The Dionne Quintuplets

As the Depression of 2008 deepens we survivors of the Depression of 1929 are being encouraged to recount our stories.

I was born in 1932 to an “older” couple whose fortunes were slipping away along with the rest of the country’s.

My parents had met at a Yoga Colony in Nyack New York. The members still made up a group large enough to exert some influence in the Village.

The Nyack Drug Store held a raffle to stimulate business. The prize was a set of Dionne Quintuplet Dolls. Each purchase entitled the patron to one vote. Someone at the Clarkstown Country Club, the yoga colony, organized on my behalf. I think I must have been around three or four years old. I remember seeing the dolls lined up in the store window.

Time passed and like “abra-ka-dabra” the dolls appeared at my house. It all seemed very confusing. I tried to decode what had happened. My mother was my interpreter. As I stared at the five baby dolls all identically dressed I felt very confused. This was a “good” thing, a “special” thing. The bottom line was that I couldn’t figure out how to play with 5 baby dolls at once. I looked at their identical faces, learned their names, tried undressing and dressing them. Then what?

My mother may have sensed my dilemma. She hit on a political solution.

“There are a lot of little girls who don’t have a doll. You have five. I think you should give some to children who have none.”

I remember asking if I had a choice. I had a feeling that five was an important and significant number.

The decision had been made. Two dollies disappeared and I was left with the Dionne Triplets. They seemed less appealing and I think I stopped playing with them.

The depression continued on its downward path and my parents lost their house in 1938. They couldn’t pay even the reduced mortgage they had refinanced with the Federal Housing Authority. Our little family began the series of moves that scattered toys and other possessions leaving them behind in unremembered corners. Only my doll, Sessa and Johnny Bear managed to stick with us. Johnny Bear was the most persistent. I think my mother loved him even more that I did. He is still with me.