When I was very young, because of the death of my father, my mother, brother and myself were very poor. My grandfather had made a deal with the bank (they did that back then) so we could stay in our house until my mother was able to get her life together and earn money. Still, although we had a nice, small house, we lived in poverty for a long time. I remember driving in our old, smelly (the upholstery was molding) Plymouth to the Fairfax district where my uncle worked in a butcher shop. I believe he probably gave us food for free or at a deep discount. I always hoped to get a piece of spicy, smoked meat known as a "schtickle for a nickle." For me that was a great treat. My "new" clothes