The Fifties/Sixties

Today is my birthday, and I am now 64 years old. Hardly seems possible, but I look at the jowls and realize it is so. I was born in 1947, and was just 3 at the advent of the Fifties. But I love the Fifties. I love the music especially. I happened upon a 50s special on PBS recently and enjoyed every minute (thankful that I could fast forward through the pleas for money - it was PBS, you know, and a fund raiser). I loved watching the audience shots of gray haired folks (or those who had colored away the gray), clapping, singing along, and even wiping a tear or two as memories washed over them.

There is such an innocence to the music of the 50s, at least that which has endured. Pat Boone and one of the McGuire Sisters hosted the evening. Pat never sang, which disappointed me. But the McGuires did - they look terrific and sound fabulous. All of the groups and solos were fantastic - their voices have stood the test of time in an amazing way. They looked wonderful, too. (I'm thinking nobody in this generation is going to be singing 60 years from now - their voices will be destroyed before they're 40 at the rate they're screaming!) I was amused at all the "Four" groups - The Four Aces, The Four Seasons, The Four Coins, and The Four Tops, to name a few.



I was only 13 when 1960 hit, but obviously the 50s music was still around, because I know so much of it by memory. And so much of it is timeless. The harmony is chillingly beautiful. The other day I was eating at Taco Bell - they've been playing 50s music the last few times I've been there - I don't know how their younger customers feel about it, but as I was bopping to my table, singing "Johnny Angel" along with Shelley Fabares, I caught the eyes of the 4 similarly-aged ladies at the next table. We had a great conversation about our faves of the 50s.

As I got older and closer to driving age, I decided I wanted one of these - I never got one, but I still love seeing them in their restored state on occasion.


Recently I discovered a couple of really retro t.v. stations and have been enjoying "Highway Patrol" and "Father Knows Best." I especially love it when the female criminal, which there seems to always be, runs from the law with 3 inch pointed toe heels on "Highway Patrol." (It's amazing how huge the steering wheels were in those 50s cars!) I enjoy the wisdom of the father who knows best - and the fact that the mom actually dresses in pants and a sweatshirt when she's doing serious housework. But when she goes anywhere out of the house, she wears a hat and gloves - usually with a veil covering her eyes, down to her nose - I don't know how they stood it. I tried to find out a bit about why we wore those white gloves back in those days - I can remember washing mine as if I were washing my hands, because they got dirty so quickly. Remember the little stretchy lace ones?






When I went to college, "Dawn Go Away, I'm No Good For You" was popular - it was 1965, but the song was still around, apparently, because the guys would all sing "Dawn, go away, you're no good for me!" Nice!

But not everything in the 50s was rosy. I lived in Arkansas from ages 5-10. I didn't know it then, but learned later that our sweet little Mayberry-esque town didn't allow a black truck driver to spend the night - he had to drive on through and find lodging elsewhere. My dad just told me a story last night that I never heard before. Dad was a bivocational pastor who worked at a grocery store (Piggly Wiggly, don't you love it?) There was a black man who delivered product to this store, but of course hurried out of town. One day Dad could tell he was uncomfortable, and deduced that he needed a rest room. Dad realized there were no facilities for him at the store, so he asked the man to come to our house to relieve himself. The black man was amazed and grateful, but laid down in the back seat of the car all the way to our house and back to his truck at the store. Dad asked him to come up and sit with him in the front seat, but he said he was hiding to protect Dad more than himself. So sad.

I have a strong memory of the integration issue in Little Rock in 1957, when I was 10 years old - in fact, when I was doing some research yesterday, to my amazement I discovered that it was on my 10th birthday (54 years ago today) that Central High School was integrated with the Little Rock Nine. The National Guard was called because Governor Faubus did not want to follow the new national law. But in my mind's eye, I see one lone girl climbing the tall steps to the school - maybe I'm mixing that up with a movie I've seen in later years.

The book The Help has brought up a lot of emotions that led to some of these memories. It was a time in our history that we cannot be proud of. But I hope it is used as a learning tool. We've come a long ways, but we still have a long ways to go.

In other related news, I graduated from high school in 1965. We're all going to be turning 65 in the next year. There were about 15 of us girls who had frequent slumber parties in those days of high school. We've decided to have an updated slumber party next September called "The Class of 65 Turns 65." Interestingly, when 3 of us got together recently, we did some figuring and discovered that each of us will be paying $65 for our rooms. It was meant to be! I'll be one of two (the other being my best friend and co/editor of the school newspaper) who won't be 65 yet that week-end, but soon thereafter.