Like so many other podunk dirt farmers of their generation,
my newlywed parents were eager to leave behind their rural childhoods of
chicken beheadings and outhouse hosings and embrace the dream of 1950’s
suburbia. They had visions of two-door Frigidaires, multi-speed cuisinarts and
full-color Philcos in a ranch-style Levittown castle. There would be backyard
barbecues and baseball practice, birthday piñatas on the patio and late-night
cocktail parties with boisterous neighbor couples. This last shindig would
require the feature every suburban dweller knew he couldn’t live without: the
hi-fi.
