I LIKE IKE

A stroll in the early 1950s

I LIKE IKE ian Dunlop - April 24^th 2025

'I want you all to go into the cloak-room to put on your coats. Wear your hats and boots, if you've worn them to school today, in case it rains later. We will be out for at least a couple of hours.' One of the boys raised his hand repeatedly, pushing it higher and squirming with urgency. The teacher could not ignore him and said, ' It's alright Warren. We'll have plenty of time for questions while we're walking into town.'

It was late Autumn in New England, in 1952, I was seven. Like the other kids in the first-to-third grades, I was jumpy with anticipation. We would be walking a mile into town to see General Dwight Eisenhower speak to the crowd on his campaign trail for the election in November.

Our teacher, Mrs. Perkins, with prominent upper incisors and dark hair, pulled-back and pinned, told us to pair-up, take a partner and hold hands when we crossed any streets or were in a crowd. We walked down a quiet, residential street and stopped at the road that led to the small 'down-town' area of Attleboro, Massachusetts, route 123. There wasn't much traffic but we waited for a lull and Mrs. Perkins marshalled us safely to the other side. We walked and skipped along the side walk, enjoying the Autumn air, unbridled by any party-political affiliations.

The road rose with a gentle hill past late Nineteenth-Century wood houses with large verandas, pillars, ornate Victorian flourishes and finials. The town had been prosperous during the era of textile mills. Near the top of the rise we passed the High School, built in a Federal, Classic-Revival mode with an imposing façade. A dozen, wide, stone steps lead up to an entrance behind Doric columns. 'Attleboro High School' was carved across a lintel of granite.

We kicked and shuffled the crispy, golden maple leaves that had accumulated on the side walk, they crunched beneath our enthusiastic pace to see General Eisenhower. One of the kids began chanting to the cadence of our steps, 'We are the Ike Troopers, we are the Ike Troopers.' The theme was picked-up by the rest of the group, it swelled and we kept the rhythm going, until our teacher turned and said, 'Yes, OK, OK. I think that's about enough.' It felt good to be marching along and singing, and I remember thinking that grown-ups didn't seem to want to join-in with the fun.

We progressed into a shallow valley, past a long brick building that had been a textile mill and was now one of the jewelry factories that had become the town's main industry. A small river ran under the road. After a bridge we crossed a side-road that led to the police station and the Attleboro railroad station on the New York, New Haven and Hartford line, that ran from New York to Boston. As we moved on we passed a Mobil Oil service station and a Jack & Harry's hardware and domestic goods store. A row of lawn mowers were out in front but it was the shiny bicycles that caught our eyes, at ease on their kick-stands, with chrome mud guards, candy-apple red frames, red handle bar grips, large, tinkly bicycle bells and big, rear reflectors. I knew the bikes were way too big for me but maybe, one day, I'd climb up on one of those that were sparkling in the sun.

At the top of the hill we came to a three-way intersection with Attleboro's only stoplight. Opposite was London's Clothing Store, a bit further, the red front and gold lettering of Woolworth's. We passed a Tom McCann shoe store and under the revolving clock of The First National Bank. Down a side street was the office and press of the weekly paper, The Attleboro Sun.

Mrs. Perkins reminded us, 'Stay together and hold your partner's hand. I don't want anyone to get lost. Stay together.' There were a lot more people on the streets now, all heading toward a double-arched, stone railroad bridge over the main street. There was a strong echo effect as we walked under, into a tunnel. The slapping of shoes, chatter and babble were amplified and reverberated against the stone walls and asphalt road. A couple of the kids shouted, 'Ya, Ya,Ya. Ee-eek, ee-eek,' filling the tunnel with echoes. We emerged into a square, really a triangle, with a few shops, a diner, a shoe repair place, with a Cat's Paw sign above and a small bus station for 'Interstate Bus Line'

The buzz of so many expectations filled the area. Mrs. Perkins herded us to a space where we could wait for Eisenhower's arrival. I had to lean over to see past a group of men standing in front of us, then lean the other way when they moved. We heard the blast of the train's horn, an engine inched onto the bridge, pulling several passenger cars and the brakes squealed as the rear coach had almost crossed the bridge. This was a 'whistle-stop tour'. The candidate would speak at every town along the line. The halts for each speech would be brief because along the railroad's route, between Providence R.I. and Boston's South Station there were a dozen or fifteen towns that had populations large enough to address. There were several men, behind safety-rails on the platform of the last coach, wearing overcoats and hats. One of them spoke into a microphone connected to two bullhorn speakers on the railing.

'Thank you ladies and gentlemen....' the speakers squawked and squealed. He held the mic against his chest, swiveled his head and shouted something, then continued speaking. I couldn't hear what he was saying, they must have turned the volume down, until he faded-in again, '…And it's my pleasure to give you, the next president of the United States of America,' He yelled, 'General, Dwight, Eisenhower!' The crowd cheered and applauded, the 'Ike Troopers' zealously joined-in.

Ike was a genuine, One-Hundred-Percent Hero, who had been the Supreme Commander of the D-day invasion of Normandy and had driven Hitler and his evil Nazi troops out of France and back into Germany until whatever remained were squeezed into the ruins of Berlin and waved the white flag of surrender. Ike took the microphone, raised his other arm and waved to the crowd below. He wasn't in his military uniform, with all the medals and the five stars gleaming on his epaulettes but that is how everyone pictured him. Like, 'Mild-mannered Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet', who, you knew, was wearing his Superman costume underneath his street clothes. The crowd's roar subsided. Ike spoke.

'My fellow Americans, we have faced hardships in the past, times when we have been tested to the extreme. We have had to sacrifice and struggle to maintain our way of life.'

One of the school girls scolded, 'Quit poking me Bobby, that hurts!' A boy giggled. Mrs. Perkins looked down and hissed, 'Stop that! Behave and be quiet! People want to hear the speech.' General Eisenhower had continued his speech, outside of the little Cheryl-and-Bobby spat.

'..And much better days, by the grace of God, lay before us. We will have a great future together!' The crowd cheered, Ike nodded and smiled.

'Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen. God bless and goodbye!' He passed the mic to one of the others and raised both arms like a victory salute.

As the train slowly pulled away, Mrs Perkins said, 'Now, that will be something for you to remember, when you're older. Everybody, take your partner's hand, stay close and we'll walk back to school.'

Ike's whistle-stop speech of optimism was prophetic. The 1950s unfolded as he predicted. I grew up in a period of unparalleled economic growth and opportunity for a whole-lot of Americans. A couple of years later I was riding one of those red Huffy bicycles with a push-button, electric horn, red and white streamers flowing-out from the handlebar. My father was driving a two-tone, turquoise-and-white Oldsmobile Starfire convertible. Elvis smashed the airwaves and society, Jasper Johns did his first American Flag painting, the Beat poets made it up, out of the subterranean. Leo Fender produced the Stratocaster electric guitar. Almost every family had a TV, a freezer and a car with tail fins. Marilyn's dress blew up over her thighs. In The Wild One movie - cast as a motor cycle gang honcho - Marlon Brando, when asked, 'Johnny, what are you rebelling against?', sneered his reply, 'Wha' d'ya got?' Golden era or what!! Thank you Ike!

The General, who became president for two consecutive terms, had his head screwed-on. He was a moderate conservative with a background of mid-western sensibilities. In 1956 he forced the British, French and Israelis to withdraw from their invasion of Egypt. In 1957 he put his foot down on the alcoholic, zealot, Reds-under-the-bed, Joseph McCarthy and his spurious accusations, senate investigations, black-lists and hounding of liberals. In 1957 he sent the army to guard Afro-American kids who were being integrated into white-only public schools in Little Rock. In 1957 Ike initiated the construction of the interstate highway system.

In his farewell address, on January 17^th 1961, Ike revealed another prophetic glimpse into the future. He gave a strong warning about the Military-Industrial Complex and not allowing it to get out of control.

'If both sides benefit', Ike maintained, 'One side by obtaining more weapons, the other side by being paid to supply them, that situation could influence the government's public and social policies.'

(A bit of space here, to dwell on that one.)

He also warned about the possible dangers of government contracts with private military manufacturers.

(Wow, Ike must be turning in his grave!)

Maybe Ike picked up some inspiration when regularly playing golf and walking on sweet, green grass, as well as his time on the bloody battlefields.

Ike's farewell address was sixty-eight years prior to my writing these memories. Two-thousand-and-eighty-five years ago, Marcus Tillius Cicero; Roman, philosopher, writer, poet and statesman wrote (and of course, he was pretty fluent in Latin):

' Inter arma enim, silente leges.' (translated):

'Once the weapons are drawn, the laws fall silent.'

Maybe Cicero was too outspoken back then. In 43 BC he was assassinated by order of Mark Antony.

President Eisenhower died of cardiac problems in 1969.

I LIKE IKE !