52 Ancestors: Room at the Inn - Estelle (Conner) Riddle Casey 1929-2016
We never knew what Grandma Estelle looked like as a little girl. Her family was so poor that photos were an unthinkable luxury in those early years. But then I discovered something remarkable - a photograph taken at one of the most difficult moments in her childhood, preserved by the very people who stepped in to help her family when they needed it most.
It took me a long time to figure out the orphanage that Grandma was talking about in her interview because she couldn't remember the name of the place, but when I finally figured out the orphanage that I thought it might be, I called to ask them if they had any information on Grandma and her siblings. I think the lovely lady on the other end of the phone was more excited that I had called than I was! I was hoping for just some information; what she sent me was an entire package that included their records, the photo above, and even a video that was made of the kids playing in front of that shack. A video from 1940! Can you imagine, after resigning to the fact that I would never see her face as a child, I not only get a photo, but a video too!
The photo shows Estelle standing with her siblings in front of their home in Amarillo, taken in 1940 when she was almost eleven. "Home" is perhaps too generous a word for the shack they lived in, tucked away down an alley strewn with garbage and old tin cans. But there she stands, my grandmother, with a quiet strength in her young face that I recognize from the woman I knew and loved.
Yes, I still call her Grandma, even though she was my husband's grandmother. She was still my grandma, too. She had lived a hard life, and as a result, she was an opinionated woman. She didn't hesitate to speak her mind, but the next second had a hug and a kiss for you.
When I asked Grandma about living through the Great Depression, she gave me an answer I'll never forget. "Honey," she said, "I didn't really know we were in a Depression because we were so poor; that was just normal life to me." That was my grandmother - no self-pity, just stating facts as she saw them.
The spring of 1940 brought heartbreak upon heartbreak for their family. First, they lost baby Geneva on March 11, and then just four days later, their mother, Flora Mae, passed away. My great-grandfather Ernest, who already struggled to find steady work because of his poor eyesight, was left alone to care for four children. Their grandmother Laura tried to help, but her own health was too poor to manage it.
That's when E.R. Carver, a deacon from Central Church of Christ, discovered their situation and reached out to Tipton Orphans Home. Brother Chitwood came from Tipton to assess their needs, and that's when he took this precious photograph. The image was published in the orphanage newsletter with the headline "HOW MUCH LONGER?" - a call for help that didn't go unanswered.
On June 19, 1940, Grandma and her siblings found refuge at Tipton. You know what amazes me? When she talked about her time there, it was always with fondness. She even told me once that she sometimes wondered if her life might have been different - maybe better - if she'd stayed there longer because of the educational opportunities she would have had. But after almost two years, on May 17, 1942, my great-grandfather had gotten back on his feet enough to bring his children home to a new place on 13th Street in Amarillo.
Life didn't suddenly become easy—far from it. The family moved around, following farm work through Arizona and southern California, often living in tents. At just fifteen, Grandma married my grandfather, Samuel Clifton Riddle, in Maricopa, Arizona. Together, they had nine children and built their lives in Modesto, California.
I was blessed to have my grandmother until 2016 when she passed away at 87. Looking at this photograph now, I see more than just a historical record of hard times. I see my grandmother - resilient even as a child, standing tall despite everything. This image, discovered in the orphanage archives, is more precious to me than I can express. It shows me a side of my grandmother I never knew firsthand but somehow always sensed: that core of strength that carried her through poverty, loss, and hardship, the same strength I saw in her every day of her life.
When I look at her face in this photo, I can almost hear her telling me stories about those days, not with bitterness but with the matter-of-fact wisdom she always had. This isn't just my favorite photo—it's a gift that helps me understand where my husband's family came from and the remarkable woman who helped make him who he is today.
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