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My father had a collection of American flags. Most of them were small flags attached to short wooden sticks. He also had one large flag on a long metal pole. Every year on July 4th, my father lined the sidewalk leading to our house in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with the short flags. Starting with the three steps at the base of the sidewalk, he interspersed the flags on both sides of the walkway all the way to the front porch, where he hung the large flag from a pole attached to the awning.
As a young girl I helped my father set out the flags. It never occurred to me to be embarrassed by his arcade. He felt proud to live in this country. He also felt especially patriotic on Independence Day because becoming an American citizen granted him the freedom he lost as a Jew hiding in Poland. My parents arrived here in March of 1949 after a period of post-war convalescence. They were among the fortunate beneficiaries of that period of American history when, as Paul Krugman (2004) notes, we were a relatively middle class nation. It was the period historians refer to as the “Great Compression,” when income gaps narrowed, probably as a result of New Deal policies; unions thrived; and corporate profits were taxed as were people who inherited wealth.
During the first 30 plus years after WWII, the American dream of upward mobility was a real experience for many people. My parents were among those people. Their drive to create a new life, coupled with their entrepreneurial skills and a conducive environment, were all they needed. They never stopped being grateful. Incongruities aside, that dream stood for a set