The Golden Dream
Authors: Stephen; Birmingham
The Golden Dream
Suburbia in the 1970s
Stephen Birmingham
Contents
SOUTHWESTâAND A MOUNTAIN STATE
10. The Rockefellers on the Turnpike
12. The Lively Art of Commuting
20. The Vanishing Living Room and Other Phenomena
The Suburban Dream
They came to the suburbs in pursuit of a dreamâthe way, in the 1920s, people flocked in droves to Florida looking for a land of sun and space. They came in search of green grass and trees, away from the hassle, a place where children and pets could run and play unattended, where there was room for a garden, a terrace, a backyard swing, a swimming pool, a tennis court, or a gazebo. They came to escape the city's dirt and noise and crime and traffic, and to escape the tyranny of rents and landlords. They came for the promise of better schools, lower taxes, less indifferent police, more convenient shopping, to find an amorphous quantity called “greater freedom,” and to leave behind the alleged anonymity of city living. Many came for racial reasons, to escape what seemed an “invasion” of blacks, or Puerto Ricans, or Jews, or Mexican-Americans. More than anything else, they came because the suburbs symbolized the Good Life, and one of the most important factors of the Good Lifeâin America, at leastâhas been to own a home of one's own, or at least to own a part of it, and to be invited to join the country club. The suburbs symbolized “making it.” They came by the millions.
The flight to the suburbs began before the turn of the century, encouraged at first by the coach and ferry, then spurred by the development of the railroad and the automobile. By 1925, suburbanization had become as national trend. But it was not until the economically booming days of the 1960s that the trend became a
roaring phenomenon. In the decade between 1960 and 1970, the twenty-five largest cities in the United States had, all together, gained about 710,000 in population. Their suburban areas, meanwhile, gained 8.9 million peopleâor twelve times more. The suburbs of New York, for example, now have more residents than the city itselfânearly nine millionâmaking the New York suburbs themselves the largest “city” in the country.
The escapees to the suburbs have found many of the things they were looking for: the grass, the trees, the cleaner air, and so on. But they have also found other things which they did not bargain for. They have found spiraling taxes, soaring real estate prices, schools that often seem less than satisfactory. They have found drugs, and crime, and dirt and noise from the freeways. They have found zoning battles, bond-issue fights, dirty politics, corruption in government, water shortages, crab grass, red spider, and the Dutch elm disease. They have watched the encroachment of industry, of high-rises, of tract developers, and of shopping centers set amid acres of asphalt. They have watched the racial minorities they hoped to avoid follow them, and they have cursed at suburban rush-hour traffic jams. They have discovered the value of the spite fence, and they have discovered boredom. Most of all, they have also discovered that curious anomie, that sense of disorientation, that indefinable “feeling of separation,” which living in suburbia so often seems to convey.
SOUTHWESTâAND A MOUNTAIN STATE
1
Blood and Money
When the Keith Jacksons of Houston, Texas, became, like so many young Texans, suddenly petroleum rich, the first thing they felt they needed was “a good address!” In Houston, the only good address worth mentioning is River Oaksâa suburb that, because of its proximity to the city, is convenient for businessmen and that, because of the sheer opulence of its residences, is probably unmatched among American show-off communities.
Jackson, who was too busy to house-shop himself, dispatched his wife to drive around River Oaks and select a house she liked. In River Oaks, a zoning ordinance prevents owners from putting “For Sale” signs on properties, but that didn't particularly worry the Jacksons, who figured that whether or not a house was actually for sale didn't much matter, since the Jacksons were prepared to offer the owner of whatever house Mrs. Jackson fancied a price the owner couldn't refuse. For several days, Mrs. Jackson prowled the shady, Spanish-moss-hung streets of River Oaks, peering through majestic gateways and down long drives, examining façades. Finally, she announced that she had found the house of her dreams. “It's nice and big,” she explained, “and has beautiful grounds. There's a pool, there are tennis courts, and there's even a golf course.” When the Jacksons prepared to make their offer, however, they discovered that the place Mrs. Jackson had in mind was the River Oaks Country Club. The Jacksons weren't able to buy the country club, but they did end up with quite a nice placeâa two-million-dollar house
which contains, among other things, a Steuben Glass staircase. At the time, a friend commented, “I didn't know Steuben Glass made staircases.” “Neither did Steuben Glass,” replied the Jacksons, “until we ordered it.”
River Oaks relishes its tales of residential extravagance, and takes great civic pride in each new splurge. When, for example, the Kenneth Schnitzersâwho are big in supermarketsâbought their house, Joan Schnitzer wanted a tennis court. But there was no room for one. So the Schnitzers simply bought the place next door, took an acre for their tennis court, and sold what was left. Mrs. Collier Hurley travels around town in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac that has a bar. When she travels to New York, for shopping, as she frequently does, she flies with her four poodles and a small freezer full of fresh, extra-thick lamb chops, which, she insists, are the only meat her dogs will eat. Mrs. Anthony Villa, who is famous locally for the size and number of the diamonds she wears, has a thing about pineapples, and so, when the Villas bought their River Oaks house, Mrs. Villa ordered an array of enormous ornamental pineapples placed on the rooftop. The place has become a landmark, and a neighbor giving directions to his house may say, “I live three doors down from the pineapple house.” When Earl Dowâwho runs an expensive fast-food chainâbought his River Oaks house, he had it painted to match the colors of Neiman-Marcus shopping bagsâchocolate brown and beige. And so it goes. Costly idiosyncrasies are applauded in River Oaks.
River Oaks likes nothing better than to entertain visiting royalty. Mr. and Mrs. Robert Herring have achieved something of a record in this category, since they have been host to four heads of state in the last two years, with a perhaps understandable emphasis on Arab leaders, and the Herrings spare no expense. At a party for King Hussein of Jordan, for example, Joanne Herring and her decorator turned one large room into a “shah's discotheque”âan indoor Arabian Nights tent with lush pillows scattered about the zebra-patterned floor. Joanne Herring had assigned various Houston beauties to lounge, harem fashion, on the cushions when the king made his entrance, but somehow a cue was missed and when Hussein entered the tent, all the women were standing. “I thought you were all going to be lying around on the floor!” cried Mrs. Herring. “Quick! Get on the cushions.” The ladies complied, and a Mexican mariachi bandâa Texas touchâstruck up a tune. On her cushion, a young Houston woman named Annie Owen found herself seated
next to the king. She reached for a cigarette, and the king reached for his lighter. When Miss Owen admired the lighterâgold, embossed with the royal insigniaâHussein proved that he could be as extravagant as any Texan, and asked her to keep it. At first Miss Owen demurred, but he insisted. “If I don't take the lighter, will you be insulted?” she asked. “I will,” replied the king. So Miss Owen kept the lighter. Though King Hussein's visit at the Herrings' lasted only thirty minutesâhe had to dash on to a meeting with former U.N. ambassador George Bushâit was all considered worth it.
River Oaks loves its reputation for outrageousness. “Everything they say about us here is true,” is a comment the visitor hears frequently at local dinner parties, between discussions of the merits of Cavalier jets and the relative reliability of various Beechcraft agencies in the area. (In River Oaks, airplanes are compared with as much enthusiasm as automobiles are in Grosse Pointe, Detroit's suburb.) River Oaks likes to boast that some of its leading society ladies are former call girls, and it is definitely chic here to have a past that is shady or worse. When someone makes it big in River Oaks, it is a cause for general rejoicing, another reminder that people get richer quicker in Texas, and spend their money more ebulliently, than anywhere else on earth. When a River Oaks girl named Sandra Hovas married Baron Enrico di Portanova, everyone applauded, and they applauded even more when she changed her name from Sandra to Alessandra. (“Remember, I'm the Baroness Alessandra di Portanova,” the baroness reminded society reporter Shelby Hodge at the King Hussein party.) Houston itself supports a wealthy and socially active gay community. At the Old Plantationâan expensive nightclub hard by River Oaksâmen dance with men and women dance with women, and nobody thinks a thing about it. But within the confines of River Oaks, a firm line is drawn. Everyone wishing to buy a house in River Oaks must pass a screening committee, and one of the firmest rules is that no house can be purchased jointly by two gentlemen or two ladies. For years, no Jews were permitted to buy in River Oaks, though an exception was made in the case of the department store Sakowitzes. And there are still no blacks here, though there was a fuss stirred up a while back when it was rumored that Muhammad Ali was shopping for River Oaks property (he wasn't, as it turned out).
River Oaks people also have a zesty, pioneer fondness for good old-fashioned bloodshed, and nothing is more welcomed than a
spicy murder scandal. When socialite Joan Robinson Hill, the daughter of oilman Ash Robinson, was allegedly poisoned by her plastic surgeon husband, who was then, in turn, dispatched by a killer allegedly hired by her father, River Oaks couldn't have liked the ensuing trial more. The killings later became the subject of a book called
Blood and Money
by Thomas Thompson, and River Oaks got excited all over again. Visitors were routinely driven past the house where Dr. Hill was murdered. “
There
âright in that doorwayâis where the killer shot down John Hill.” Hill had never been convicted of killing his wife, but in the mind of River Oaks there was no question that he did it. “The minute I heard she was dead, I said to myself, âJohn did it,'” says one woman.
There was spirited talk, too, about the civil-court trial of millionaire Ash Robinson for, allegedly, having hired a gun to kill his son-in-law.
“There isn't a juror in this town who would find against Ash Robinson,” said one woman. “Too many people in this town love old Ash. Too many people loved Joan and hated that creep husband of hers, and
admire
old Ash.”