YOUR MAMA WEARS ARMY BOOTS

One of the common calls on the playground, in somebody's yard, basement, or the neighborhood lot where we played baseball (and mind you, we played without uniforms, hats, any kind of defined bases, often without mitts, and more often with a beat up wooden bat and a ball that had been chewed by Bowser, the next door neighbor's German Shepherd) was the call out for any game we played as to who would be "first": I'm first! No, I'M FIRST! Hey, I called first, first!! Aw, who cares? Your Mama wears combat boots!

But believe it or not, children were not (and still are not) the only humans that have a hungry need to be first. In the 1950s, post-war America was cranking out hundreds of new products for its citizens to buy with their hard-earned money and since GIs were going back to work and money was being made hand-over-fist, people were anxious to try out the many new gadgets and products being advertised. This was also the beginning of the golden age of advertising and the birth of the era of the mad men. It commenced a contest in suburban neighborhoods across the country unlike anything ever seen before. Who would have the first brand new automobile in the driveway? Which kid would get to be most popular because his family was the first to put a television in the living room? What wife got to strut leisurely down the street because her brand new, automatic washing machine relieved her from the drudgery of the wringer washer?

It was crazy out there! Just think of how many ways you could impress your neighbors! Dishwashers, blenders, toasters, waffle irons, electric mixers, vacuum sweepers, electric shavers, nylon stockings, automatic sewing machines, transistor radios, and even tv dinners with those classy fold-up tv tray sets tucked away in their own little stands. When the interstate highway system began in 1956 road trip travel became all the rage, and motels and fast food eateries sprouted up like mushrooms. Everybody wanted to jump on that consumerism band wagon and anybody who had an ego busted butt to be "first" to access whatever innovation hit the market.

"Keeping up with the Joneses": We, of course, are well aware that no one today spends their time, money, or energy in the conquest of material objects to impress other people. The shiny new Lexus in the driveway, the five million Christmas lights strung on every inch of the house, the gigantic signs posted at the entrance of a neighborhood announcing which $500 thousand dollar per semester university their child will be attending in the fall, the backyard swimming pool that's never used, the $3 thousand dollars worth of baseball, football, soccer or other sports equipment for your eight-year-old future Tom Brady, the thousand dollar iPhone, Apple watch, and on and on . . . and of course, all posted on social media somewhere. Rather than shrugging your shoulders in a 1950s half apology of aw shucks, been saving up for months to buy this to avoid "showing off" too much as my mother used to say, today we avoid such phony humble pie behavior and instead strut around the front yard or driveway, hoping someone will notice the $400 high-density polyethylene skeleton you bought from Home Depot that is still standing in your front yard in March wearing a St. Patrick's Day hat with a sparkly green shamrock on it while your neighbors frantically plant 100 American flags across their lawns and erect neon, flashing red, white, and blue flags in their front windows in preparation for the 4th of July. Nah, that silly humble pie behavior is no longer a part of our mentality. Besides, who saves money anymore? And we feel like strutting and bragging! Well, aren't we just being honest about who we are? And we make no apologies for failing to learn to write complete sentences or read books longer than 50 pages. Who does that anymore? Because, by God, we're busy posting our ever important opinions about absolutely nothing on Facebook, Twitter, or X . . . or was it Y? Z? Musk is keeping it simple because we're also too busy memorizing hundreds of passwords which make it impossible to remember the names of anything, including our children.

History reminds us that keeping up with our neighbors is hardly new. The phrase "keeping up with the Joneses" was coined in a 1910 comic strip and was widely used in the 1950s as a way of describing people who felt socially inferior. But "keeping up" was not restricted to America's middle class. The super wealthy of the Gilded Age (1870 - 1910) did not hesitate to flaunt their newly made money to impress New York's "old monied" families who continued to shun them no matter how hard they tried. But the new monied folks kept trying. A contest ensued between the 19th century billionaires to see who could build the most lavish mansion (or "cottage" as they liked to call it) in Newport, Rhode Island's summer playground. The Breakers built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II is considered to be the grandest of all the mansions of that era. Designed by Richard Morris Hunt, it has 70 rooms and a 45-foot ceiling in its grand hall, all for Vanderbilt's family of nine. Cornelius built The Breakers a few years after his brother had finished construction on The Marble House, also designed by Hunt and fashioned after Versailles. Eleven historic Gilded Age mansions still stand in testament to this kind of great American competitive spirit, the very same spirit that lives on in many of our lovely gated communities and suburban neighborhoods even today, even if on a much smaller scale. However, I'm not writing this entry to analyze why we engage in this type of behavior, assuming it is age-old and very human behavior. Rather, I want to tell the story of how my own little family in St. Louis, Missouri joined in the fray. We were the first in our neighborhood to have:

Air conditioning - albeit not central - window units were installed at the beginning of each summer then removed in the fall for the advent of winter weather. I do believe this had less to do with my family's competitive spirit and more to do with my mother's complete intolerance for the heat. And St. Louis summers could be miserably hot and humid.

Television - Saturday mornings often saw not only me, my brother, and baby sister in front of our black and white set, but my three cousins who lived across the street and as many of the neighborhood kids as my mom would allow into the house, sitting cross-legged and mesmerized in front of the only television set in the neighborhood, watching something cerebral like The Howdy Doody Show.

A poured concrete patio - It was dull green in color and was rather large, providing enough room for a large plastic above-ground pool, outdoor table and chairs, and a grill. Having a patio behind the house was a big deal then.

And the grill! - No, it wasn't a $600 stainless steel, gas Weber grill. Dad built ours from bricks similar to the one in the photo below. And he used "charcoal" for that nice smoky, carcinogen flavor. And no, no one really sat around the grill in a white dress with a full skirt and heels. Especially my mother - she was too hot so she wore shorts, a halter top, and stuck her feet in the plastic pool's water.

Yearly vacations - The operative word here is "yearly." In the 50s, not many people took any vacation at all, and those that did, might take one every few years. My best friend in high school went to California one summer and that was the only vacation I knew of that she had ever taken with her family. So, my father loading us up in the car every summer and driving a thousand miles from St. Louis to Tampa, Florida was a pretty big deal. Mom sewed our summer outfits, we went with very little money, there was no air conditioning in the car (it was July) and in the early years, our overnight stays were divided between my three sets of aunts and uncles who had moved to Florida, seeking the Promised Land. They were as poor as church mice too and we ate a lot of black beans and rice, hamburgers, and cheap pork steaks cooked on a grill. But by God, there was cold beer and everyone seemed to have a hell of a good time!

A spanking brand new 1956 baby-blue and cream Bel-Air Chevy in the driveway - My father was so excited and proud of that car and I do think he might have showed off a little with that one.

Bell and Howell 252 8 mm home movie camera - I wish I had the reels of film from that camera, if only to once again watch my Mom step gingerly around a palm tree and pat its fronds like it was a dog because she had no idea what to do while Dad filmed her. We laughed for years about her "movie debut."

Perhaps accumulating material things back in the 1950s and 60s seemed so much fun because everything felt so new and full of promise. The Great Depression and World War II were over, and even though things were far from perfect, the respite from hunger and poverty, from war and death, filled our dreams with possibility. I am confident possibility is still within our reach. Perhaps all we need to do is take the time to put away our wallets, turn off our computers, and hit the road with the windows rolled down and our phones in the glove compartment. In the 1950s at the end of each of her television shows, singer Dinah Shore used to sing: See the USA in your Chevrolet . . . and I still feel a sense of anticipation and excitement about hitting the road, when my husband and I plan a road trip. Packing up, planning the route, finding wonders to visit, man made or natural. My beautiful daughter-in-law used to say: I may wander but I'm never lost. Indeed, my darling girl; no matter where you are now, I hope your wandering is incomparable. She truly understood that there is simply nothing we can accumulate that can compare to exploring the world, the universe, or life. As Shakespeare's Coriolanus reminds us: There's a world elsewhere.