The cop mutters, "Watch your step, hookie-boy." The cops often duck into theaters when it's cold. And, of course, they never pay -- even for the popcorn. It's the Depression, and everybody is looking for something, anything, for nothing.

Well, I could go on for 100 more pages about life during the Great Depression, but I hope this gives you some sense of what it was like for teenagers to grow up and survive during the Great Depression. Yeah, and in this piece I told you mostly about the fun part of it. If you were older with a family believe me, it wasn't that much fun.”

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Eric King

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