The Fifties
It is fashionable for boomers to claim they are a “child of the 60’s”, a trigger for whatever stereotypes you happen to hold on that tempestuous time. And, although I qualify as a boomer, I identify more closely with the 50’s, the decade when my value system was formed. Read David Halberstam’s “The Fifties” and you would be convinced that decade was filled with constant turmoil and anxiety: Korean War, McCarthy hearings, Polio epidemic, Cold War, Suez Crisis, Hungarian Revolution, Little Rock, Sputnik, H-Bomb, Elvis. But for me, the 50’s were idyllic, and I was blissfully unaware of a world outside of Pope County, except for what I read in the Weekly Reader and the Minneapolis Star Sunday Peach Section.
Nowadays, large Midwestern cities are home to multitudes of small town migrants. Those of us who grew up in small town America in the fifties and eventually wound up in big cities, have an enduring longing for the now distant innocence of that time. Our parents had come of age in the Great Depression, faced and conquered Hitler and the Japanese Empire, and through those experiences - perhaps in spite of them - brought a resolve that would build thriving small towns all across the nation.
Post-World War II Middle Americans had just experienced first-hand the power of a nation mobilizing and of being an essential part of that whole. The American “can-do” attitude was alive and well. Add the not insignificant advantage of an intact and roaring industrial base and workforce ready to convert to peacetime production, and you have a formula for boom times. The country had come out of its isolationist past and emerged as the world power. There was a clear expectation that America would produce a better world. And underlying it all, was an unspoken determination that their children would have it better than they. And although accumulation of wealth was not a prime focus, there was an inherent belief in a correlation between prosperity and personal character. God would reward the just and punish the wicked.
The World War II generation arrived home with the sense of joy to have survived, pride of accomplishment, but also a sense of time lost. It was time to get on with life. The focus was on family, church and community while never questioning the inherent goodness of their country. Our parents provided a breeding ground, literally and figuratively, for vibrant and thriving communities. They embodied the ethic of hard work, personal sacrifice and a willingness, if not a calling, to work together. Pride and patriotism were real and the flag was not yet a co-opted symbol. Rather, their flag was sacred, a symbol of the sacrifices made by the generations of men and women like them and its raising brought unembarrassed tears to their eyes.
Throw my grandparent’s generation into the mix - survivors of the Great War and the Great Depression and you have the ingredients for a culture of amazing resiliency and a will to succeed. It was an alignment of circumstances and actors never before seen in US history.
The boomer generation had the greatest opportunities in world history presented to us on a platter. Good homes, two-parent households, caring extended families, unprecedented education opportunities, peace and prosperity. But I would submit that the boomer generation ranks on par with the US presidents of the 1840’s: Tyler, Polk, Fillmore. Great promise, small return.
Perhaps affluence and easy life deprived us of a needed character building struggle. Perhaps Captain Kangaroo and Howdy Doody warped our developing minds. Maybe Dr. Spock is to blame. Perhaps assassinations and Vietnam that shook our faith and seeded cynicism into our souls. Or perhaps, it was just the fate of following the “greatest generation”. As an unknown sage mused, “The first generation - my grandparents - establishes the groundwork, the second - my parents - builds it to success, and the third - umm - pisses it away.” Whatever the cause, my generation followed Peter, Paul & Mary from “I’ve Got a Hammer” and “Blowin in the Wind” to “El Salvador” and “The Great Mandella”.
This series of episodes to follow will be an unapologetic nostalgic trip back to 1957 through the eyes of a 10-year-old boy. It is a quest to rediscover that optimism and revisit that distant innocence.
Some names and places will be changed to protect the innocent and the guilty and content errors are mea culpa. All opinions expressed herein are entirely my own.
Did you note the juxtaposition of Flip Wilson, Milton Berle & J Edgar Hoover in the youtube slideshow
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ReplyDeleteYou're sharing a different world from mine in the 1950's in an industrial city in northern England. Housing was in short supply: my first home, in 1951, was prefabricated, shipped from the USA. I still have my ration book.
ReplyDeleteWe looked in awe at the USA. My mother would sing "The Yanks are Coming" and talk with gratitude about America's participation in WW2. My dad subscribed to National Geographic: I remember the 1950's advertisements for Sanka coffee and Zenith color televisions. Caffeine, apparently, was not a problem in the UK and, as for color TV , that didn't come until the late sixties when a third TV channel was rolled out. We didn't have a TV until 1964.
I had an old vacuum tube radio in my bedroom, and would listen to radio stations from around Europe, including Voice of America and American Forces Network. I found the advertising amusing and strange--there was no commercial radio in the UK at that time.
I had a good childhood, but I suspect your's was more idyllic, and I celebrate that, and look forward to reading about it. When I was ten, I knew I was gay, but mercifully had the sense to know I could not talk about that to anyone. Instead I focused on a bunch of interests, and that has served me well.