Small Town America Part I

GROWING UP IN A SMALL TOWN
DURING THE 1950s & 1960s

Wilbarger-County-Courthouse-001.jpg (576×400) (texascourthousetrail.com)

America was a very different place back then, as I'm sure that each generation can say of their 'growing up' years.  Many things change with each passing decade.  Mother gave me her childhood history of the 1920s and 1930s, so I view this as an extension of that history of what life was like 'back then'. Remembering my childhood is a huge positive, and though I don't live in the past, I certainly haven't forgotten it.  I was lucky to grow up in Vernon, Texas.

 Looking at my title, life in small town America seems long, long ago and far, far away. As I drive across the countryside nowadays, I see all the small towns drying up.  I see old train depots falling to staves. The railroads changed the West, as it created many small progressive little communities. The young people have abandoned those areas for the hustle and bustle of the Metro areas, a place where they can blend in and do their thing their way and not be scrutinized. That wasn't the way life was for those of us who were raised in these small towns, under the microscopic view of everyone.  And that all mattered, it was important to help one another, but it was important to report one another so that help could be found and problems could be solved. Societal changes, technological advances have made our world a different place today.

 It makes me sad that we don't preserve our history, but then the cynical side comes out in me because I have seen that monuments are being taken down because they make someone uncomfortable.  We can't change what is behind us; we can only change the direction we are going.  It's not my philosophy to tear down the achievements of someone who committed their life for a cause in their day and age....it was a different time, different mindset.  They were sacrificing and doing what was right for them in their time.  We have grown to learn that much of our history was not right, but we can change that path to move forward from where we are today. It is offensive to me to see those things torn down by using today's standards for justification.  It would be better to celebrate those lives for paving the way and creating steps stones so that we learn from our past.

 But then I digress…back to rural America…a very special place in time!

All across America in the 1950s, families lived in mostly rural areas. In these vibrant small towns, there was largely no need to go elsewhere for business. We were involved with extended family because everyone still lived in close proximity to their family roots. (I believe it was my generation that became less dependent on our hometown roots. We left home for higher education, graduated from college, and took jobs, usually in larger areas to make good use of our education.) There were metropolitan areas when I grew up, but I viewed them as a place for big business and the corporate world.  I remember being a bit frightened and in awe whenever our family ventured into the Dallas/Fort Worth area.

 (Photo of our home on 3619 Texas Street was taken by Daddy in 1954 - two years before I was born. We moved from this home in 1963.)

I didn't realize the value of growing up in a small town until I grew older.  As I connected with my childhood friends on Facebook, I realized that they share the same values because we shared the same background, a commonality of what our responsibilities were, then and now. Sharing the same space in our formative years formed a bond and I now see that we share 'common ground'.  We all learned the hard way which was the right way, and we were held accountable. Our families, along with our community, had expectations of us.  That was a good thing, something which is missing in today's society, the lack of connectivity to a larger tribe.  We all knew one another and never wanted to 'lose face'.

We lived in a very real world, meaning it was all 'hands on'... we lived in the 'here and now'.  We didn't have the cyber world to lose ourselves in.  We played hard; we played outside, and I knew when I heard Mother whistle that I needed to return home immediately. We focused on one another and how we fit in with others, learning the nuances of relationships. We were more than just a number; our lives and those lives around us mattered.  It's how we got by - depending on one another, helping one another, figuring out things together, fighting with one another and communicating face to face to solve our differences.

 

The family unit in the 1950s was very important. In post WWII, the young adults (our parents) were yearning for a safe marriage and parenthood.  American society was conservative and materialistic. Our parents wanted us to have more than they had, including education. Girls stayed in their parental homes until they got married; I would have never considered living with a man unless we were married with vows made in front of God, family, friends. The community was always informed via wedding announcements complete with story and photograph of the bride. Women were looked upon as housewives dealing with day-to-day household activities, while the man went out into the world to make a living for his family. Yes! Things have changed.

Many mothers took their responsibilities at home as their job. They were there to nurture and make the place we lived "home". They were there for us. It was a 24-7 job. Children didn't learn their values from a worker in a daycare. Women who had dual careers (home and outside of home) certainly had their hands full. It must have been a tough responsibility to feel the need for a job outside of the home to make ends meet.  

I was born on Friday, 31 Aug 1956. The President of the United States was Dwight D. Eisenhower and had just been nominated again at the Republican Convention. His Vice president was Richard Nixon. The average cost of a new house was $11,000 dollars with annual yearly wages being around $4,450. A new car might cost $2,050 and a tank of gas would cost 22 cents a gallon.

We moved to 4105 Bismark Street in 1963. Photo was taken by Daddy.