harder jobs for both shops. David made more money than he'd ever made before. In the forties it was often easier to earn money than to spend it. There were no new cars, and old ones were extravagantly expensive. Other energy consumers, such as electrical appliances, were in short supply. David and Gloria were naturally thrifty and they saved; they had learned as children about rainy days.

In 1947 the war and the rationing ended and the second shop closed down. David was ready to move out in search of new opportunity. He bought a secondhand car and drove to Washington, D.C. where he'd heard home construction was booming. He knew a handsaw from a hawk, so he got a job as a carpenter's helper.

David was part of one of the great migrations of history—the movement from the countryside and the small towns of America to the big cities or, more accurately, to the suburbs of the big cities. It was a migration that depended on the automobile and on the country's ever-expanding industry. It had been delayed by the lack of cars during the war. Now, with new cars, new roads and new jobs the cork exploded from the bottle.

Most of the migrants were younger than David, men just out of the service, but many were middle-aged too. David was 34. He was able to expand his opportunities with an ease his father had never had. He could get a good job in northern Virginia because almost every family was a potential homeowner in those years of postwar economic recovery. David began commuting from Covington to the Washington suburbs, leaving home Sunday night and returning Friday. The automobile and the good roads made it possible. (He could have taken the bus but the journey would have been much more difficult.) The car was essential, but it cost him $15 to $20 a week.

David figured the building boom would last at least three years. In 1950 it showed no sign of diminishing, so David took another major step. The oldest child was about to graduate from high school and the youngest was about to start the first grade; it was the time to move. They sold their four-room house in Milo for $2,500 (exactly twice what they'd paid for it) and they moved to Fairview. Their first apartment there had two bedrooms, snug for five people, but it had its appeal—everything was shiny new. The kitchen was, by Covington standards, a marvel, with a new range and a new refrigerator; in the winter the heat was automatic, and there was indoor plumbing.

For Mrs. M there was also a new sense of isolation and loneliness. The car, which had been a convenience in Milo, became a necessity in Alexandria—Mr. M needed it to get to construction sites that were often twenty miles away, and Mrs. M needed it to shop in town. In the next twenty years the Ms would buy five cars, using Mr. M's shrewdly designed technique: "You buy a car when it's a year old. By then the price has dropped in half and if it has any bad faults they've shown up."

The children grew up and acquired homes, cars, appliances, and