The Great Depression didn’t begin with the crash of ’29. It started earlier—quietly, steadily—beneath the surface of a country convinced the good times would never end.

By the start of that year, the warning signs were there. Farmers had been struggling for years, drowning in debt and falling prices. Coal miners were out of work or watching their wages shrink. Some industries were booming, others barely holding on. But the headlines focused on the stock market’s highs, not the growing number of people left behind.

October 29, 1929—Black Tuesday—the market collapsed. Fourteen billion dollars vanished in a single day. But the deeper blow wasn’t just economic. It was personal. Americans lost faith—in Wall Street, in Washington, in the system they thought was working for them. And when that trust breaks down, something deeper goes with it.

The Depression wasn’t just a financial crisis. It was a test of who we were and what kind of country we were willing to be.

That test wasn’t only for presidents or bankers. It was for everyone. And in quiet, everyday ways, Americans responded. Families took in relatives. Neighbors shared what little they had. Communities pulled together. Small acts of decency carried people through.

Franklin Roosevelt understood that spirit. He saw that the strength of the country didn’t come from institutions—it came from people. He didn’t show up with all the answers. What he brought was belief. Not just in government, but in Americans themselves.

In his first inaugural, Roosevelt said it plainly: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” He understood that fear can be more dangerous than the crisis itself.

Roosevelt wasn’t selling a slogan. He was summoning the courage within each of us. He was reminding the American people that they weren’t powerless—and that they weren’t alone.

Roosevelt knew policy mattered—he pushed bold reforms that changed lives. But he also knew that trust matters more. People had to believe their government stood with them in the hard times. And that belief had to be earned.

Through his fireside chats, Roosevelt spoke plainly. He listened. He reassured. He told the truth—even when it was hard. That’s how trust gets rebuilt.

What Roosevelt gave the country wasn’t just programs or relief. He gave people a reason to believe again—in each other, in their country, in the future.

Today, we’re facing a crisis of a different kind—a crisis of confidence. Too many Americans don’t trust the institutions that were built to serve them. They don’t see themselves in their leaders. They don’t hear the truth.

That’s why Roosevelt matters now. Not just as a president, but as an example of what leadership can be. Honest. Decent. Principled.

In the end, his greatest strength wasn’t charisma—it was character. He didn’t just help rebuild an economy. He helped restore faith.

And that’s something we still need.