Suburbia's Invisible Hand

Reprinted from http://jazzwax.com

In the late 1940s and '50s, the suburban American Dream was largely a white experience. It's not that African-Americans didn't dream about a better life or weren't captivated by  images on TV, billboards and in magazines that touted manicured lawns, new cars and safe streets. The problem was that many simply couldn't afford a house without GI Bill benefits, and those African-American veterans of World War II and the Korea War who did qualify for low-rate mortgages were barred from buying homes in many white suburbs by real estate covenants and no-sell practices that later became illegal. Jews, Latinos and Asians faced the same problem in many areas. [All illustrations by Mac Conner]

Nevertheless, the aura of suburbia back then was a powerful concept, especially as newly developed communities outside cities became the basis for movies (Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, etc.), TV sit-coms (Leave It to Beaver) and even music (pop and Easy Listening albums). Music's role shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. After all, the  long-playing album was invented in 1948 specifically with suburban homeowners in mind, and pop and Easy Listening departments initially geared their LPs to the war-weary middle-aged grill-and-lawn set.

What has always fascinated me is how American suburbia was sold in print advertising in the late '40s and '50s. Copywriters and illustrators cooked up compelling narratives and images for clients that trumpeted the rewards and virtues of new products, ownership and conformity. In the process, the so-called American Dream emerged—the universal desire to move up, consume and live more comfortably.

Today, the American Dream is a universal ambition shared by virtually everyone who lives here, but the premise has become a bit tarnished. Buying a new car no longer makes people feel superior, since anyone today can lease any car if they make the low monthly payments. Home ownership isn't always a good idea either, since a mortgage and the cost to maintain a house can be a terrible financial burden. As for the country, recent studies show that more young people are gravitating to cities to be closer to long days at work, to enjoy the cultural diversity and to avoid that hassles of houses and their up-keep.

Yet the idea of suburbia—or at least how we imagine it must have been back in the 1950s—remains idyllic. Say "the fifties" to anyone in the U.S. and a range of images spring to mind, including two kids playing out back, moms cooking in aprons and dads smoking a pipe in the living room while reading the paper. We like to take comfort in the decade, even those of us who came of age later. Yet the mystique and perceived charms of suburbia were largely invented by ad agencies paid to boost the desire for clients' products.

Most jazz of the '50s, at least the jazz created on the East Coast, doesn't sound like suburbia because the musicians creating it disdained conformity and exclusion. For them, the rigidity of the newly invented pre-fabricated, sterile world was anathema to the very essence of making things up as you go. Despite suburbia's air of domestic and community perfection, free of the city's grime, crime and people who looked different, jazz not only dismissed it but also resented it. Much of what we hear in jazz is a creative reaction to the status quo and a rejection of routine, suppressed emotion and consumerism. Like modern art of the 1950s, jazz was a bold rejection of suburbia and the idea of normal, whatever that meant.

In today's Wall Street Journal (go here), I review a new exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York through January 19: Mac Conner: A New York Life (go here). Conner, who turns 101 in November, was a prolific commercial illustrator in the 1950s who specialized in creating the images for print ads as well as for the steamy short stories published by the era's many women's magazines. In this exhibit, you see the role that magazines played in promoting the suburban lifestyle in ads and prose designed to stimulate the anxieties and euphoria of puttering housewives.

Commercial illustrators have long been overlooked as a vital part of the suburban fantasy machine and those responsible for helping to convince Americans that moving up was not only doable but also affordable. This exhibit of 70 original works by Conner sheds light on the role he played in selling the American Dream.

Here's a video of Conner talking about the old days...

Used with permission by Marc Myers