It is important to note that the generation that was first raised on TV dinners gave up 57,000 of its finest during the Vietnam War. The irony is not lost on the underlying fact that we were taught to trust. The hoax that the “TV Dinner” was nutritious and a excellent replacement for the home cooked meal was perpetuated by an advertising agency. Trust the teacher, the priest, the policeman, the President of the United States and your parents to mention a few. Our parents had been raised, by and large, with one President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, during two of the worst times in American history. FDR was elected at the beginning of the Great Depression and died at the end of World War II. His message during his four terms in office was always the same, trust me. So they did, and they passed that trust on to the man that had won WW II as the Commanding Officer, Dwight D. Eisenhower, when he was elected at the beginning of the Fifties. After all, he was elderly and statesman like and he seemed to know what he was doing.
It was in this atmosphere of trust that our parents began to have children. They trusted so we trusted. Ever so often that trust was breached by an errant educator or crooked cop but we were raised to believe that there is good in everyone and inherently our role models were doing the right thing. Then along comes Elvis Presley and all bets were off. Not one parent in America thought that he was trustworthy. Whether he deserved that distrust is up for debate, but no parent anywhere trusted him around their daughter. Those same daughters would give anything for just a look in their direction from the Memphis musician. And so the cultural chasm begins. The parents don’t trust Elvis and the teenage children don’t know why. As he began to become a cultural icon there is evidence that he was aware of his influence and he made some P.R. moves in the media. It was not effective, the kids , especially the girls were already not trusting their parents opinions about other things. This was especially true when it came to the use of cosmetic make up and hairstyles. For them more was better, the polar opposite of most conservative, depression raised, parents. The seeds of distrust had been sown, and were beginning to take root in many places in sixties culture.
The plain truth was that we were no longer taking our parents attitude of trust at face value. It had long been a rite of passage, when children become teenagers, to question parental values. But mostly, they trusted their opinions and defaulted to their experience. Then along comes the Beatles and an entire generation put parental opinion and experience on a slow boat to China. Music would never again be the same, nor would men’s hairstyles, or clothing fashions for either sex. Most parents didn’t go down with out a fight. They had the power of the pocketbook. Allowances were terminated and record purchases were restricted, but to no avail.
The horse was out of the barn, never to return. Trusting parents with blind obedience was no longer the norm. It was just a short hop to civil disobedience and this created a split in the generational chasm. Some teenagers developed an inherent distrust of all authority, while others tried to pick and choose where their trust should lie.
Then the Vietnam War appeared on the horizon and the stakes were now life and death. When the war began in August of 1964, the so called “baby boomers” were graduating their first high school class. The draft was a reality and most young men considered it their duty, as did their fathers and grandfathers. When the chips were down the teenagers trusted their government to do the right thing. In reality, they had little choice. It was the law and to avoid it meant time in jail. So off we went, trusting our government to protect us. In the end, when it was all on the line, we trusted our government to do their best by us. That old inner voice rose up within and our parental training won out over fear. We answered the draft call and went to Vietnam. 57,000 men died in Vietnam and countless others are walking dead because of it. Our instincts were right. We should not have trusted our government and we never will again. Our entire generation learned a our lesson, trust is not something that we will ever take for granted again.
Our first television was delivered to our house when I was about ten years old. We were one of the first families to get one and immediately my popularity in the neighborhood moved up a couple of notches. The brand was Dumont and it was mounted in a cabinet that was the size of small ice box. By the very nature of it’s size and considering its popularity, the living room was rearranged to accommodate it as the focal point. All chairs faced the screen so that when it offered its programming we were readily available to watch.
In the beginning, I only remember three channels being available. Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), National Broadcasting System (NBC) and American Broadcasting System (ABC). Sporadic programming on alternate channels was the norm. There was some morning programing available in 15 or 30 minute increments. In between availability, the screen displayed a constant showing of the television test pattern.
The one I remember the most was a drawing of an Indian Chief with a full headdress. The idea behind this was to be able to focus your antenna for clarity. The antenna was a goofy looking device with two extendable arms that rotated in a base and were capable of moving in different directions to capture the TV signals in the air. Because the device constantly stood on top of the TV stand and its arms extended straight up parallel to each other, we were all soon calling it “rabbit ears”. And because television signals came from different towers located in different directions, the rabbit ears were constantly being moved about to focus the screen. This is why the test pattern first came into being, it was to help in clearing up the reception on the screen. It didn’t take long for someone to realize that if a receiving device were to be mounted on the roof better reception could be achieved. Thus the aluminum rooftop television antenna was born. Originally, because everyone had a chimney, the antenna was strapped to it’s base. It was a simple device on an aluminum pole the had horizontal slats, not unlike miniature wings, attached to it. In the beginning it significantly improved the reception and focus. By connecting a specially coated wire to it’s frame it could be directed down the side of the house and into the closest window to be connected to the TV. The problem with its location was that it was not easy to get to for adjusting and it was subject to frequent wind gusts or rain storms. Soon the idea was hatched to put the receiving antenna on a pole attached to the side of the house so that if it needed to be adjusted, a quick twist of the pole was all that was needed. Shortly after that, someone improved the whole thing by inventing a motor for the receiver that had a control inside, next to the television. Now it was not necessary to have half the family involved to adjust the antenna. Before the installation of the motor, someone had to be stationed at the TV to yell to someone at the window to yell to someone adjusting the pole. This exercise went on every night all over America for years. It was as common a practice as dumping the dishwater out the back door. The biggest issue that arose in this process was the inherent danger in the adjusting during bad weather. More than one individual was severely shocked when lightening found the pole as it’s conduit.
However the method of receiving the signal waves, Saturday nights at our house were what we called neighbor night. Folding chairs were assembled in rows in front of the television. Before everyone got their own television, it was expected that you had the responsibility to share your good fortune with the neighbors. Popcorn was popped and soda was on ice as everyone settled in to watch whatever was available that particular evening. In the beginning the signal ceased to broadcast at 9:00 at night so after the TV was turned off the kids went outside to chase lighting bugs and the adults fell into discussions of the day.
It was a unique time in American History. Neighbors shared what they had and kids were not afraid to be out after dark. It was a wonderfully simple existence. The Television did not come on before 9:00 am and did not broadcast after 9:00 at night. News was still delivered to our living rooms by newspaper and radio. Television was for entertainment and not yet the vehicle to dictate our lifestyles. Sunday was the day that TV was least watched and in some homes was never turned on during that day. It was an exciting time for a kid, to be in the middle of such rapidly changing technology. My grandfather used to say that we would soon see a time when television would be on all night and we would stop communicating as a family. If only his prophecy had not come true.
I entered the decade of the sixties , 10 years of age, living with my parents on an idyllic street in a Norman Rockwell type town. I left the sixties, 21 years old, a husband a father and in the US Army in Vietnam. Somewhere along the way, I had managed to attend college, learn how to make pizza professionally and sing in garage band. It was a crazy decade.
When we started the sixties in the United States, Our President was Dwight D. Eisenhower, a grandfatherly figure, who had won World War II as the grand poohbah in charge. Just about everyone trusted him. At the end of the decade the man running the country was Richard Milhous Nixon. No one would have mistaken him for having a grandfatherly image, and no one was exactly sure what he had ever accomplished, to earn the right to be President of the United States. Trust was not a characteristic that was readily assigned to him. So here we were , not sure how the country got into this mess or how we were going to get out.
For certain, being in the Army, half a world away, rendered my participation, moot. So I did the next best thing, I tried to drink as much beer as I could whenever and wherever possible. Being in a war zone, most generally accepted rules of etiquette are pushed to the wayside. Beer for breakfast is possible and considering the circumstances understood. You see, it’s brutally hot in Vietnam and refrigeration is non-existent, so about the only time an acceptable temperature of my desired liquid beverage could be attained, is after midnight. So, the first thing in the morning was as close as I could get to a “cold one”. Breakfast was most often fruit out of a can, so beer went reasonably well with it. It is a acquired taste, much the same as scotch. You just keep drinking it until one day it doesn’t taste awful anymore.
My days in Vietnam were very much the same. Sleep in the jungle at night, get up, strap on an 85 pound pack, walk for most of the day and tomorrow, do it all over again. It is helpful if bad guys don’t try to walk the same trails you are on. That’s when the game gets serious, they want to go one way and you want to go the other. Shooting generally erupts and often someone gets hurt. After this little interruption, everyone runs off to their corner of the jungle to hide. This is when beer is very helpful. Not only are you very thirsty when things calm down, you are also in need of something to bring you back from the edge of insanity.
It is helpful that every three days while you are in the jungle, resupply helicopters bring you more beer. If you are lucky, mail from home will arrive as well. Sometimes those letters do not bring good news. Things like your old high school is being torn down or your girlfriend is now dating your cousin, make you want to reach for a newly arrived fresh beer. However, most resupplies were routine and carried out with amazing efficiency. C-rations, ammunition, water and beer were among the things that we could not live without. They are also some of the heaviest things on earth if you are going to be carrying them in a rucksack strapped on your back. So you might as well start lightening the load by popping a beer. It is important to note that with temperatures routinely at 115 degrees by mid day, it helps to delineate the affect of any alcohol that enterers your system. Sweat is the bodies way of expelling toxins and in the jungle there is a lot of toxin expelling going on.
After thirty to forty days of wandering around the jungle trying not to get into trouble, we were picked up by helicopters and brought back to a Fire Support Base for a couple of days of R&R (rest and recuperation). It was our favorite place on earth because they had generators, therefore they had electricity, therefore they had cold beer. War tends to reduce everything in one’s mind to simple choices. It also introduces the concept that tomorrow may never come, so live for today. Hot showers, cold beer, and a latrine were the most important things to us during that time. So after availing ourselves of all three of these luxuries and getting a full nights sleep, without being interrupted to pull security, we were rejuvenated and returned to the triple canopy for more fun.
When a person is twenty-one years old and given a lot of time to think, elaborate plans are hatched .When you are in Vietnam, these are always thoughts of what you will do upon returning home. What’s first thing you will do when you see your kid. What your first meal will be. What will your Mom look like. Also, you make plans for things that you never do again. In my mind one thing was for certain, I was never going to drink another warm beer, ever.
As my kids are fond of reminding me, I was born in the first half of the last century. Truly, the world was a different place than it is today. The difference was not in materialism, although today, that is much more of a priority. The difference was in attitude. World War II was over and America had won. However, the victory dance was short lived. In the mid-fifties, Russia was on everyone’s mind. As six year old first graders, we had air raid drills and were taught to hide under our desks in case the Russians bombed us. Fear of another war was always there. Then came the 60’s during which, the kids born in the 40’s and 50’s said, to hell with it. If we are all going to die, lets have some fun, and the party was on.
My parents who were born in the 20’s didn’t see the party coming in the beginning. Although they were only 20 years older than me, they had been raised during the Great Depression and graduated High School during World War II. Doing without or “making due” was how they were raised. To a certain degree they had been raised to not dream. To accept the way things were, was the universally accepted way of existing. If their bicycle became broken or the tire on their old car wore out, they were parked. Replacement parts were not available or were being rationed. Clothes were homemade and worn until they could no longer be patched. Shoes were in short supply and going barefooted was an accepted practice.
As a youngster growing up in the fifties my life was very much the same although not as austere. I had two pairs of shoes, one for church and one for school. Tennis shoes as we called them were only available for the guys that played on the basketball team and were issued by the school. Therefore, they were kept in the gym closet under lock and key. Some of my clothes were home made but increasingly they were purchased at his new place called the department store.
The really big changes came in the way we ate. It was a common practice in our family, for my grandmother to kill a chicken from her back yard for our Sunday dinner. Almost everything on the table was home grown or baked from scratch in our kitchen. The vegetables came from our garden and the bread was baked every morning and set out to cool for the day. About the only thing we didn’t self process was our meat. It came from the butcher store that we visited daily. However, as the decade of the fifties came to a close we began to buy more and more from the grocery store. Pre-baked and sliced bread was first on Mom’s list. Although, it didn’t taste as good, it sure freed up a big part of her time in the morning. We did less home canning and bought more things like jelly or fruit in a tin can. As a kid this was a big deal. With less reliance on the garden, my “chores” burden was beginning to loosen up. Gardening is a lot of work and always seems to have something that needs attending. This freed me up for my favorite past time, day-dreaming.
For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble keeping my mind going in one direction. It seems to wonder off of it’s own free will. This is especially true if I have a lot of free time. My Dad had a favorite saying, “put that out of your mind, son. It’s not going to happen”. For him that kind of thinking was a reflection of the time in which he grew up. For me, it was impossible not to try to figure out how to make something better. I spent countless hours organizing and reorganizing in my mind some of the most senseless things. I had already worked out a much better route for the milk man or had a better place to put the hymnals at church. While riding my bicycle delivering papers in the morning, my mind was constantly working out a better way for the city buses to run or how to make the trash collectors more quiet.
Day dreaming was a luxury afforded to my generation by our parents who were working hard to make our life easier. They had never had the opportunity to hope, things just had to be accepted as they were. Not us, we had the audacity to dream of how things could be better. It was presumptuous of our generation but it was overdue. For things to change someone had to dream of a better way. To have time to dream, we needed less drudgery and more incentive. All of this came to fruition as the sixties came roaring to life. Our parents had higher disposable incomes as well as more leisure time due to the innovations largely invented during World War II. As a member of the sixties generation I stood to inherit more technology and greater free time than any generation before. Although I wasn’t aware of it then we were the first generation that had time to dream. Growing up in the sixties was going to be less work and more fun and I was standing right in the front of the line because I had already been given the luxury of time to dream, thanks to my parents.
