A Nostalgic Trip Back To The Golden 50's

The age odometer on the dashboard of my life clicked to 77 in June. When you've clocked that many years, it's natural to peer into life's rearview mirror.  As people of a certain age understand, you are prone to experience waves of nostalgia even as you appreciate today's advantages.

The year I was born, 1946, marked the starting point of the largest baby boom in U.S. history.  In a 19-year stretch from 1946 to 1964, more than 76 million births were recorded.  Population data estimates there are 65 million boomers still celebrating birthdays. Congratulations if you're in that exclusive club.

My earliest memories, although somewhat hazy, go back to 1950.  My parents and my oldest sister Charlene were living in a two-bedroom home in Jennings, Louisiana, population 9,663.  America's small towns were its beating heart. Only five cities topped 1 million in population. 

I have no idea what our two bedroom home cost, but the average home in 1950 sold for $23,450.  That was a princely sum, considering average annual wages were $8,450.  My Dad purchased our first new car, a Ford, in the 50's. Cars sold for an average of $1,510.  Gas cost 18 cents a gallon and a station attendant pumped your gas.

When Mom shopped for food, the price she paid for groceries would shock today's younger generations. The average cost of a loaf of bread was 12 cents. A pound of hamburger meat was 30 cents.  The average American family spent about $800 on food... in an entire year.  

The buying power of $1 in 1950 would equate to $12.66 today.  Do the math and it means $500 would be the equivalent value of $6,330.06 today.  If you find yourself yearning for the good old days, today's comforts we take for granted were either nonexistent or unaffordable for most families.

Our home was cooled by a window fan in sweltering, sticky Louisiana summers. No one complained because at least we had a fan.  There were only 76,000 air conditioners installed in the 1950's.  It wasn't until 1973 when the majority of U.S. households had central air conditioning or a window unit.

Schools opened windows during early fall and some rooms had an oscillating fan. Flies were frequent visitors to our class. It didn't impact anyone's ability to learn. Mom packed a lunch every day, because it was cheaper than paying to eat in the cafeteria. There was no such thing as a free school lunch.  

Every school day began with the Pledge of Allegiance, a tiny hand over your heart.  Students weren't the only ones saluting the flag. America was awash in patriotism.  There was a good feeling about the country, a belief they God had blessed the USA.  Will America every be like that again? 

Our home was equipped with a social network: a black telephone.  It wasn't uncommon in 1950 to share a line with another home or two. Most folks were polite enough not to interrupt a conversation on their party line.  About two-thirds of the 43 million households in America had at least one phone. 

Historians refer to 1950 as the golden age of crime because there were so few offenses.  FBI data does not go back that far, while other sources date to 1960.  In a sign of few crimes, no one locked the doors to their homes or cars. Today's generations will never know the tranquility of that era.   

In 1950, only nine percent of households had a television set. Families streaming service was free: programs on radio.  I listened to cowboy stories over the airwaves.  My favorite was "The Lone Ranger," which debuted in 1933 and ran until 1956. You needed an imagination to "see" horses, cattle and holstered pistols. Television robbed future generations of their cognitive imagery ability.  

At some point in the late 50's, a black-and-white television the size of a small refrigerator graced our living room.  Reception was always dicey.  Those rabbit-ears--two long antennas--captured the airwaves and turned it into sound and picture.  The picture often was fuzzy, a hazard of nascent technology.

Despite the poor quality, each home with a television attracted neighbor kids, who soon begged their parents to buy one of those new fangled devices.  Neighbors often dropped by to take a peak to see what all the fuss was about.  By 1960, 90% of homes had a black-and-white magic box.

With seven kids to clothe, the Roy family annual fashion budget wouldn't touch the cost of an iPhone.  Most clothes coast below $5, while a men's world suit cost $45, impractical in the South. My brothers and sisters often wore hand-me-downs.  As the oldest, I escaped that predicament. 

However, I do remember wearing jeans with patches to school.  And I was one of the lucky kids.  Some boys wore pants with more holes than a West Texas oil patch.  Searching through my memory bank, I think I owned two shirts. That was my wardrobe for the entire school year in the early 50's.

When I spin tales about my growing up experiences, my four grandkids find my description hard to fathom.  No internet. No Nextflix. No Nintendo.  No cell phone.  Less anxiety. They can't imagine it.  (And no, I don't tell them I walked 5 miles in the snow to get to school.) But I did ride my bike to classes for a few years.

Once our 11-year-old granddaughter Megan playfully asked: "PaPa, did you ride a dinosaur to school?" I think she was joking, but perhaps not. With age and experience, you appreciate the memories of the way things once were. But I don't want to return to a time without air conditioning. 

But honestly, I'm sad that today's younger generations will never experience what's it's like to have less in life and still be content. That might give pause to those who believe having more brings happiness. Hardships help you appreciate today's standard of living. That's why I will always value the 1950's.

Small Towns And Big Values

Small towns such as Jennings, Louisiana, were once the bedrock of American life.  That's where I was delivered into the world in 1946.  It was an era when most Americans lived in rural towns.  Agriculture, farming and oil thrived outside the big cities.  Life poked along in the slow lane.

Jennings, population 9,663, had a flourishing downtown.  Mercantile, clothing, feed, diners and a drug store dotted the streets. There was even a movie theatre.  People waved a friendly hello as you walked or drove.  You addressed men as "sir" and women as "mam." No exceptions.

There were almost as many churches as there were flavors of religions.  Houses of worship were cramped on Sundays with spiffily dressed folks, including kids.  No one wore flip flops.  You were lucky to own one nice pair of pants, but if you did, it was reserved for Sunday use only.

Each school day opened with the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag followed by a prayer.  No one was offended.  Weekends were for family gatherings.  My Dad's brother Francis, wife Pauline, and kids Monica and Mike lived next door.  Sharing meals and conversation with family was sublime. 

When school recessed, I did not jet to Martha's Vineyard.  I summered in Iota, Louisiana, population 1,500.  My sister Charlene and I had some of the happiest times visiting with my grandparents, Fernan and Gussie Roy. I scaled trees, plucked wild blackberries and explored the surroundings.

A favorite summer ritual was a daily trip to the tiny Iota post office with my grandpa. All the men dressed up to fetch the mail.  Most wore hats and suspenders.  Town gossip and a runaway cow were the topics of discussion.  I learned a lot about life eavesdropping on the Cajun-accented discourse.

Although our family moved five times, each instance we landed in a town of less than 34,000 residents.  It wasn't until I reached the ripe old age of 24 that I discovered big city life in Dallas. I never again inhabited a small town.  Yet I wax nostalgic for small town values and experiences.

Today small towns are battling for their very existence.  There are 46.1 million Americans--about 14% of the population--residing in non-metropolitan counties spread across 72% of the nation's land mass.  In 2015, there were 16,470 cities with populations under 10,000 and dwindling.

Since 2010, 1,350 non-metro counties have lost 790,000 people.  (Statistics for small towns are elusive because Census data is not available.) In just one year period between July of 2015 and July 2016, the population in non-metro counties dipped another 40,000.

Small farms and agriculture, once a staple of rural America, are vanishing. In 1946, there were about 5.6 million farms in the country.  In 2012, that number had shrunk to 2 million as farms became fewer and larger.  Agriculture's role in the economy, once 33%, has shriveled to about 12%.

Some would call this progress.  After all, Silicon Valley and other high-tech incubators are flush with jobs and money. Farm workers have been left in the dust.  There were 3.4 million farm workers at the turn of the century.  Now there are barely 1 million.  Their average median pay is $11.41 per hour.

My Dad, like many returning World War II veterans, found employment in the agricultural business.  It became a career that sustained our family.  One of the benefits was Dad always had milled rice to put on our table. I think we gobbled more rice than the average family in Asia during those days.

Not only has the agricultural downturn sapped rural towns, but these quaint places have lost their local retail shopping.  Walmart has replaced the local clothing, mercantile and drug stores.  Homegrown grocery stores are practically extinct, swept into oblivion by behemoth chain grocers.

No doubt these changes have meant more selection and lower prices but there was something whimsical about a small town store. No one ever accused Walmart of being charming. And don't get me started on those omnipresent Golden Arches that are a blight on rural America's landscape.

Today driving through these towns is depressing.  Downtowns no longer exist, unless you consider sagging, empty or boarded-up buildings signs of an economic pulse.  To survive, a few small towns have become a clutter of antique shops hawking mostly junk.  Not the stuff of my youth.

Am I beginning to sound like an old fogy?  Perhaps it is a sign of senior seasoning, but I pine for those small towns and the values embraced by their residents.  In the metropolises of America, you are often mocked for patriotism, belief in God, family ties and a humble lifestyle.

Small towns likely will never recover from their spiral into obscurity.  But Americans would be well served to cling to small town values.  Family, faith and patriotism remain at the heart of what we know as the American experience.  If we ever lose that, more than small towns will be gone forever.