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A Walking Advertisement

Michael Ceraolo

The depression of ‘93
hit us hard, Ole and me
(my name is Helga Estby),
and
it was still going on in ‘96:
even if work had been plentiful
Ole’s injuries would have kept him
from taking much of it
We had to take out mortgages
just to feed the children,
and
we were behind on those mortgages
as well as being delinquent on taxes
Foreclosure was staring at us;
something had to be done to turn it away,
and I would have to be the one to do it

In early ‘96 I heard of a chance
to make a staggering sum of money
that would solve our financial problems:
ten thousand dollars was awaiting anyone
who could walk across the country in seven months
A sponsor from the East
(I think a clothing manufacturer;
one of the many stipulations in the contract
was that we would wear less restrictive clothing)
wanted to prove that a woman
was physically capable of such a feat
Having helped Ole on our farm,
I knew I was capable of such a feat;
I didn’t think I was the only one,
so
I asked my daughter Clara to accompany me

“We are just going for pleasure
and to make some money”
(the more important of those two)
Despite
being discouraged from going
“We have made up our minds
as well as all arrangements”
and
we set out on May 5th at 12:19 PM

We weren’t allowed to bring much money,
which
meant we would have to work
or find some other way to raise money
to pay for food and occasional lodging
We eventually hit upon having our pictures taken
and then selling the photographs
in the various towns along the way

We were not allowed to pay
for any rides along the way,
though
we could accept rides if they were given to us

When we got to Salt Lake City
we changed into what were called “bicycle skirts”,
clothing that was a few inches off the ankle

We would sleep in railroad depots,
or private homes if they were offered;
we slept very few days under the stars

We got signatures from dignitaries
in towns along the way as proof of our visit

We encountered Indians
We encountered others who wanted to harm us,
but we carried a gun as well as
a pepper-spray device,
so
we remained unscathed
Clara did injure her ankle,
which
put us on the shelf for a few weeks

I took notes for a possible book about the journey

We met both McKinley and Bryan

We made it to New York on December 23rd,
but the woman who made the wager
(we never found out her name)
reneged,
and, worse than that, wouldn’t even
pay train fare for us to get home

We eventually did make it home many months later,
having missed the death of my daughter Bertha

The promised book contract never appeared,
the story just family lore for a century

And we lost the farm a few years later

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