The National Vacation

Edited by Mike Sunderland

The Arabs attacked Israel in October, 1973 – the Yom Kippur War in which the Israelis, for the umpteenth time, thoroughly whipped Egypt and Syria simultaneously and took firm possession of the Golan Heights, the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. In retaliation for U.S. support of Israel, the Arab oil-producing nations imposed a total ban on oil exports to the U.S.

The country went nuts. Long lines formed at gas pumps and in some parts of the U.S. gasoline prices went through the roof. Congress frantically wrung its hands and came up, as usual, with the worst possible solutions: 1. A nationwide 55 mph speed limit. 2. Year-around daylight savings time. And 3. A mandate to keep your thermostat set no higher than 68 degrees in winter and no lower than 78 degrees in summer. (Sound familiar? The same old song, by a different band with no improvement in the tune–Mike S.) The last two were just plain silly. The 55 mph speed limit was a national disaster, and proved to be as unenforceable and as unpopular as Prohibition had been during the 1940s.

Because of the sparse population within the state, Nevada had no fixed highway speed limit prior to late 1973. Drivers had long been accustomed to 75-85 mph (or more). Nor was there any evidence that highway accidents and/or fatalities were any more numerous per miles traveled than in any other state.

I began editorializing against 55 mph and kept it up, month after month. What with that, the Watergate mess, a witless Congress, and various and sundry other governmental offenses, I was fed up. Venting my frustration in a 3-or-4 column bill of particulars against the Federal government, I suggested the people should send a message to Washington by taking what I called a "National Vacation." By that I meant that all of us working, taxpaying serfs should simply lay down our tools, tell government of all kinds that it could go to hell, and take off a week or so.

I was absolutely flabbergasted at the response. Many of our readers clipped the column and sent copies to their friends and relatives. Other newspapers began running stories about this Nevada editor and his National Vacation idea. Within days letters from all over began filling our mail box. We tried to print them all. The thing snowballed through December, 1973, and January, February and March of 1974.

Before it was over the story had gone out on both the Associated Press and UPI news wires to be picked up by newspapers, radio and TV stations far and wide. More times than I can remember during those months the phone would ring and I would be told: "It's for you. Radio station GLOB (or some such) from Podunk wants to talk to you about the National Vacation." I was roped into many on-the-air-by-telephone talk sessions by stations in Los Angeles, New York City, Washington, D.C., New Bern, N.C., that I can recall, plus dozens in between that I can't. Television crews from stations in Boise and Las Vegas made the trip to Winnemucca to film me at the shop.

I tried to answer all the letters personally but it became impossible. Many of the writers wanted some National Vacation material that they could use in their own neighborhoods. We had some bumper stickers printed saying "Send Those Oil-Government Grafters a Message – NATIONAL VACATION – April 15-21 • COME ON ALONG!" Dorothy* was put to work temporarily to assist with the National Vacation correspondence.

One of the radio show hosts asked me, "Are you trying to promote a general strike?" I hadn't thought of it in those terms. In fact I hadn't thought my rantings and ravings would spark the kind of reaction it had. But, I guess that's what a National Vacation amounted to.

"You're a socialist, then?"

"No, I'm a hard-nosed conservative."

Another station, one in D.C., asked me if I'd like to address a joint session of Congress. "I'd love to!" I responded. No one in a position of Congressional leadership invited me to do it, but I'm still waiting.

Judith MacGowan, a writer from New York, showed up unannounced one day wanting to do a story on me. She'd read about the National Vacation and must have thought I was some kind of extraordinary critter. I told her to make herself at home, but that she'd probably discover we were pretty common folks. "I'm just a poor ole country boy, trying to make a living," I told her early on.

She looked at me thoughtfully and replied, "Why did I get the feeling I should check my wallet when you said that?" Judith hung around a couple of days, taking notes, before going on her way. I guess she finally decided there was no two-headed-boy-raised-by-wolves story in the Sunderlands or what we were doing.

In the end, I don't know if anyone else went on National Vacation, but Barbara and I did. We printed early one week and late the next in order to lock up the shop for five working days. Some of the locals thought we were crazy, but at least they knew I put my money where my mouth is. As Andy Warhol said, "Everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." He should have added: "with 15 people."

(*That was Dorothy my wife. Hmmm... maybe we taxpayers should think seriously about taking a National Vacation of our own. Something to consider. Mike S.)