Boomer Journey…

My apologies for my absence this summer – a busy one. My son, Jake, age 18, graduated from high school and is headed to college this month. You could call this Boomer Journey 2.0. I have three grown kids and six grandkids two thirds of a continent away. Parenthood began all over again at 52 in 2008.

As long as we’re on the subject of parenthood, can anyone explain the obsession boomers have with “The Brady Bunch” television series that aired from 1969-74 on ABC, with a succession of “Brady” sequels, including a movie, in the decades to follow? The Brady phenomenon just won’t go away and that’s okay with us. It makes us feel warm in our childhood memories – rich with Friday night recollections.

I recall a chilly September evening in 1969 when “The Brady Bunch” debuted on ABC. We were at Walter Reed Army Hospital visiting my stepbrother, Ken, who had been seriously wounded in Vietnam. We were on our way home from Walter Reed in the Maryland darkness, ready to stretch out for an evening watching mindless sitcoms.

We had a mid-century modern Philco black and white console television watching Episode 1 of “The Brady Bunch” – which didn’t leave much of an impression. Seemed decidedly silly to me. Sherwood Schwartz style chaos on a par with “Gilligan’s Island” – along with another Schwartz bizarre – and short lived “It’s About Time,” made us laugh. However, “The Brady Bunch” became an addiction every Friday night.

We couldn’t get enough of it.

For five years, we tuned in. And, for five seasons, we watched the Brady kids come of age along with Robert Reed’s (Mike Brady) evolving perm’. Reed, a Shakespearian actor turned suburban dad. Florence Henderson, an unknown, became America’s new pop-culture TV mom.

Seems a lot of us wanted to be a Brady kid, and no wonder. They were the “perfect” blended family despite fights over the telephone and “Marcia-Marcia-Marcia…” Most of us with blended families will admit “blended” is rarely a picnic.

Because I am into classic cars, I noticed the transition from Chrysler products to Chevrolet in the Brady’s last season. To this day, I remember the Brady’s most for the family’s Plymouth station wagons and Mike Brady’s Fury III convertible.

If you think the Brady obsession is a boomer only thing, think again. The generations following us can’t get enough Brady either. The Bradys were a portrait of Americana at the cusp of the 1970s. Blended families had become more a way of life instead of the Nelsons (Ozzie & Harriet) and the Andersons (Father Knows Best), both of which were lost in the 1950s when divorce was never mentioned.

Those of us who watched the Brady’s a half century ago remember it on network television – with minimal commercial interruption. Two commercials in a 30-minute slot. Today on TVLand, it is 50/50 Brady/Commercials. And because boomers are the target demographic, at least half the commercials are pharmaceutical peppered with “See Your Doctor…” In 1970, I didn’t need Viagra, I needed Marcia.

When the Brady’s were in prime time, I had it bad for Maureen McCormick (Marcia). These days, it would be Eve Plum (Jan) for her intelligence and her sweet gentle demeanor. My God…I really am 70!

The human mind is a supercomputer. It stores a lifetime of memories, feelings, scents, sounds, songs we’ve heard, pain we have felt – and more. You can forget about something for decades – a lifetime – and there will be sound, a smell, music, a nerve twitch, an itch, phantom pain, or a sunrise that ignites a memory.

Why does a song suddenly pop into your head – known as an “ear worm” – you haven’t heard in years – and then you cannot get it out of your head? Or, what about a childhood memory? I was sitting here at the PC the other morning, listening to the din of power lawnmowers when I picked up the scent of fresh cut grass and the feeling of humidity in the air and I was suddenly five years-old again.

How does an experience from 65 years ago suddenly emerge with the sound of lawnmowers, an aroma, and a feeling in the air? And – from a place so unlike California? This experience drifted through an open window, jolting me from the focus of writing an automotive technical article.

It hit me like a thunder clap.

My dad pushing a budget-priced, hardware store power mower in the spring of 1967. When I was old enough, the job became mine along with the memories.

I’ve been living in the California desert for 32 years. I grew up in the Mid-Atlantic where those first days of spring were euphoric – that annual arrival of mild weather and an unmatched feeling of liberation from the sound of a furnace and the haunting wanderlust desire known as cabin fever.

You cannot wait to get outside and take in the spring.

It just isn’t that way in California. California’s desert climate is cyclic year-round due to the influence of the vast Pacific. It can be chilly one day and 100+ the next. Springtime here is so vastly different than the East Coast.

I think of the sound of Blue Jays, crickets, the hammer of woodpeckers, the harmony of honeybees, the hoot of an owl, the rumble of distant thunder, and the dead silence of a heavy snow and I think of those long-forgotten childhood memories. In the latter of my life, these memories remain fresh.

Before this age of affordable high-altitude 600 mph transportation – there was “the bus…” I imagine most of you remember the era. Flying was for those who could afford it. Before airline deregulation in the late 1970s, air travel was expensive and exclusively for the affluent and business travelers. We’ve all witnessed the business traveler clad in a suit and tie running through an airport to an awaiting gate or families all dressed up with somewhere to go.

I don’t think the humble bus gets enough credit for getting us around. When we were kids, school busses in all their forms grabbed us from the corner bus stop and hauled us to school a short distance away. When we came of age and couldn’t afford a car, city and regional busses got us around the metropolis. These are the busses we remember most because they were everywhere.

If you were traveling hundreds of miles away to see the aunt you never wanted to see in the first place, you hopped on one of those road-going coaches – Greyhound or Trailways – and dozed through the ride for hours to see Aunt Milred. Wally and the Beave’ would catch the bus from Mayfield to spend time with Aunt Martha, who was annoying by nature for a kid, in Belport.

GMC’s “New Look” (known as the “Fishbowl”) was the most common transit bus introduced in 1959 and produced in both the U.S. and Canada with more than 44,000 of them built. Well known for its curved six-piece windshield and twin-set headlights, it became an iconic workhorse in cities all across North America for decades before they began to fade away in the 1970s.

The most oft seen transit bus has been GMC’s “New Look” bus built in all its forms beginning in 1959. It was seen and heard for decades in every metropolitan area in the nation. Those classic “bread loaf” Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleason) busses GMC called the “Old Look” busses introduced in 1940 delivered the same screaming, smoky Detroit 6-71 two-stroke diesel roar every time they left a bus stop. That same sound was carried over to the “New Look” busses that arrived with the 1960s.

They were gross polluters.

These smoky beasts gave everyone a headache wherever they traveled. If you were behind one in traffic, it became unbearable. I recall being car sick in the back seat and throwing up to both the sound and the aroma of diesel fumes along with my mother’s sickening Wing Song perfume.

I find it ironic these New Look busses were so aerodynamic yet never traveled any faster than 30 mph throughout the city. The same can be said for the “Old Look” bread loafs. Most of these GMCs had Allison automatic transmissions designed specifically for busses. Cruising around the city, with the driver on and off the throttle while their automatics struggled to navigate the gears.

Those first “New Look” busses were delivered to my hometown bus line – D.C. Transit – which later became WMATA – today Metrobus. I remember when my mother used to catch D.C. Transit daily from Arlington to downtown Washington for work as a bank teller before returning home in the evening. Tough times and utter exhaustion for my mother in those days. We didn’t have a car.

The GMC “New Look” became a celebrity in the 1994 action/adventure movie “Speed” where a bomb was placed on a Santa Monica Transit bus and the passengers were held for ransom. The bus had to stay above 50 mph to prevent the bomb from detonating. The trick was keeping this bus above 50 within the city. Not sure how many New Look busses were destroyed during the filming. However, this flick made the New Look famous. I didn’t know these busses could reach 50.

GMC produced its last New Look bus in 1977 when production changed to the RTS series. As federal emissions standards have gotten tougher, these Detroit Diesel powered busses have slipped away in favor or CNG and electrics.

I place the more luxurious motor coaches in higher esteem for long distance travel because they deliver a way smoother quieter ride than their ancestors. When you’re sitting in a Boeing 737 with your knees up against the seat in front of you, the appeal of a bus side becomes greater because, for one thing, legroom is better. What’s more, you arrive at a bus terminal closer to Aunt Milred’s than the airport.

Thought I would take this Boomer Journey to something a little more personal – friendships lost… When you reach our ages, you’ve had your share of personal losses. Friends grow ill and pass. They move away. We drift apart.

Sometimes, it’s as fundamental as a difference of opinion – the deal breaker.

In more recent times, in a politically inflammatory environment, I’ve lost friends over political differences – the inability to respect one another’s differences and the being able to agree to disagree. I’ve learned – the hard way – there are some who cannot live with a difference of opinion to where they go away overnight. Their political beliefs eclipsed a lifetime friendship and enduring brotherhood.

A friendship gone…

I enjoy a wealth of great friends all over the country – just not many locally. We are friends long distance. We stay in touch via the email, texting, and the phone. Due to the very nature of living in Los Angeles, we find the place really is a great big freeway. If you have a buddy or a date two hours away, you are “geographically undesirable…” because no one wants to sit in traffic for two hours just to see you.

I live on Southern California’s high desert near Edwards Air Force Base, three miles from Palmdale Air Force Plant 42 – which is a defense factory and home to Boeing, Northrup, and Lockheed some 62 miles, or two hours, north of Los Angeles.

Los Angeles is a most unusual metropolis. The city limits within the County of Los Angeles run vast – from the huge L.A. basin into the San Fernando Valley on the other side of the mountains. It extends East to San Bernardino and on out into the low desert and Palm Springs. You can drive 100 miles and still be in Los Angeles.

I have ADHD so bear with me. I’ve found friendship can be enduring where friends become extended family, and there are acquaintances who come and go. There are people we work with for decades who fade away upon retirement or a job change. There are also neighbors who come and go – the traditional block parties, sharing growing families, and the enduring friendships like the Ricardos and the Mertz’s.

Wouldn’t it be nice if life was like the Ricardos and the Mertz’s? Though fictional, this tenant/landlord relationship that became extended family felt so good despite their occasional dustups. They always found a way to make peace and go on.

In truth, this rarely happens in real life, especially these days. Once close-knit communities have been replaced by suburbia, jet travel, the interstate highway system, and careers that have taken people far from where they grew up. We stay in touch via email and text messaging. We jet out to see childhood friends and family, and before you know it, it is time to fly home. I am a continent away from where I grew up, with a career that took me to Los Angeles a lifetime ago.

I remain in touch with childhood friends and those I served with in the military – enduring friendships that have lasted a lifetime. We’re all a little grayer with turkey necks and character lines. However, our connections have never wavered. There are those we go for years and never hear from – and reconnect and pick up where we left off – true friendships.

When I think of friendships lost, I think of the greatest friendship I’ve ever had – my friend and brother in arms. I will call him Karl. We were the very best of friends and for 45 years, that is until the current toxic political environment tore us apart.

I can tell you I am a centrist – liberal about some things and largely conservative about others. I believe in toting your own weight and finding your own way. I also believe in helping others – those who cannot fend for themselves. I also understand right from wrong. That said, I ask – when did right become wrong and wrong become right? At what point did we lose our way?

I’d like to hear your stories…

It was a steamy late summer afternoon in the mid-Atlantic when the family crowded around my grandmother’s 1950s vintage RCA black and white console television for a surreal look at the Moon like we’d never seen it before. A youthful Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin of Apollo 11 (Apollo’s fifth mission) descended to the surface and – in a dusty white powdery blast – landed and shut down while Command Module pilot Mike Collins and some 600 million of us looked on.

The Eagle had landed.

We held our breath and sighed with relief with Armstrong’s words. Like most Americans, our next thoughts were “what’s next?” Armstrong would take bold yet cautious steps down the ladder, sinking his feet into the powdered sugar texture lunar soil, describing what it was like to do that as the first human being to ever take steps on another celestial body outside of Earth’s gravitational pull. Aldrin would take those next steps, knowing he and Armstrong were etching their names into both the lunar firmament and Earth history books.

These courageous gentlemen were on their second and final journey into space, knowing they would never travel outside of Earth again. We didn’t completely understand it then – but our technology was primitive at the time, yet advanced for its day. It took raw guts and real tenacity to strap your backside to the top of the most power rocket booster of its time – the Saturn V – and get ride in mankind’s greatest hot rod.

The Saturn V consisted of several parts – the command module on top (the cockpit), the service module, which provided propulsion , electricity, oxygen for breathing, and water for the command module; the lunar module with two stages – the descent stage with an engine for landing on the surface – and a smaller engine for the return to the command module above and a return to lunar orbit. This does not include the powerhouse stages that got them into space.

The Apollo 11 astronauts splashed down in the Pacific for a “welcome home” like they’d never experienced in their entire lives. We were suddenly in a world where man had walked on the Moon. Other Apollo missions would follow before budget cuts ended the Apollo program in the 1970s. It would be more than 50 years before we ventured into lunar orbit again.

Apollo 11 was one for the history books for all of mankind. It would be more than 50 years before we ever went back.

Artemis I and II are the beginnings of our return to the Moon, with Artemis II being another NASA launch for the history books, putting human beings the farthest from Earth that mankind has ever been. This has been but a reminder of how tiny we are in a vast cosmos, watching Earthrise from a different perspective this time around from the dark side of the Moon.

Artemis II was something of a “test drive” into lunar orbit to see how NASA’s latest and greatest achievement performed. The crew did some sightseeing and then came home from the most remarkable journey they will ever witness in a lifetime of service to country. Unless you’ve ever strapped millions of pounds of both dead weight and brute thrust to your backside, you will never understand what it was like for four remarkable space patriots.

At its origins in 2017, Artemis II was known as Exploration Mission-2 (EM-2), with the objective of validating the Orion spacecraft’s systems and function. Think of this as the foundation for longer lunar missions and exploration, with the ultimate destination being Mars.

Four crewmembers, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, Jeremy Hansen, and Reid Wiseman, embarked on this mission with a great sense of awe and adventure.

In their close lunar flyby, they achieved the greatest human distance ever from planet Earth – some 252,756 miles from the Earth’s surface – which surpassed Apollo 13’s 248,655 miles. There will be more Artemis missions to the Moon, with humans touching the lunar soil in due course. We just have to be patient.

This is a reminder that although we have serious problems to solve in America at this time, remember we remain the Champions, cognoscente of who we really are as courageous patriots who will collectively rise again.

Who could forget the zany “Adventures of Ozzie & Hariett,” which aired on ABC from October 1952 until April of 1966? I suppose it could be easy to forget – the once popular television sitcom that couldn’t have tried harder to wear out its welcome.

Ozzie & Hariett lasted 14 television seasons.

An inside look at the Nelson family could be considered television’s first “reality” show, which wasn’t reality at all – but instead fiction – starring the “entire Nelson family” – Ozzie, Hariett, David, and Ricky. It began as a long-running radio program, segueing into television in 1952.

The radio Nelsons launched in March of 1944 when legendary comic Red Skelton was drafted into World War II. “The Adventures of Ozzie & Hariett” debuted on CBS radio in Skelton’s absence, eventually moving to NBC in 1948, then back to CBS in 1949. In the end, Nelsons had produced 402 radio broadcasts.

As radio evolved into television, the Nelsons followed suit by moving their program to ABC TV in 1952. I suppose the Nelsons were right for the time, with plenty of witty banty amongst the cast in family situations, which included Don DeFore as neighbor “Thorny,” who moved on to “Hazel” in 1961 to star as prominent lawyer and boss, George Baxter. David and Ricky Nelson joined the radio cast in 1949 at ages 12 and 8. It would become their constant companion for the next 17 years.

Because Ozzie was both an entertainer and a successful businessman, he founded Stage Five Productions, convincing ABC to sign a 10-year contract that kept the Nelsons flush with cash whether the series continued or was cancelled.

They couldn’t lose.

Though “America’s Favorite Family…” attempted to look like real life, it was anything but. The Nelson’s home, which was in the opening theme, was located in the hills above Hollywood and Los Angeles. Most of the filming was performed at the General Service Studios Stage 3 sound stage where Ozzie recreated the interior of their home while most exterior shots were in Los Angeles instead of a studio backlot, which offered realism to the show’s fictional community of Warfield.

Nelson family storylines were typical of the era, with domestic issues most experienced at the time. It is true most of these scripts were taken from the Nelson family’s personal lives. The cast of characters increased when Rick married Kristin Harmon and David June Blair, who appeared in the show as themselves.

Like Ward Cleaver of “Leave It To Beaver,” no one ever really knew what Ozzie Nelson did for a living though his role as a bandleader was mentioned periodically. Although Ozzie pursued an education in law as a young man in New Jersey, he wound up with a career as a bandleader, actor, and producer. Ozzie wrote most of the shows for the series’ entire run, which might explain how dry they were.

The show needed sensational writers.

Rick Nelson launched his music career on the show, appearing at each show’s ending before the closing theme. Rick’s career continued into the 1980s until an unfortunate and tragic plane crash ended his life in 1985. David continued in the entertainment industry as a director. He passed in 2011. Hariett did occasional acting, retiring to the Nelson family’s Laguna Beach home where she lived until her death in 1994. Ozzie was plagued with malignant tumors that ultimately led to his death in 1975.

Although “Ozzie & Hariett” appeared an intimate look into a wholesome American family, it was never what it appeared on screen. Although Ozzie appeared the easy-going husband, father, and neighbor, he was quite the high-achieving taskmaster. It has been written he robbed David and Rick of their childhoods, stressing the importance of their obligation to the show. This may explain the somber mood in some of the shows and the blank facial expressions. These young men were not actors, nor do I believe they ever even wanted to act. The stress and pressure of a grueling weekly shooting schedule had to have taken its toll, which makes you wonder whatever happened to their dreams.

It can safely be said “Ozzie & Hariett” wore out its welcome long before it finally wrapped up in 1966. The theme and content never left the 1950s. What’s more, it was never high in the ratings. The best it ever did was 29th in the Nielson ratings. It made the transition to color in its final season. Too little too late.

If you were born between 1946 and 1964 you certainly remember the post-war housing boom. It was big and there hasn’t been anything like it since. Because I was a very curious young man – age 7 – building and construction fascinated me endlessly. I’d get on my bike and ride to construction sites and watch the action and observe the bones turn into a finished structure.

When I was growing up in suburban Washington, D.C., I remember when the flatlands and empty firmament became housing developments, apartment complexes, high-rises, and shopping centers overnight. In Arlington across the Potomac from Washington, most of the immediate area was already developed, with shopping, apartment complexes, and neighborhoods already established that came of wartime growth and the aggressive hiring of government workers.

Suburban Maryland was a different story – and most of you will be able to relate to this because this story could be told again and again in nearly every metropolitan area in the country. Developers were hungry for cold hard cash, and post-war suburban growth was the way to get it.

Suburbia emerged in every metropolis across America.

Arlington, Virginia’s “Arlington Forest,” which came of federal housing programs and the aggressive growth of the federal government in the 1930s and ’40s, remains a desirable place to live today, with home prices in the $1 million range.

Wartime and Post-War suburban growth can be credited to federal programs for the greater good that contributed to growth. Federal Housing Administration (FHA) and Veterans Administration (VA) programs that enabled Americans to buy homes and for developers to build same along with apartment complexes populated the landscape like never before. This wasn’t just about opportunities for families – but also businesses that got the unemployed back to work. There were other incentives – such as deducting mortgage interest, low-income HUD programs, cash for water programs, and the Clean Air Act to get people out of the cities.

So many other issues contributed to the growth of suburbia, including freeways and the Interstate Highway system that got people out of the cities and into the ‘burbs where they could prosper. Unfortunately, cities were left to rot and the focus became suburbia. There would be a price to be paid for urban neglect. We’re still living with this problem today, with few even paying attention.

The good news was – developers who understood the importance of community made sure homebuyers got some semblance of community – with sites committed to schools, places of worship, parks, recreation, fire rescue protection, shopping, and service stations. The result was self-contained communities where everything was within walking distance or a short drive. Residents never had to want for anything.

Sheffield Court was originally constructed as “Lee Gardens South” along Arlington Boulevard (Route 50) in Arlington to house federal workers, within an easy commute by bus to Washington. It is a stylish place to live today.

It has been said federal mortgage insurance programs arrived in 1934 during the Great Depression though any real meaning didn’t come until the 1940s and ’50s. No one had any money to rent let alone buy. Prior to the 1930s, roughly half of the U.S. population owned a home. This number grew to 60 percent – more than half – as the war unfolded and ended in 1945.

As a result, suburbia grew like never before. When I think of my suburban Washington memories from 60 years ago, the architectural pattern was clear, based on subtle nuances. There’s were clear architectural difference between pre-war and post-war homes. I believe the economics were affected by the cost and type of building materials. There was also a trend in the 1940s and early ’50s that brought us steel casement swing-out windows, the drift away from radiators (hot water heat) to central heating and air conditioning, heavily sculptured bathroom fixtures to mid-century modern, steel kitchen cabinets and the move to wooden cabinets to warm things up, one-car garages instead of carports and driveways, and the incorporation of low-cost, substandard building materials.

Builders and developers went to “reverse” assembly line approaches to where all of the parts necessary to build a home were dropped on lots waiting for labor, much of which was not qualified to carry out what they were hired to do. Some developers got the hang of it – while some did not – filing bankruptcy, leaving homebuyers empty-handed without their deposits.

Levitt & Sons turned rural Prince George’s County into suburbia overnight with its “Belair At Bowie” community, with more than 9,000 homes built in historic PG County in nine years. Levitt’s reach was far and wide – well into Southern Maryland and north to Laurel and Howard County. Other prominent developers shared in the prosperity around the District line.

It can be safely said federal housing programs brought us suburbia and home ownership, but not without the price paid by urban areas that have suffered as a result. Ironically, there are suburban areas close into cities that have deteriorated with age and neglect. This was something we never could have envisioned a half century ago playing kickball in the streets until the streetlights came on.

As always – I invite your feedback and experiences.

It is impossible to imagine our childhoods without William “Bill” Hanna and Joseph “Joe” Barbara – otherwise known as Hanna-Barbera Productions – known best for “The Flintstones,” “The Jetsons,” “Scooby-Doo,” and a host of other animated cartoons we spent hours watching growing up.

The Flintstones and The Jetsons were launched as primetime “adult” cartoons on the ABC Television Network at the cusp of the 1960s. I vividly remember when they debuted because my folks watched them. My father laughed at the antics. I was immediately hooked. I laughed hysterically when Fred let Dino out and Dino came back through the window and threw Fred out. Fred was yelling and banging on the door, waking the entire City of Bedrock, with lights coming

These incredible animators who created an empire spanning the decades began working together at MGM’s animation studio in 1938, thus beginning a long association that would endure. They enjoyed a terrific association that spawned dozens of cartoon franchises. Their first effort as a team was “The Adventures of Tom & Jerry” focusing on the antics of a cat and mouse on a par with the Coyote and Roadrunner in a “spy-vs-spy” theme. The seemingly weaker of the two always came out on top. The coyote never did catch the roadrunner, and Tom never did catch Jerry. I can remember rooting for the bad guys.

Each half of the Hanna-Barbera (HB) creative team had their duties. Barbera composed the stories and did pre-production for those original 114 “Tom & Jerry” cartoons the two did together at MGM. Hanna was known for conducting the animation. It is remarkable seven of these cartoons won Oscars for “Best Short Subject” films from 1943-53.

The Flintstones became an integral part of the Americana, with an abundance of cliches in everyday conversation coming from the incredible writing of the Hanna-Barbera team. The Flintstones focused on these pre-historic suburbanites – Fred and Wilma Flintstone, their pet dinosaur, Dino, and sabretooth tiger pet Baby Puss, and ultimately a baby girl named Pebbles. Like the Kramdens and the Nortons of The Honeymooners fame, the Flintstones had best friends Barney and Betty Rubble next door. Ed Norton drove Ralph crazy like Barney did Fred. And, like Ralph and Ed of The Honeymooners, working stiffs Fred and Barney were always searching for fast-quick ways to make a buck yet never achieved success.

Hanna and Barbera had their work cut out for them – with the challenging task of coming up with 30-minute cartoon segments that would keep viewers coming back for more. The Flintstones spawned The Jetsons at the opposite end of the spectrum with a high rise building in space (yet no one knew what it sat on…). Some of what we saw in The Jetsons wound what we depend upon now – video chats, portable phones, robotics, moving sidewalks, jet propulsion motor vehicles, and more.

The challenge for Hanna-Barbera was a critical balance of storytelling and animation. These creative geniuses modernized animated cartoons. Instead of the shorts they did at MGM, they turned these shorts into 30-minute episodes for television. They weren’t just an animation studio; they were a mass production facility that could churn out cartoons at a remarkable clip.

Joe Barbera (left) and William “Bill” Hanna – the heart and soul of successful animation for decades in the 20th century.

The team had to come up with an efficient system of cartoon generation. I have read that instead of 14,000 drawings for a seven-minute short, they reduced the number to 2,000 drawings, keeping character movements to a minimum. It was known as “segmented character design” where the characters were separated into body parts where only the mouth or an arm or leg moved while the rest of the body remained stationary. We’ve all seen the same clouds and buildings pass by over and over again as the characters drove down the road. This was known as “reusable backgrounds.” I have also read the characters wore collars, ties, and the like to hide the seams between body parts. Yet, who really noticed? I never did.

It has been said HB had the most extensive sound effects library in the world. We still hear HB sound effects in programming that reminds of us these terrific cartoons. Their work endures because it was unbeatable.

HB received a lot of criticism for their animation technique due to quality issues – yet we have continued to watch their cartoon efforts for nearly 70 years. What’s more, their approach to animation has continued in modern day cartoons like The Simpsons, which has remained in continuous production and programming for more than three decades with the same result. It continues to make us laugh.

Hanna-Barbera, founded in 1957, remained in continuous operation until it was absorbed into Warner Brothers in 2001. Without question, HB dominated the animation market until the 1980s when the cartoon began to change. In fact, things began to change in 1966 when the company was acquired by Taft Broadcasting, which held ownership until 1991, which was when Turner Broadcasting, which turned it all into The Cartoon Network in 1992.

William Hanna’s death in 2001 virtually led to the very end of what had always been Hanna-Barbera. It was all absorbed into Warner Brothers in 2001. Despite the business changes following Hanna’s passing, the efforts of Bill Hanna and Joe Barbera remain, giving us abundant laughter that will endure for generations.

The Seventies was period of transition from what had always been to a time of radical change. Baby Boomers brought forth a fresh spirit of personal freedom void of oppression. We were going to change the world – and did! However, young people also had to grow up despite that “We got love…” stuff when we were living off the folks, thumbing our way around the country, bumming some pocket change, and rolling around under the sheets with not a care in the world.

Destiny would find each of us. It always does…

Making love, not War, often meant unintended consequences.

Those unintended consequences meant life – and responsibility – which weren’t always popular. War, also not popular, meant responsibility and carnage. Someone had to live it firsthand in the steamy jungles of Vietnam while politicians sat in the comfort of their climate-controlled homes and offices.

The latter remains true today.

The Seventies today takes on a different meaning than a period of time long since gone – that moment when you realize you are not 21 anymore and 80 is but a decade away. The Seventies now – versus memories of The Seventies a half-century ago.

I just turned 70 and I’m feeling a bit disoriented.

Me? Seventy? Seventy was something our parents and grandparents were, never us. We were never going to grow old. Isn’t that what we said in the Seventies?

We’re still in denial about our advancing ages – and Madison Avenue is up to the task with “age defying” products. Daytime TV is awash with pharmaceuticals, skin cream, exercise machines, stair elevators, and life insurance commercials.

“Shouldn’t You Call Now?” Thank goodness for the remote control.

Some of us never lived to see 70. That’s how I see it. Seventy beats the alternative. Roughly one-third of my graduating class is reportedly gone – never living to see 70. One classmate was killed in a car crash in front of his home in our senior year. Another was shot to death in a robbery in Baltimore. Countless others have passed from everything imaginable.

Maybe it’s time to stop being delusional and come to grips with our own mortality. Our passing is inevitable. However, we still have a lot of living to do despite our ages. I say make the most of the time you’ve been given where doable. Seek the simple things in life because a whole lot of us cannot afford that European vacation let alone a weekend escape from Scranton.

We can, however, take a nice walk in the woods, sit on a park bench, walk the mall, people watch, take a drive, sit at the airport, watch people bowl, take in the spring or fall air, watch the leaves change, and do volunteer work to feel better about ourselves. Few things nurture the soul better than helping others who could use our support. That is somthing I need to try myself. All of my life, I’ve yacked endlessly about doing volunteer work to help Veterans.

Time for me to put my money where my mouth is.

Bowie Senior High’s Class of 1975 Reunion. Bowie, Maryland. Yeah – 50 years…

When I was coming of age in the mid-1970s, I had huge wanderlust. I wanted to hit the American highway in my Mustang and see the world. My high school sweetheart and I hit the road and drove to New York, and then to Canada and had a glorious time seeing things we’d never seen before. We’d head off to see my cousin in New Hampshire or take a weekend and run down to Virginia Beach. The road was ours.

The beauty of being young and naive is you’re not afraid to try something you’ve never tried before. The same can be true as a senior citizen. Dare to embark on a journey that will take you where you’ve never been. Do something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the cash or courage. As long as you have some measure of health, just do it. These journeys are always best when shared with a friend.

The best advice I can offer anyone cresting the Seventies is never to lose that sense of wonderment about the world around us. I take pleasure in escaping to the peace and quiet to watch nature at work. Because I like home and hearth best, I will sit on my suburban L.A. patio and just watch the sky, the birds, the squirrels, ravens, and the doves. The sun will set and the Moon will rise with the opportunity to explore the cosmos. The world is waiting for you right outside your window.

I am thankful for having lived the era in which we all grew up – the post-war years. When I was a kid growing up in the 1960s, America was on the rise, we were headed to the moon, and there seemed no end to the great things we could achieve together.

One of those great American achievements was Suburbia, which enabled families to get out of the cities and into safe and secure communities. It gave most of us a nicer place in which to grow up. Aside from a few neighborhood bullies, it could be considered safe. Most suburban areas brought us new well-maintained schools, playgrounds, parks, community centers, and places of worship.

Crime was considered an “urban” problem.

Acres of vacant land became newly erected shopping centers with retail stores we grew to know and trust. Many are gone today. Shopping was a family tradition. Grand openings were routine. We never had to want for anything because it was all provided in abundance, with easy access within a few minutes of the house.

I was born in Northwest D.C. and grew up around the district line. I did a horrible D.C. commute for work in the 1970s, entered the USAF, and left D.C. behind. The irony is I couldn’t wait to get out of D.C., which is strange considering I find myself homesick for a place that no longer exists.

The great American pastime growing up was driving around suburbia touring model homes and apartments. Developers were everywhere, seeking out their slice of the American Pie – which was either profitable or a huge bust.

There were weekends where we’d visit my aunt, uncle, and cousins over in Wheaton one hour away. There was that tedious drive over to Arlington to see my grandparents before the freeways were built. We’d head down U.S. 50 to New York Avenue and follow a bizarre path into the District around the Lincoln Memorial, across Memorial Bridge to Arlington to Washington & Lee Apartments.

My grandparents were retired and shared friendships with retired blue hairs at the apartments – which was where I cultivated a deep love of old people. at such a young age, I loved their stories and felt such profound sadness at their eyes, wondering what happened in a life suddenly behind them.

Today – at 70 – I can relate to their emotions.

Washington & Lee Apartments at the intersection of Arlington and Washington boulevards is a charming period apartment complex that came of the Federal Housing Act enacted in WWII. It has been a safe home and harbor for untold thousands of tenants for 80 years. It was home to my family long ago.

When we were living in Lanham/New Carrollton, Maryland in the early 1960s, my folks decided to drive out to the country for a look at a new Levitt & Sons community – “Belair At Bowie” – which was little more than seven model homes along Maryland’s Route 50 (now 450) near Bowie, Maryland.

Developer William “Bill” Levitt of Levittown fame knew what he was doing. What seemed a forgotten place in the middle of nowhere was opportunity waiting to be realized. Levitt purchased 17,000 acres of rich farmland that included the iconic Belair Mansion and stables that Levitt left untouched.

Levitt’s Belair was located where the new John Hanson Highway (Route 50) would unfold as the Washington-Annapolis Expressway at the intersection of Maryland’s Route 3/301 North to Baltimore. You could jump on the new Route 50 and be in D.C. in 30 minutes. Ditto for Baltimore and Annapolis.

Image Courtesy Sue Emery Manganaro, circa 1961, in the Somerset Section of a new Belair At Bowie community by Levitt & Sons.

The quiet and innocence wouldn’t last long. By 1966, Bowie was the fastest growing city in the United States, with more than 9,000 homes before Levitt wrapped in 1969. Belair was where I grew up and came of age in the 1970s. Those who never left Bowie wonder what happened to the relative peace and quiet of suburbia.