Born in 1966

If you were born in 1966, the America you entered was one where the distance between the generation that had fought World War II and the one coming of age could no longer be papered over. Vietnam was consuming fifty thousand men a month in the draft, and protest marches were growing from polite gatherings to something much louder. But daily life still had its textures and pleasures: *Batman* debuted on ABC in January and spawned the greatest toy frenzy since Davy Crockett coonskin caps.

The first Astroturf went down in the Houston Astrodome and everyone thought it was marvelous. The Beach Boys released *Pet Sounds*, which barely anyone appreciated at the time and everyone would later. The Beatles played their last concert in Candlestick Park in San Francisco in August—they were done with touring forever.

Star Trek premiered in September and was immediately canceled twice and renewed twice, the network unable to figure out what it had. Truman Capote's In Cold Blood was the book everyone was reading. The Chevrolet Camaro and the Ford Bronco arrived at the dealers.

A color television now ran about $400. The suburbs were full and peaceful and watching *The Andy Griffith Show* every week, and somewhere in the distance there was a sound that might have been music and might have been something else entirely.