Don't Call Me Trailer . . . Anymore!
(from Michigan Manufactured Housing Association)

My ancestors began life in the United States in the 1920s when the automobile was new and vacation getaways in "trailer-coaches" were popular. My great-grandfather provided travelers with a convenient place to sleep as they journeyed from campground to campground. He was a bit of a vagabond himself. He didn't look at all fancy and had no desire to be handsome or grow old gracefully.

My grandfather wasn't nearly the wanderer that his father was. After World War II, the veterans came home looking for temporary housing for their "baby boom" families. "Trailer parks" were common; people found them to be good places to live, and trailers were easy to move to a new job location or for long vacations. They were short and skinny and didn't take up much room wherever they went.

Things have changed in my family since the 1940s. The '60s were a time of prosperity and my father became more sophisticated. Trailers were called "mobile homes"-twice as big with more house-like amenities: wall-to-wall carpeting, a dishwasher, washer and dryer, and a carport-all things the older generation thought were frivolous.

Safety was a big issue. The government established new laws in the '70s that mean we are much less vulnerable to the elements. Our neighborhoods look nicer, too-not like trailer parks, anymore-instead, much like any suburban subdivision.

Here I am-all grown up in the '90s. My father says I am more beautiful and sophisticated than our ancestors could ever have imagined. He says I look just like our city cousins who always stayed in one place, never went anywhere.

Everyone in my generation has all the finer things anyone would want: microwave ovens, dishwashers, Jacuzzis, skylights, wood-burning fireplaces and garages, to name just a few. And, our neighborhood is so beautiful-no one ever moves away. The community has a pool, clubhouse, tennis, golf, biking trails, and nearby, all the shopping anyone needs. Some of us prefer to be out in the country, on private land with lots of room between us and our neighbors. Others are "up north," on a wooded lot or along a sandy Michigan shoreline as a comfortable vacation getaway.

My children are expecting even more when they grow up. They already see themselves as no different than their city cousins. They expect to have built-in home theaters and audio systems, picture phones, miniature satellite dishes-anything technology develops, they will have.

Who am I? I'm a manufactured home-just one of over 11,000 new homes delivered in Michigan last year. I've come a long way since my great-grandfather's days as a "trailer-coach," and I've come to be accepted as viable, alternative housing: durable, affordable, attractive and stylish.

So please, don't call me trailer . . . anymore!