August 16, 1934

The dust storm didn’t let up until the next morning, but Pop had the buggy hitched as soon as he finished the chores. Mom coughed and coughed, so Pop wanted me to come along. I could help her while Pop talked to the doctor.

At O’Neill’s office, Mom managed to stop coughing long enough for Doc to listen to her lungs, but I suspect she was holding her breath all the time. He checked her nose and ears. Looked at her throat. His expression never changed. I didn’t know how worried I should be.

“Well,” he said when he was done. “Claire, I’m worried about the congestion in your lungs. I’ll bet all the coughing is wearing you out.”

Mom nodded, still coughing hard.

“But it’s good for you to cough out as much of that dust as you can. We don’t want this to turn into pneumonia.”

Pop’s face was screwing up into a worried mask.

Doc turned to Pop. “You need to take this very seriously. People mostly have respiratory symptoms, but this stuff can impair the circulation, and the nerves. It messes with digestion, kidneys and liver.”

He glanced at Pop, resting a comforting hand on Mom’s shoulder.

“That’s the bad news, and it’s not to that point yet. There are some things we can do to keep it from getting there.”

“What?” Pop asked. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Have you heard of glass cloth?”

“We use it on the outside of the windows in the winter.”

“Now I want you to use it to cover the windows on the inside. Cut it larger than the window frames and tape it, don’t tack it, all the way around that frame so the dust can’t filter in. You want to seal those windows.”

I could barely hear the doctor for Mom’s coughing.

“Pop, I’m taking Mom to the car so you can get Doc’s directions.”

I partially supported Mom as we walked out through the waiting room and Mom coughed and coughed. Pop came out in a few minutes with a syrup that he measured in the lid and offered it to Mom right away.

“I’m not sure that’s the exact dosage, but maybe it’ll give you some relief on the way home,” he said.

Mom sort of panted, holding her breath when she swallowed, then burst out coughing again.

“What did he say, Pop?”

“You heard about the glass cloth?”

I nodded.

“Claire, can you stand it in the car for a little while so I can get the stuff we need?”

Mom nodded.

“We’ll go to Chicago Lumber and get some of that glass cloth. Then we’ll go to the Mercantile for some cheesecloth.”

“Cheesecloth?”

“To make masks.”

“Masks! She already can’t breathe. Now we’re gonna put something over her face!”

“Yeah. Seems a little strange to me, too. But Doc says it’s helping a lot of his patients. He says we can’t stop the dust . . .”

“Huh!” I said.

“We can’t stop the dust from blowing, but maybe we can keep it from making us sick. The masks will filter it out of the air.”

So we went over to the lumber yard and the mercantile and, by the time we started for home, Mom’s coughing had let up a little bit.