Dodge gave us the Dart and my dad coasted the truck as much as possible in order to avoid the lines at the pump. Throw Jimmy Carter into the mix and it’s not a far stretch to imagine America as a dystopian wasteland. It was worse than that actually – there were bell-bottoms.
In 1972, I was 8 years old. I wasted time watching Hee-Haw reruns and despairing over Redskin losses (what goes around…). There was a small saving grace: it usually came in the form of the Sunday funnies. Most notably the colored funnies, and especially catching up with the round-headed kid – good ‘ol Charlie Brown. Having sprung for the Weekly Reader book club offers of a wide variety of Peanuts paperback classics, I knew the whole gang and all their proclivities.