That night, we’d stay at my best friend’s civil-war era farmhouse in Gettysburg. It seemed fitting for us to hunker down on a historical property with our vintage ad collection – that though more recent and commercial – played its own role in shaping the past. Hell, half of these compositions would not pass by today’s standards. Nearly everything was boiled down into narrow political, social, and sexual views. Men like beer… Women like baking… Patriots conserve gas… Doctors endorse cigarettes… And these are the safe messages.
Sarah went to bed while my buddy and I shuffled through the binders. Both huge fans of Jeep, we paid extra attention to a few ad mock-ups that touted the Willy’s transition from battlefield to farm life. It was kind of a goose bumps moment, seeing as we were observing the first attempts to introduce the now classic vehicle to an unfamiliar civilian marketplace.
In a way, looking at this stuff almost feels like time travel voyeurism. You know something that they did not. Each piece represents just the beginning of that specific brand story. Most of the ads make references to people, places and trends of the time. Some even delve into future predictions, like the Atlas Tire composition that shows a small boy wearing a space suit, complete with laser ray. They didn’t understand where it all would lead, just that it resonated in that moment. They had no clue that brands – at least the ones that lasted – would wind up becoming so woven into our American fabric. It was the dawn of corporate culture, all packaged up nicely into a plastic container.
It was getting late and I needed sleep. We cleared the beer bottles and put the binders away. In my obsessive compulsive way, I checked on the AR tickets one last time. Yep, they were still there, tucked into a vanilla envelope inside our suitcase. My head hit the pillow around midnight, and I’d soon be dreaming of “what-ifs?”