By Scott Vaughan
In case you’ve forgotten, didn’t notice, or weren’t alive, times were tough in late 1973. It was a season of stagflation–high unemployment and high inflation. The post-World War II economic boon was waning as international competition accelerated and homegrown manufacturing jobs declined. People were unemployed, and many who were employed saw that their paychecks purchased less and less.
My dad was self-employed and my mom was a secretary; we were limping along. My mother had already prepared us for Christmas to be different–fewer gifts and more time with church and family.
That Christmas, my dad provided HVAC work for the owner of the local Western Auto store, and in trade, my brothers and I received 10-speed bikes for Christmas. The bikes were all we got that year–except for some fruit and chocolate. Well, my grandmother gave each of us a three-pack of Hanes underwear.
Though that Christmas was lean, that bicycle changed my life.
The following summer of 1974, having completed my first year of high school, I rode that bike three miles to town and talked my way into an afternoon job at the weekly newspaper. I continued that job after school each day when the school year began. I worked at the newspaper through high school, writing sports and other stories. I also cleaned the bathroom and swept up after the week’s issue went to press. The newspaper’s editor, who became a mentor and best friend, helped me get a college tuition grant from the Georgia Press Association. That grant was my good friend through four years at the University of Georgia–I graduated in 1981 with a degree in journalism.
On that Christmas morning in 1973, I only found a bicycle under the Christmas tree.
As it turned out, that bicycle was all I needed.
