March 10th, 2009
By Barbara Kessler
Green Right Now
It’s settled. The loneliest salesperson in the frontier is not the Hummer dealer, but the guy selling Fleetwoods.
The recreational vehicle maker filed for bankruptcy today, saying that the rugged economic climate was proving too tough to weather, especially coming as it does after a protracted slump in sales already underway. Essentially, the Fleetwood’s been spinning its wheels in the mud for sometime, up against changing demographics, high gasoline prices and declining American incomes.
Aside from the loss of jobs (700 or so immediately and more if the company can’t be sold), the sad symbolism of the matter is almost too much to bear. America’s great rush to get on wheels found its fullest expression in the vacation motor home (or, some would argue, tractor-wheel monster pickup trucks). A generation or two took flight upon retirement, heading to Sun City, Lake Powell, the Grand Canyon, Corpus Christi, McAllen, Lakewood and Panama City.
My grandparents were snowbirds, though they didn’t own a Fleetwood, and did time as temporary Minnesota transplants to the Rio Grande Valley, playing cards and checkers with other retirees wandering the country after years cooped up in offices. Those lucky enough to end their working life with enough cash to cover a recreational vehicle didn’t have to stay in one spot, but could sprint around the country, checking out buttes and bluffs, ticking off historical markers and eating cherry pie at a different truck stop every day. After refueling their 9 mpg townhomes on wheels, they would slog off to kibbutz at the KOA, concoct variations on the sloppy joe and share pecan rolls from Stuckey’s.
Ah, the call of the road. Jack Kerouac. Hell’s Angels. Grandpa and Grandma. Let’s not even go there.
Copyright © 2009 Green Right Now | Distributed by Noofangle Media
