MILLCREEK — The soft knocks on the front door came at all hours, but mostly around mealtime.

Maurine McDonald and her stepmother, Bertha, never hesitated to answer the door, grateful that they were on the other side of the stoop with a fresh batch of bread baking in their warm kitchen.

In 1932, the word was out among hungry hobos who hopped off the train in Salt Lake City's rail yards: The family in the bungalow at 371 North and 200 West never turned anybody away. You could always count on a slice or two of bread, smothered in strawberry jam.

Today, Maurine, now 94, sits down in the dining room at the Wellington Senior Residence with her neighbor, Louise Calder, 99, and looks surprised at the large ham and cheese sandwich on her plate.

"My, how wonderful this looks," she says, smoothing a linen napkin over her lap. "This is enough for two people. During the Depression, lots of people would have been very happy to have a sandwich like this, no question about that."

Louise looks across the table and smiles. "And a lot of people would have been happy to share it," she says. "Even those barely getting by would give what they could. We all helped each other. That's how we got through."

With 193 years of experience between them, Louise and Maurine know a thing or two about making it through the trials of life. Hoping to share some of what they've picked up over the past century now that they're in their sunset years, they wanted to join me for a Free Lunch of "something simple, nothing fancy — just a sandwich, like we're used to."

In 1929, Louise was newly married and living near her family's farm in Garden City, in Utah's Rich County, when the stock market crashed, stealing the dreams of millions. Maurine was just entering her teen years, grateful to have a nice outfit for school, along with a dress for Sunday.

"We didn't know we were poor," she says, "because everybody else was in the same boat. My dad worked for the railroad and he felt bad for the unemployed men who would jump off the boxcars, looking for work and something to eat. A lot of those men ended up at our house."

In Cache County, Louise and her new husband moved into a two-room apartment, hauling their own drinking water and milking a cow so they'd always have a fresh supply of milk, butter and cheese.

"I helped my dad out on his farm, so we always had fruit and vegetables," recalls Louise, "and my husband was allowed to work one day a week on government projects, like building fences. It wasn't an easy life, but we got by." With no money for new clothes, Louise wore overalls every day, "but that was fine by me. I don't think hard work hurt me one bit."