The busy neosuburbanites flooding into Levittown could not be bothered with esoteric ecological principles. What they did understand, many of them being veterans, was the disciplined world of the armed service. Taking note of this fact, Abe showed them how to apply some spit and polish to the yard:
In military service, a man must shave and have his hair trimmed regularly for experience has proved that men are worth more if their morale is high, and an unkempt creature thinks little of others and less even of himself. It is so with a dwelling house and so with a lawn. Remember, your lawn is your outdoor living room about 7 months of the year. It is the first approach to your house. Your visiting friends form their opinions of the neatness and cleanliness of your house at their first approach.
The crew-cut look, popular with both hair and lawns in the forties, impressed the Levitts enough that they inserted a covenant in their deeds requiring Levittowners to cut the grass once a week between April and November. Bill and Vivian Montgomery, who moved to Levittown in 1947, learned about the mowing regulation the hard way. “I was working days and going to school nights on the GI bill,” Bill recollected, “and I was too tired to mow the lawn one week. That Saturday, we woke up to the sound of Levitt’s lawn mowing crew cutting our lawn. We got a bill in the mail. I don’t remember what it cost, but I was so embarrassed I never missed mowing the lawn again.”
Lawn monoculture melded perfectly with the ethos of conformity central to nineteen-fifties suburbia. For many, urban anomie gave way to suburban togetherness, to picture-window living that allowed people to easily observe and survey each other on a daily basis. In this world of “group living,” as historian William Chafe has called it, individualism and self-expression suffered. No one wanted to stand out. The idea was to get along with the neighbors as they gathered regularly to discuss what was happening at the school, life with their in-laws, “or the latest cure for crabgrass.” To a large extent, getting along and going along went hand in hand. “The suburb,” wrote sociologist David Riesman, “is like a fraternity house at a small college in which like-mindedness reverberates upon itself.” While we must not overstate the importance of suburban conformism, it no doubt weighed heavily on people’s minds. And what better way to show your dedication to getting along than to cultivate grass, a plant that if mowed assiduously would replicate in clone-like fashion, making your front yard look precisely like Mr. Smith’s next door.