Yeah. As a kid in the 70s I remember that nasty vibe as well. I have a categorically non-“WASP-Y” surname and noticed even then some people were very…uh…hyper Anglo to the point that they seemed to exhibit an existential uneasiness as to the hegemony of their “culture”. It was subtle in some ways, and not so much so in others. One of my best friend’s mother was always very nice to me “on paper” but even then I sensed passive-aggressive bullshit overtones. She had a glass of wine or two, and WHOA!: Toxic. I might as well have had an organ grinder with a monkey on my shoulder.
Today seems much better in that regard, not only formative ethnicity, but the area of the country one is from. ( in this case, the US )
Yeah, church was a big deal in post WWII suburbia. Looking at our family photos, you’d get the impression we were regular church goers, too. But, we only went to church on Easter Sundays and that coincided with the one day of the year we took family photos (the one day of the year my hair was combed and my face scrubbed).
Even one day a year was torture for me to attend church. I had to wear an itchy suit (herringbone to match my older brother’s suit). The wooden pews were a pain in the ass. I could never find the right page in the Bible. All that standing and sitting and kneeling was a chore, preventing me from taking a nap. I couldn’t even mouth the words to the hymns convincingly, garnering angry stares from Mom. And the minister kept yapping away for what seemed like an eternity in purgatory.
Sunday mornings were for fishing and catching bullfrogs. I believe God would have approved of me catching a big string of fish rather than sitting (and standing and kneeling) in church praising him. Didn’t his boy say something about the benefits of teaching a guy to fish?
Our next door neighbors were hard-core Catholics. They had 5 kids. I was friends with the two oldest boys and had a mad crush on the oldest daughter. Seems like they had something church-wise to do every day of the week. They kind of scared me.
Their walls were adorned with crosses, saints and pics of Mary. Why no pics of Jesus? Was he unphotogenic or something? They talked of catechism, Ave Maria, rosary beads and threw out football terms like, “Hail Mary.” This all seemed like things a coven of witches would do to my 7yo self.
I walked past the catholic school on my way to and from grammar school. All the boys looked like little Amway salesmen, but, I must say the girls looked pretty hot in their plaid uniforms—especially our neighbor’s oldest daughter.
They moved away when I was 12. I was taller than all 5 kids when they left. I met up with them many years later. I was now the shrimp among a family of giants—and I’m 6’3”. David: 6’6’; Brian: 6’7”; baby Conway: 6’11”. I wasn’t even taller than the girls any more.
I guess God made them grow closer to heaven as reward for all the church time they put in.
The toughest part of traveling with my parents (born in the 20’s) has always been my mom’s obsession over anyone’s ethnicity. And utterly wrong guesses, announced with loud stage whispers…
Waiting for a hotel clerk to finish with another customer? “Isn’t her hair black? The Japanese have such shiny black hair.” On a cruise? “Isn’t that South American piano player wonderful?” European Restaurant? “Is that colored waiter going to bring us some bread? Oh, all right, buh-lack, or African-American, or whatever they want to be called now.” My favorite was her guessing at even my kids’ friends: “What a cute little Eskimo girl.” Umm, mom, she’s Asian. And it’s really none of yo-“You really don’t think she’s Eskimo? Well, I think she’s Eskimo.”
Switching gears a bit, I just remembered a change that was underway during the 70’s and 80’s, but has progressed significantly since then:
Most businesses used to close on Sundays, and in many areas also part of an additional day. (When I moved to this area in the mid 70’s there were still traces of Wednesday afternoon closures, though most places had given that up.) There were also very few businesses open late at night, and in some areas none at all. People took it for granted that there were times of day, and entire days, when you couldn’t do some types of shopping.
I’ve noticed that too in particular with regards to gas stations. I remember several times on a road trip in the 80s to the mid 90s we needed to look hard for a gas station that was open in the middle of the night and we almost ran out of gas (especially if we had lost our way looking for a place that was off the interstate highway.)
But 3 years ago when hiking across the Cotswolds in England I found out that limited/no Sunday hours are still a thing in rural England. I was so slow that I passed through the only large town on Sunday at 4 pm and there was nothing open, not even the only supermarket.
Yeah, I remember that you needed to plan ahead for food and gas on a road trip. In today’s world I don’t even think about it, there’s pretty much always going to be a 24 hour gas station (with card-operated pumps if not a person) within a few exits just about anywhere you drive, at least in the Southeast (may be different in the wide-open West). And you might have to go a little further for a 24-hour restaurant if you’re in that 11pm-6am zone, but during the rest of the time you’re going to catch at least one fast food place.
Oregon was looking at legislation to allow people to pump their own gas in rural areas. I don’t know where this proposal has ended up at this point. For me when I was moving to Oregon, this would have prevented a night sleeping in the cab of a moving van waiting for a gas station near Burns to open.
On a long fast trip a few days ago, we stopped at a Maverik in Baker City which, after some uncertainty, we determined to be self-service. It was nowhere identified as such (that I noticed, at least).
Speaking of which, I determined that Maverik is a station I will choose over others, if possible, because of one feature I observed in at least one location: their pumps have a mute button.
Another one that’s becoming a bit of a problem for me: people apparently don’t use bar soap any more. Even in a big supermarket or big box store, there’ll often only be a couple of options, usually ones that are mostly used for women washing their faces.
Around me they mostly scream about the great snacks and other stuff to be had inside the convenience store, and occasionally play music or general interest news magazine stuff. When I run into one I jab around the screen looking for a mute button, and furthermore, never fill up at that store again. If I run into one while on a road trip, I will not run in for snacks if I had planned to, I will merely fill up and go and thus deprive the store of most of their profit.
For years now I’ve been buying my Irish Spring bar soap on Amazon. I get 20 bars at a time. I must be awfully predictable, as every so often Amazon asks if I’d like to buy more soap. I check, and reply, "why yes I would, thank you.
Maybe it’s a regional thing? I’ve never had trouble finding bar soap at a supermarket or box store, and I’ve even seen it at convenience stores on the ‘you forgot your travel bag didn’t you’ shelf. Pretty much any big box or supermarket will have several varieties of several major brands, plus often some obscure brand (like one of the all-natural ones).
I’ve been doing a lot of walking in the last while and it’s striking to me how rare it is nowadays to see a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk or in a park. They used to be everywhere. This occurred to me yesterday as I maneuvered around an undisturbed mound in my path. It’s been a dog’s age since I had to do that.
And the speakers are poor quality; so even if I’d otherwise like the particular music, it sounds terrible.
It’s become way too common around here. And supermarket speakers doing basically the same thing are now pretty close to ubiquitous.
Here they’ve still got it; but the selection’s minimal, and there often isn’t any unscented. Most of the shelf space is taken up with expensive plastic-using pump bottles.
Appreciate the insights - I did not know that about MULE, a game I played relentlessly.
And I know… now… that my 12yo assumptions were just culturally ingrained bullshit, but there was also a lot of culturally ingrained bullshit (which you noted) which kept 12yo females in 1981 from wanting to express an interest in these things.