Evening Star Newspaper, May 21, 1933, Page 64

a2 productive years, and who otherwise would have to live either by begging or by resort to the alms house. The population of alms houses of “pub- lic homes” in New York State during 1931-32 was 14,696—not all old people, of course, But of this number 589 obtained discharges in order to qualify for an old- age pension, and are now living in their own homes on the monthly grant. Thou- sands of others, who would have been committed to public homes under the press of recent economic conditions, have been cared for instead by this more hu- manitarian method of the old-age allow- ance. The pension has enabled old couples to remain together. It has prevented homes from being broken up. It has allowed people to order their own domestic affairs with privacy and self- respect, and, above all else in their eyes, to escape the stigma of residence in the poorhouse. Its advocates claim that along with this it has saved the public money—that the cash outlay in a pen- sion is less than the per capita cost of maintaining the aged in alms houses. - Most of the States in their laws specify pension limits. Generally the maximum is $1 a day or $30 a month. The New York law sets no limit, but leaves the amount of the grant to the discretion ‘of the administrators—a plan that is also followed by the Massachusetts and Arkansas laws. In New York, when an applicant is found on investigation to be eligible for relief, a budget is drawn up according to certain standards estab~ lished by the Department of Social Wel- fare and the grant in each case is based on the individual need. Pensions as high as $40 a month have been author- ized in a few instances, but the wusual grant is less than $25 a month. During 1932 the New York old-age pension pay roll amounted to $15,450,000, half alloted from the State treasury and half from ,the county or municipal treasuries. The legislative appropria- tion for 1933 cut the State’s half-allot- ment to $6,325,000, which means that the total available for New York’s old people this year has been reduced' to $12,650,000. This curtailment of funds has necessi- tated for the current year an even more strict administration of the law—but just as strict are the orders that nobody is to suffer. Individual pensions are being adjusted to this 16 per cent cut in funds. - Thus the average grant in Janu- ary, 1932, was $24.24. By December the average had been reduced to $23.80, and by March, 1933 to $22.74. Nobody starves. But the vital story of this project in social welfare is more than a striking of averages, more than the cataloguing of “cases.” It is the composite of these individual human stories—more than 53,000 in New York State alone—each a drama that was lived. NE drama, quite In contrast with “\+"that of thé aged dancer, concerns a little old lady in Upstate New York who had been a drudge all her life, She had no brilliant moment on the stage to ‘echo in her memory—at the age of 15 'she had hired out as a servant, and that had been her life. Now, at 72, she was slow as she moved about the household ‘chores; she fumbled at her kitchen work, occasionally a dish smashed; she was #“not quite bright”—and the people who employed her felt that she was not worth her keep. The local welfare commis- ‘sioner approved the application for a pension and placed her to board with a respectable family in the village. The change had a transforming effect ‘on the little old lady. She had always been the first in the house to rise in the morning; now she stayed in bed and demanded that her breakfast be brought -up to her. When it was served on a tray, she looked it over critically. *“Is this what you serve a boarder?” she complained, and pushed one dish aside. “I'm a lady now,” she added, “and mean to get my money’s worth.” The patience of the local welfare com- missioner was sorely tried for a while, but a policy of tolerant indulgence has been rewarded. After about three months of petulant insistence on her “rights” as a lady, the spirit of this worn woman found some sort of eom- pensation for the years of repression and inferiority, and now she is a model boarder and rated one of the kindly, helpful characters of the town. There also are dramas of another type ~human tragedies that climax in shame THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MAY 21, 1983.° “After years of scrubbing floors and vther drudgery, many have found an easier lot.” Prom an etching by Prancis Dodd, courtesy of Kennedy & Co.. New York. eligibility; she was past the minimum 70, she was a citizen, had resided State more than 10 years and district more than one year. no known relatives, and was poverished, unable {0 earn a strictest ipquiry failed to show had any property or any source come other than the charity of - bors who had been supplying her The deposits totaled more than $7,000— old accounts that had not been posted . in years. - TOgunrd:gaimttbemisermdthe “chiseler,” the welfare departments have developed a system of canvassing the banks. In New York City, Frank J. Taylor, commissioner of public welfare, has inaugurated the practice of calling at once on the 13 largest savings banks —but there are scores of others, and there have been cases in which an appli- cant is accepted and begins to receive his pension before his status at the bank is discovered. An instance of this kind is the case of _an old man of 80 whose household con- sists of his wife and three children, all unemployed. The father mentioned that he had had two older sons, but as they had disappeared and had not been heard from in years, he assumed that they were dead. To support himself and family the old man had been peddling shoe laces and soliciting alms. He was granted $35 a month, beginning in Janu- ary, 1931, In June, 1932, one of the welfare agents discovered that the pensioner had a de- posit of $1,700.50 in an East Side savings bank. Then another account of $1556 was turned up, and still later a third balance of $839. The almost daily entries showed that the shoe lace peddler was banking an average of $25 a week. Soon after these discoveries were made the deposits disappeared—they had been withdrawn and the accounts closed. The pensioner, challenged as a cheater, said that the money was not his own, but his children’s, and that they had compelled him to withdraw the deposits and turn - the money over to them. About this time, too, one of the long- lost sons was found. He proved to be living in the city, was a real estate man, well dressed, well quartered in offices. ‘The money, he said, had been invested in his business. Business was bad. He was too impoverished to refund the $539 that had been paid his father in pen- sion money. Criminal prosecution of this case is now under way. Often the cheater is cleverer than this old man. Usually he hides his bank account under an assumed name—but it is hard to keep such secrets from neigh- bors, and invariably there s A Friend” or “One Who Knows Them” who writes an anonymous Jetter and tips the com= missioner off. p Altogether, out of the more than 25,000 persons in New York City who have been granted old-age relief, less than 700 persons have been found to be ineligible because of their ownership of bank funds or other means of support. Of these, all but 50 have refunded in full. Many of them made their applications in ignorance, thinking that any citisen over 70 was entitled to a place on the pay roll. Several voluntarily came in and made restitution; others refunded their grants as soon as they were told they must. Tnmxmoneoldhdywhohaddnwn $1,040 in old-age relief before the inspectors discovered that she had bank accounts totaling $46,000. She was writ- ten to, she was called on;. finally she came in and gave up the $1,040, saying, “I'm glad to get it off my mind.” In all, $220,000 has been refunded. There remain the 50 cheaters, representing some $20,000 still due for recovery, and recent legislation empowers the district attorney to prosecute such cases in the criminal courts. A vigorous campaign of prosecution is planned and the cheaters are faced with the possibility of peni- tentiary sentences. From such frauds and money-grab- bings one turns in relief to the letter recently received from an old lady up= state. For several months her 87-year« old husband has been receiving a small monthly grant. In March she wrote that circumstances now made it possible for her to support her husband and his pen- sion would no longer be needed. Inquiry disclosed that she had just come into & tiny legacy from a distant relative in England. Another instance is that of a daugh= ter who brought back to headquarters the monthly pension check that had ar- rived in the morning mail for her fathes, The old gentlemen had died at noon. In one of the smaller cities is a black- smith who refused to keep up with the motor age and found himself at 70 with no horses to shoe, no wagons and car= riages to repair, no business of any kind. A $30 monthly grant was alloted him. Recently the local welfare commissioner called at the little home adjoining the idle shop to see how the old people were faring. The wife, whose hair is almost jet black, though she is nearing 70 her« self, was all a-flutter. “Oh, I've done something terrible,” she said. “Last week was our wedding anni« versary. He has always been proud of my hair, and as a special celebration I went to the hairdresser’s and spent 50 cents having it curled.” 5 The administration ajmits a friendly, tolerance. “Our policy is to administer the law with as little rigor as possible,” said Richard Cadbury, district super- visor in New York City. “The ideéa is not to annoy the old people or their chil= dren, struggling under the strain-of un= employment, but to deal gently 'with every case and to ease the burden and lighten the shadows of the last years.” EAR Buffalo is an old riverman who built a shack for himself under & bluff on the Niagara, not far from the falls. It seemed a lonely, isolated spot for an 80-year-old to inhabit alone; his shanty might eatch fire in the night, he might fall or become ill or meet with some other accident; the welfare agent tried to persuade him to move into town. But “Naw, sir!” Uncle Jerry had built this house with his own hands, fabri- cating it of driftwood that he picked up along the river, and he proposed to live in it. There was a fire station up on the bluff. The welfare agent called there, explained his fears and asked the fire captain to see if he couldn’t persuade the old chap to move into town. ° A month passed. The agent called again. Uncle Jerry was still cheerfully, at home in his shack. The agent drop- ped in to see the firemen. “Now, see here!” boomed the fire cap- tain, “that old man’s comfortable there, and he won't be comfortable anywhere else. You let him stay, and we’ll prom= ise to keep an eye out and see that he’s snug and safe.” The captain took off his cap. “You see, I've known Uncle Jerry a long time. When I was a boy he used to tell me river stories, and—well, I want him to be contented now, and to live his own life.” At last accounts Uncle Jerry was stil _.content in his own shack, lving his own life.