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The first chapter of a seven part series.

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Nineteen-fifty-seven was a unique period of time in American history.  The second world war had been over for a dozen years.  The American economy was the envy of the world and led the way in nearly every category of importance and influence.  The American dream was within the reach of the largest number of people ever, provided they were white, able bodied, and willing to work for the most part.

Suburbs were upending big cities, people fleeing urban centers in droves to seek their futures in tract neighborhoods springing up where there had been only farm land before.  Tract homes, each with their own yard for the kids and covered parking for the family car, were stretching across the landscape like the tentacles of a gigantic octopus.  The middle class was growing by leaps and bounds, almost as fast, in fact, as the population of babies born since the end of the war.  Americans were as fertile as the midwest heartland that supplied grain, beef, and corn not only for the homeland, but for much of the world.

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Seat belts were for airplanes.  Cup holders were ladies’ braziers.  Contraception meant wearing a raincoat or pulling out; the average size of the American family grew as a result.  Korea was several years in the rearview mirror; Viet Nam an unknown country that would remain anonymous for a few more.

Ike was the grandfather everybody trusted to keep them safe, even as more of the world developed atomic weapons that could wipe them out.  By and large, it was an optimistic time, even if there were plenty of reasons to question the optimism.  Fort Stockton was no different, just a little hotter than the rest of the country.

RoadRunner Estates, developed west of town on land that used to comprise three different ranches, had sold out of the first two phases.  Phase Three was selling out quickly enough for construction to begin on a new elementary school to educate the offspring of the masses that were moving in.  Longtime residents of Fort Stockton marveled that anyone would drive so far outside of town to buy a house.  Of course, now RoadRunner Estates is in the middle of town.

Rod Hardin, the top salesman at RoadRunner Estates, had a lot going for him.  He had rugged good  looks that the ladies compared to a certain young senator from Massachusetts.  Rod was athletic enough to have played professional sports, but knew that sales was where the real money was.  Most other men who had the looks and way about him that Rod possessed would have made husbands jealous.  Rods’ real gift was the ability to make husbands want to be just like him rather than be threatened by him.  That is a fine line Rod not only walked, but danced back and forth on in his Nubuck Oxfords.

It was during this era that America began its propensity to consume.  Products were being invented, produced, and marketed at a rate that was unprecedented.  They were marketed to the masses on billboards, radio and TV stations, and print advertising in ways that were impossible to ignore.  The appetite for the finer things was teased at every turn by conveniences that made life easier, more comfortable, and designed to make each citizen the envy of all the other citizens.  Nowhere were those efforts more apparent than in what was parked under the carport or in the driveway of every new tract house on the block.

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Rod Hardin had made the sale of the M-32 Model to Wendell and Anita Yoakum based on the fact that that plan had a bathroom right off the master bedroom, as well as the main bath in the hall for the kids and guests.  Anita craved that level of privacy after intimate times.  The kids loved the fact that none of them would ever have to follow Wendell after him having read the Saturday morning Stockton Telegram-Dispatch while doing his business on the throne.

Neither of them ever thought they’d be lucky enough to own a home with two bathrooms, much less a two car garage, and a fireplace in the living room.  Initially Wendell was worried about the price being at the upper end off their budget at nearly $17,000.  It stretched his annual $4,200 salary working at Kennel-Pal, the local pet food plant, to about all they could afford.  He and Anita always told folks that he had a position in Research & Development out at Kennel-Pal.  That was true, technically.  They saw no reason to go into the details.  In fact, he was a product-taster for the company.  

Anita was surprised when Wendell came home early from work one day.  Kennel-Pal had sent him home early after he taste-tested the first batch of a new recipe for large breeds that featured horse meat trucked in from over the border.  In between trips to the master bathroom, where loud groans and noises that didn’t seem human spilled out from under the door, he told Anita he’d been given a bonus at work.  “It’s a combination of Years of Service, Perfect Attendance, and Profit Sharing,” he told Anita who was backing out of the bedroom quickly, holding her hand over her mouth.

Hoping he was through, he flushed and zipped up, opening the window to the bathroom as he fled the scene and found Anita starting dinner in the kitchen.  “Anyway, I want to use the bonus as a down payment on a new Ford.  The damn things are gorgeous this year.  Longer, lower, wider.  More comfortable.  The ’49 shoebox is long in the tooth.  This bonus will make the payments affordable.  That, and whatever they’ll give us for the ’49,” he explained.

Anita was caught off guard by the thought of another payment.  The house was nearly $200 a month.  “Jeez, Wendell,” she said.  “That’s a lot of money we’ll owe every month.  Are you sure we can afford it?  What if something happened to your job out at the plant?”

“Pets are becoming more popular than kids.  Projections show people will continue to spend more and more money on dogs and cats as we head into the 60s.  That’s just job security for me.”  Wendell seemed to know what he was talking about.  “And let’s face it, there isn’t a line out the door of guys applying to taste-test pet food.  I’ve got all the job security anyone could ever have.”

About then Les, the oldest child and only boy, walked through the front door holding his nose.  “Dad!” the boy yelled.  “I think there’s a sewer leak out front!  It smells like when we drove through the feedlots in Amarillo on the way to Palo Duro Canyon!”

Of course Wendell wasn’t going to tell him that the horrendous odor was wafting from the window of the master bath.  He just said, “I’ll check it out,” and got up from the table and pretended to inspect the situation.  While out front, he hiked up one leg and had what he thought was just gas before running back into the house and slamming every door behind him on the way back to the throne for damage control.

After a shower to clean up, Anita slid a folded up brown paper bag from the Piggly Wiggly under the door.  “Put your pants and Fruit of the Looms in the bag and take it out to the trash.”  There was a long silence.  “Dinner’s ready.”  She’d turned on the hi-fi in the living room to drown out the sounds coming from that end of the house.  Elvis was singing All Shook Up as Wendell joined the family at the table for the tuna hot dish Anita had prepared.  When the smell of the Chicken-of-the-Sea hit Wendell, Elvis wasn’t the only one that was all shook up.

After he and Anita finished the dishes, they planted all three kids in front of GUNSMOKE and headed to Frontier Ford to look at the new 1957 models.  Wendell needed no convincing that the yellow and black Ford Fairlane coupe was just what he was looking for, the colors even matching the tile-work in the master bathroom.  The new Fairlane made the old ’49 Ford look prehistoric.  The payments were a little higher than what Wendell had figured, the ’49 being valued for exactly what it was, a relic.  He assured Anita they could afford it and they drove it home that night, after a protracted visit to the men’s room at the dealership.

It was dark when they wheeled the new Ford into the driveway in front of their M-32 Plan 3-2-2.  But the lights hit the new car just right as it sat on the curved driveway.  Wendell didn’t put it in the garage that first night.  He knew it wasn’t going to rain.  He wanted the neighbors to see it when they left for work in the morning.

That night, after the kids had been put to bed, Wendell and Anita celebrated the new Fairlane in ways that made Wendell feel even more manly than the new Ford did.  Afterwards, Anita excused herself to the hall bathroom to tidy up.  Meanwhile, the 1957 black and gold Ford Fairlane coupe in the driveway would set off a chain of events in the neighborhood that would have repercussions for years to come.

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