My grandfather was a child of the Depression and he often told me stories about growing up in Baltimore – I especially appreciated the one where he and his friend chased the ice truck barefoot through the city streets. They wound up at the library, and when they inquired about checking out books, the librarian skeptically looked down at their dirty feet and said they’d have to go home, clean up, and get their mother to fill out a form. My grandfather did it; his friend didn’t. 

I loved this story for two reasons: one, because the notion of chasing an ice truck barefoot through the city was so foreign to the childhood I knew, and two, because the idea of my grandfather being the one to clean up and return to the library wasn’t. It reflected his character and I could identify with him through it.

I never wanted to lose his wonderful stories, so I recorded him telling them. And I want to do the same for you.