Blast from the past
- Thread starter Administrator
- Start date
Well thats pretty average.
Prob way out in the sticks like Palm Beach or somethin.
Oh so its a happy story! They dodged a bullet
This haunting photograph from 1936 captures a penny auction at a foreclosed farm in Michigan — one of the most defiant and ingenious acts of resistance to emerge during the Great Depression.
When banks repossessed farms after families fell behind on their mortgages, local communities often took justice into their own hands. Farmers would arrive by the dozens, sometimes hundreds, and agree beforehand to bid only pennies on each item — from livestock to land — ensuring the auction brought in virtually nothing.
The “winning bidder,” usually a trusted neighbor, would then return the property to the original family, allowing them to remain on their land. It was quiet rebellion cloaked in community solidarity — a desperate yet brilliant strategy for survival.
In the background of the photo, nooses hang from barn rafters — not as decoration, but as warning. They were meant for “squirrelly bidders,” outsiders or opportunists tempted to defy the pact and bid high. These were not empty threats. In those lean years, loyalty was sacred, and betrayal could mean ruin for everyone.
Penny auctions became a powerful symbol of rural unity and defiance. They weren’t just about saving one farm — they were about preserving dignity, family, and a way of life slipping away under economic despair.
By 1933, more than 200,000 farms had been foreclosed across the Midwest, sparking organized movements like the Farmer’s Holiday Association, which fought to halt foreclosures entirely.
In that frozen Michigan winter, a few cents and a shared promise were sometimes all that stood between a family and the loss of everything they’d ever built.
When banks repossessed farms after families fell behind on their mortgages, local communities often took justice into their own hands. Farmers would arrive by the dozens, sometimes hundreds, and agree beforehand to bid only pennies on each item — from livestock to land — ensuring the auction brought in virtually nothing.
The “winning bidder,” usually a trusted neighbor, would then return the property to the original family, allowing them to remain on their land. It was quiet rebellion cloaked in community solidarity — a desperate yet brilliant strategy for survival.
In the background of the photo, nooses hang from barn rafters — not as decoration, but as warning. They were meant for “squirrelly bidders,” outsiders or opportunists tempted to defy the pact and bid high. These were not empty threats. In those lean years, loyalty was sacred, and betrayal could mean ruin for everyone.
Penny auctions became a powerful symbol of rural unity and defiance. They weren’t just about saving one farm — they were about preserving dignity, family, and a way of life slipping away under economic despair.
By 1933, more than 200,000 farms had been foreclosed across the Midwest, sparking organized movements like the Farmer’s Holiday Association, which fought to halt foreclosures entirely.
In that frozen Michigan winter, a few cents and a shared promise were sometimes all that stood between a family and the loss of everything they’d ever built.