Many of the original New Deal programs required heavy manual

“Many of the original New Deal programs required heavy manual labor. WPA workers built hundreds of schools, health clinics, roads, park facilities, and community centers. Much of what we now call our ‘infrastructure’ — highways, buildings, power plants, etc. — is here thanks to thousands of WPA workers.” – Kathi Appelt

In these reverent and instructive words, Kathi Appelt, the storyteller of America’s heartland, speaks of a time when work itself became a form of salvation. She calls upon the memory of the New Deal and the WPA — the Works Progress Administration — born in the shadow of the Great Depression. Her words honor not only policy, but people — the millions of men and women who lifted a broken nation with the strength of their hands and the sweat of their labor. Appelt reminds us that what we now take for granted — the roads beneath our feet, the schools that educate our children, the clinics that heal the sick — were not conjured by wealth or convenience, but built through sacrifice, unity, and the indomitable will of the common citizen.

The WPA was not merely a jobs program; it was a resurrection. When the land was barren with despair, when families starved and spirits waned, the people did not wait for miracles from the heavens — they built them with their own hands. The men who once stood idle in breadlines took up shovels, hammers, and trowels. They laid roads that bound cities together, raised bridges that defied rivers, and constructed schools that gave hope to children yet unborn. Their labor became a hymn to endurance, their creation a legacy that still breathes through every brick and beam of the nation’s infrastructure.

The ancients, too, revered builders as heroes. The Egyptians raised pyramids not only as tombs, but as testaments to human will. The Romans forged their empire through roads and aqueducts, works so enduring that some still stand today. Likewise, the WPA workers of America carried forth this sacred tradition — the belief that labor is divine, that through creation, a people can restore both their land and their dignity. In their toil, they became artisans of recovery, turning hardship into heritage. The monuments they left behind are not carved in marble, but in the everyday structures that sustain our lives: schools, clinics, parks, and power lines.

Consider the story of a man named Elijah Williams, one of the countless WPA workers whose names are lost to history. Once a miner in West Virginia, Elijah found himself unemployed, his family facing hunger as the mines closed and the banks failed. When the WPA came to his town, he joined the crew that would carve a new road through the Appalachian hills. Day after day, he labored under the sun, pickaxe in hand, cutting through rock and clay. When the road was finished, it linked his forgotten town to trade and opportunity once more. Elijah did not build for glory — he built for survival, for his children, for his country. Through such lives, the soul of a nation was renewed.

Appelt’s words echo with reverence for those nameless heroes. She reminds us that the infrastructure of a nation is not just steel and concrete — it is the embodiment of shared purpose. Every building and road tells a story of hands that worked not for profit, but for progress. The WPA stands as a symbol of what can be achieved when governments empower the people not with charity, but with purpose — when they choose to invest in human dignity rather than abandon it. In those years, America learned that to build together is to heal together.

And yet, her words are not merely remembrance — they are warning. For she speaks to a generation that enjoys the fruits of that labor without understanding its cost. We drive upon highways built by the weary, learn in schools raised by the hopeful, and walk in parks once born from hardship. To forget this lineage is to forget the power of unity and the nobility of labor. As Appelt suggests, the health of a nation lies not only in its wealth, but in its willingness to work for the common good. The New Deal was more than a policy — it was a covenant between leadership and people, forged in the crucible of crisis.

Therefore, children of the future, learn this lesson well: to build is to believe. When darkness falls upon your age — whether through poverty, division, or despair — do not yield to hopelessness. Remember the spirit of the WPA workers, who turned dust into destiny. Work not only for yourself, but for your neighbor; create not only for profit, but for posterity. Let your hands be instruments of renewal, your labor a song of unity. For every bridge you raise, every community you strengthen, every act of honest work you perform, you carry forward the legacy of those who built before you.

And so let Kathi Appelt’s words endure as both tribute and teaching: that the foundations of our world were laid by ordinary people whose labor became extraordinary through purpose. Honor them not only by remembering, but by continuing their work — building, repairing, and creating, with courage and compassion. For as the ancients taught and the WPA proved: when a people labor together, they do more than shape the land — they shape the soul of civilization itself.