Americans in the 1950s

Solid Strengths with Real Blind Spots

(It’s not easy to arrive at a clear picture of the strengths and weaknesses of Americans in the 1950s. The picture most of us have is an over-simplified picture of Pleasantville. In my new novel We Are Like Fire, in December 1958, the four main characters debate the quality of American life in their time. The Americans Ren and Vera Prothero find themselves defending Americans’ strengths while their German friends, Gisela Schroeder and Dieter Ulrich, press them about Americans’ weaknesses.)

Dieter fixes his gaze eye to eye with me. 

“Look, Ren, for six months now I’ve listened to you criticize us Germans.  And for the year I’ve been here I’ve been observing you Americans closely.  I think it’s time we turn the tables on you.  Let’s analyze the American way of life.”

“Fair enough.”

“Well, wait,” says Vera, “aren’t Germans since the war embracing more and more of the American way of life?”

“In part,” says Gisela.  “We Germans love American swing music and listen to American jazz and rock music.  We drink Coca-Cola and wear Levi jeans.”

“We’re becoming less authoritarian,” Dieter says, “more laid-back, more casual, more relaxed, more at ease in our manner.”

“And we’re starting to love our freedom,” says Gisela.

“All right, then,” Vera says, “so what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Dieter begins, “is that you Americans think that only we Germans should engage in self-reflection.  But you Americans, not so much the two of you, you’re fine people, but too many of you Americans could benefit from some serious self-examination.”

“Probably so,” I reply.

“You Americans are always chasing after the latest thing,” Dieter says, “the brightest and shiniest new object.”

“We have drive, Dieter,” I say.  “We live in a world of unbounded possibility.  And we’re seeking an ever-more comfortable way of living.”

“And once your basic needs are met and you’re comfortable,” Gisela asks, “aren’t you just way too satisfied with your lives?”

“Don’t you pursue possessions in West Germany?” I ask.

“After the War, Germans struggled for survival,” Dieter replies.  “But in the 1950s, we’ve gotten used to our homes being well-stocked with appliances and luxuries as well as our fast cars.”

“Just like Americans,” I say.

“We enjoy our material goods and we pursue a higher standard of living,” Gisela answers.  “But to us, money is security.  The American mindset is ‘look at me and my possessions!’”

“Financial security is a good thing, worth pursuing,” I say.  “Nailing down the future with a sure income.  We Americans realize ourselves through our work.  We’re practical.  We have a zeal for our careers.  We’re achievement-oriented.  We’re ambitious.  What’s wrong with pursuing personal material success and a higher living standard for everyone?  And what’s wrong with working to build a prosperous society?”

“Unless that’s all you’re doing,” Dieter counters.

“There’s nothing wrong with upgrading with the latest useful gadgets,” I insist.  “We Americans do it.  You Germans do it.  And there’s nothing wrong with aspiring to drive a nice car and live in a nice house.”

“Unless, Ren,” replies Dieter, “the mindset becomes ‘look at me and my gadgets and my car and my house!’  Don’t you find the cars of the late Fifties too fantastic, even insolent?”

“Cars?” I ask.  “Insolent cars?”

“American cars average about 44 pounds of excess chrome,” Dieter says with disgust.  “Chrome that is not needed for any function of the car.  Isn’t the purpose of those cars to compensate for weaknesses in the psyche of the driver?”

“I grant you that much,” I say. 

Dieter looks to me for more.  “And . . .”

“So we like technology,” I answer.  “We like the accomplishments of our engineers.  We like progress.  You Germans are proud of your engineers, too, I would think.”

“Certainly,” says Dieter.

“Technical mastery is good,” says Gisela, “but not when it supplants the cultivation of our souls.  Your outer image often trumps your inner qualities.”

I stay on defense.  “There’s nothing wrong with being eager to move into a bountiful new world.  People can thrive on material goods and at the same time be spiritual.  I think we’ve exhausted this topic.  Next?”

Dieter is ready and jumps right in.  “Round Two.  So, Ren and Vera, aren’t you Americans all compelled to be in harmony with the crowd?”

Gisela nods.  “Aren’t you all expected to ‘join the gang’?”

“We are joiners,” I acknowledge.  “We’re oriented toward our peers.  I like our sociable, stable neighborhoods.  There’s nothing wrong with playing down conflict, going for harmony.  And there’s nothing wrong with loving our country.” 

“Don’t you submerge your individuality in a homogenized life?” Dieter asks.  “Are you truly free?”

“Am I seriously being interrogated by Germans about individuality and freedom?” I ask.  “We Americans invented individualism and freedom.”

“How many of you are realizing your talents and gifts?  How many Americans still have a sense of adventure?”

“I don’t pretend to know, Dieter.  But our community spirit also makes us egalitarian.  What’s wrong with wanting to be like our neighbors?  Life demands we make thousands of choices a year.  Why not be heavily guided by the choices our neighbors are making?”

“Unless your peers stop following any deeper life goals,” Dieter retorts.

“People are capable of much more independence of mind than Americans are showing in the 1950s,” Gisela adds.  “And letting your peers form your character is spiritually risky, wouldn’t you say?”

At last Vera enters the fray.  “Just because we’re optimistic and cheerful doesn’t mean we aren’t mature.  We are mature.  You Germans think of yourselves as earnest, serious, and deep.  But we Americans are just as mature as you Germans, albeit in a different way.”

“We’re attempting to become the most accomplished nation in history,” I say.  “Beyond ancient Greece and Rome, beyond Renaissance Italy, beyond Elizabethan or Victorian England.  We’re not Athens or Rome or Florence or London.  We’re ourselves.  And we’re even more vibrant and purposeful than any of those four.  That requires us to build consensus.  And requires us to exercise self-discipline.”

“There is something Promethean about you Americans,” Dieter acknowledges.

“So it’s all about patriotism?” Gisela asks.

“We love our country,” I answer. “We’re pursuing our destiny as a nation, developing our best attributes as Americans.  But we are a global people.  We’re aware of other cultures.”

“We’re helping to develop the world community,” Vera says, “in technology and science and education more than in culture, admittedly, but it’s not only American products that are sweeping the world.  American culture is sweeping the world, mostly cause it’s vibrant and it’s accessible to real people.”

“Great nations participate fully in the world of their times,” I say.  “America is present in the important ventures of the human race.  We’re doing our best to step into our role in history and live up to our worldwide mission and responsibilities.”   

“Consider our strengths,” says Vera.  “We’re brave and generous and open-hearted.  And we’re making the world a more open and freer place.”

I nod.  “There’s a greatness in our hunger for experience, in the range of our concerns, and in our expansive natures and ideals.”

“All right, Ren and Vera,” Dieter replies, “we’ll give you some credit.  Americans have taken hold of history with both hands.”

“You do scour the world for talent and bring it to the U.S.,” Gisela says.  “It seems that anyone with something to offer – in the laboratory, classroom, or culture – is welcome to participate.” 

“That’s our nature as Americans,” Vera says.  “There are some life-of-the-party types with their gags and shady jokes and joshing, and they entertain us.  But it’s a strength, not a weakness, that we turn away from stuffy, snooty intellectuals – cause they bore us and cause their views are remote from our daily lives.” 

“We never keep analyzing classical music when our neighbors are ready to play bridge,” I say.

“Our favorite people are neither life-of-the-party fools nor highbrow intellectuals,” Vera says.  “Our favorite people have charm and a lively, responsive, life-affirming energy.” 

“No American man wants to be a bastard, a heel, or a quitter,” I say.  “We want to be open-minded, to see the other fellow’s point of view, and to be helpful as we make life more pleasant for all of us.”

“If we believe too much in building up our neighborhoods, schools, churches, corporations, and nation, so be it,” says Vera.  “If we’re team players who are a bit too clean-cut, confident, and optimistic, so be it.”

“Our concerns run deeper,” Dieter responds.  “Individuality is disappearing in America – disappearing through lack of demand.”

“How so?” I ask.

“Because no one ever makes a remark or performs an act that is striking or original or controversial or unorthodox!” Gisela exclaims.

“Again, there’s nothing wrong with those chamber of commerce guys,” I claim.  “We all have access to things only the rich had access to in the past.  Why shouldn’t we have faith that life is getting better and better?”

“That’s right,” says Vera.

I smile.  “We have a genius for building businesses, Dieter.  It comes easily to us.  And business brings out the best in most human beings.  Business elicits virtues like hard work, moderation, forethought, and good sense.  We have a sense of destiny.  We look to the future with hope.” 

“So you get along,” says Gisela.  “You acquiesce in the homogeneity of your society and culture.  You take on the same interests and the same outlook as your neighbors.  But don’t you stay on the surface of life?”

“It’s a golden time of unity,” I tell them.  “It’s a civic renaissance.  A time of unimaginable prosperity and opportunity.  Can’t that be enough?”

Gisela shakes her head.  “In my view, America’s becoming spiritually and culturally stale.  Where’s the greatness in American culture today?   You neglect philosophy, poetry, and the fine arts.”

“But, Gisela,” Vera counters, “we have music, dance, art, photography, and architecture – all as good as in any decade or nation in human history.”

“Americans treat culture as background,” says Gisela, “not as edification for the soul.”

“I’m not so sure,” I reply.  “I think someone can strive and succeed in business, and even follow the crowd much of the time, and still develop themselves personally, even spiritually.”

“But how many of you do?” Dieter asks.

“Americans are listening to more classical music than ever,” Vera tells them, “attending more symphony orchestras and other quality concerts than ever.  And stage theater.  And art museums.  All of these, more than ever.” 

“Your generation of Americans has no great novels,” says Gisela.

“True,” says Vera.  “But we have many great short stories.  Our novelists are insecure, arrogant, and adolescent.  Ellison, Bellow, Salinger, McCullers, O’Connor – they leave Americans bewildered.  There’s a chasm between the American people and our generation’s novelists.  We don’t esteem them because they haven’t found anything more meaningful than what we’ve already got.”

“I’ll give you one thing,” Gisela says, “you make each cultural idea go far.  You say to yourselves, ‘let’s become cultured.  Here are the pieces.  Let’s cut culture into pieces and label the pieces, pre-digest them, package them, and pass them on to our fellow Americans.’  You commercialize each thing that really matters, cover it with rouge, and make it pay.  You drain the last ounce of derivable income out of everything you touch.  But how many of you ever encounter Goodness, Truth, or Beauty first-hand?”

“How will your American peers ever break free of their complacency and their uniformity?” Dieter asks.

“Again,” I say, “our social solidarity and cooperation are helping us propel our achievements and propel global civilization forward to new wealth, knowledge, and happiness.”

“I think we’ve beaten this horse to death,” Vera says.  “Got a third line of attack for us?”

“We do,” says Dieter.

“It’s really worse than we’ve been saying,” Gisela says.  “Even your churches have been bent to this reassured society.”

“What do you mean?” Vera asks.

“You go to church to be assured that you hold an esteemed place in society.  You go for peace of mind, a sense of belonging, and a sense of well-being.”

I raise my eyebrows.  “Strong assertions.  Look, the doctrinal differences between Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, and Episcopalians are probably not great enough to provide the basis for selection of a church.”

“That’s right,” says Vera.  “So why shouldn’t church focus on human relations?”

“Sure it can,” Gisela says, “but too many Americans today go to the church that offers the best social activities and the best recreation hall.”

“We’re Quakers,” I say, “so this doesn’t apply to us.  But I suppose that exploring principles can make our peers feel uncomfortable.  Zealots don’t fit in in today’s churches.”

“And principles are awfully important,” says Dieter.

“However,” I counter, “I see little reason to doubt the essential goodness of American society.  Look, only two percent of people are self-actualizing.  All other people are striving to meet the rest of their needs.”

“You’ve made good points, my American friends,” says Dieter.  “I suppose I hold Americans to too high a standard.  It’s because you’re the only hope that remains in this world.  You’ve got to get it right.”