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Why Route 66? 
It was the waning years of The Great Depression. America was tired of nearly a decade of economic failure, and the land was tired from have been overworked by too many years of producing the same crop – then the rains didn’t come. As the hot wind blew across the plains, giant dust clouds obscured the sun, covered the towns, the people, then sifted into homes through every crack, crevice and key hole. Banks kicked tenant farmers off the land, destroying generations of pride in working the soil and providing food for a hungry nation. To make certain they stayed off the land, bulldozers were sent to demolish their homes.
In the midst of this misery flyers appeared. Printed on orange or brilliant yellow paper, the flyers offered the vision of jobs – jobs that paid well to pick fruits and vegetables in the golden land of California. A land of sunshine, giant farms, and no dust.
Refugees from the Dust Bowl loaded their lives into cars and trucks and set out. Two and three generations climbed into and onto the vehicles piled high with the detritus of family, then traveled the farm roads and state highways in search of Route 66 – the Mother Road – the way West. Thousands of these families in their ailing and dying vehicles found their way to California, with the dream of a new life guiding them. Little did they realize the flyers were a scam perpetrated by large, corporate owned farms to bring in workers who would fight each other for pennies a day.
World War II – the Nazi’s had been defeated, the war in Europe was over
and America shifted her focus to the Pacific and the war with Japan.
In utmost secrecy the Manhattan
Project developed the weapon that would end the war, and at a place
called Trinity
in the New Mexico desert scientists wondered if the weapon would literally
set the air on fire and destroy the earth.
It didn’t.
Two weapons were dropped on Japan – one at Hiroshima
and one at Nagasaki.
Forty years later, Ronald Reagan, a president who should have known better
stated, “The United States will never be the first to strike with nuclear
weapons,” conveniently forgetting the U. S. was the first, and only nation
in the world, to have done so.
The war ended and thousands of G.I.’s returned to the U. S. and were mustered out in California. They liked what they saw – clean air, modern homes, and an economy not based on air polluting, filthy, smelly steel mills, or coal mines. They went home, gathered their young families, and set out for the Golden State along the road – Route 66 – that would take them to a new, more prosperous life.
The fifties saw a wealthy America – one with solid paychecks and leisure time unlike anything previously experienced. The survivors of the Dust Bowl and the transplanted G.I.’s loaded their Baby Boomer offspring into the giant finned behemoths of the road and headed east. Back home to visit parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Along the way Route 66 became an icon for the kids trapped in the backseat with a stack of Donald Duck comics.
Images of the road include diners, cafes, motels with garish neon and swimming pools, beds with a quarter driven Magic Fingers device that would shake fillings loose, and a canvas water bag hanging from the hood ornament for that dreaded “desert crossing.” Trading Posts with rubber tomahawks and small boxes full of “rock collections” were the places kid’s dreams were made of. Route 66 was the road back to the roots, back to the small towns and industrial regions that were America at the turn of the century, and when the vacation was over, Route 66 became the road home, home to California with it’s blue skies, new schools for the Baby Boomers and an eternal feeling of optimism.
Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll. Sunset Boulevard and Haight-Ashbury. Jimi, Janis, Jim, and the Jefferson Airplane – they were all out there, out on “The Coast.” California called once again and the Love Generation piled into VW buses or stood by the roadside with thumbs pointing west hoping for the ride that would take them all the way. Once again Route 66 moved a generation from the farms, the small towns and the boredom of “home” to the land of excitement.
By the late-80’s Route 66 was officially dead. The government removed the signs and the most memorable 2448 miles of highway in the United States was no more.
But dreams and memories do not die easily. Route 66 continued to live in the memories of those who had traveled her and in the dreams of those who wanted to experience the magic of the Mother Road. Anniversaries, honeymoons, family trips, and the search for the neon rainbow have spurred the re-birth of the road that refused to die. Books were written, videos produced and film crews came from around the world in search of the magic.
People from every country imaginable venture to Chicago for the slide down the spine of America, then continue west searching for the Gemini Giant, the bridge with the bend in the middle, Jessie James’ hideout, ten Cadillac’s buried nose first in the Texas clay, a wigwam for the night, the wonder of the Grand Canyon, the Great American Desert and finally, the Pacific Ocean.
Route 66 lives on, and thousands of people a year share the adventure,
while millions more dream of 
some
day discovering the Road for themselves.
The Mother Road calls to each of us – and eventually we must answer.