I've been told that I often start stories without finished. So I actually will update this one.

I also know that the Fallout divergence happened after World War II, but did it really start then...? (Hint: divergence doesn't happen in this bit.)

In 1859, the small town of Callsberg was founded by a small party of pioneers heading west. They were not recieved well by the local native population and after repeated attacks on their wagons they laid foundations in a small groove in the flat and dusty prarie that is now Kansas. Although late in its arrival in the gold rush, it was serviced later in the 19th century by adventerous buffalo killers. When that faded out in the 1890’s the town reverted to a small and isolated haven for travelers. It kept on by farming the half-decent soil surronding the town limits. With little contact from the government or state officals until 1931, when Standard Agriculture and Trust kindly informed them that they had trespassing on their land. So 1932 rolled around in the small town, now fraught with the dismay that only farmers could know was forced to make a choice. Do they move on, or fade into a Hooverville in the annals of history?

The forty-eight states snapped and crinkled in the soft eastern breeze. Clouds hung like lint miles up against the blue-white skies of the west. The Ink Spots shimmered from the blue box on the porch of the diner. The dust covered everything, seeping into corners and laying a film on soup. It was harder to clean plates and forks with the dust in the water and many people became sick from cholera. But being the only rest stop for thirty miles gave it more business than you’d expect.

Hope. It can drive families together. Everytime you see it, it will be a different shape. It’s in new shops, destined to close within a month of opening. You can hope for rain, hope for food, hope for money. But it doesn’t put food on your table, rain in your land, or green in your pocket. Eventually you’ll lose the optimism, which is only a veil between you and desolation.

Denim is a tough fabric and is easily patched, thus ideal for the inhabitants of the small Midwestern town. 15 years ago this farmer had traded in his doughboy outfit for the denim of solitude, and it had served him well. It had given him land, a wife, and two boys. But they too had gone almost 7 years ago. Nobody would mark him in the good book for being a sinner, he had helped too many to go to hell. But he had yet to help himself. The cool bell chimed against the oak doorframe, dust coating copper plating. His face was a spiderweb of wrinkles, his dull eyes stared at the equally aging woman across the counter. His hearing was strained in the night by noises and shells and roar of tanks, or maybe just the wind. He was 35 years old and could pass for 50 with his graying hair.
“What would ya like, honey?”
The manager was apprehensive of this man. She had seen his face before.
“There were days I be calling you honey, Jeanne.”
Those familiar eyes looked up at him.
“Frank?”
His smile was marred by a missing tooth.
“How long has it been?”
“7 years, 41 days, 6 hours.”
“Spot on, dear.”

His fellow lads darting out of the mired trenches into the grey fog only to lie waste to the unerring prescision of the Boche. That ragged flag over the field hospital, water seeping from the floorboards. The gold of his twin medals on the train home...his brother still "O'er There" in a wooden box in Flanders...

"You have that mist in your eyes again. Is everything alright? It's been too long, you seem changed from then. I don't like that look, dear. You had it when you left me for California."
"Oh, I just don't know."
"Frank, what did happen there?"
"You've read about Gettysburg, right?"
"Of course."
"Well, you already know. War, war never changes..."

So it begins. Each passing day brings another paper onto doorsteps across the heartland. Men in pinstrips string together meaning from the dustbowl.
1932- “Communist Party To Blame for Latest Riots”
1933- “Hoover Send In Nat’n Guard to Clear Out WWI Vets from Congressional Lawns”
1934- “FDR elected President in Landslide Against Hoover.”
1935- “Roosevelt Assigns Harry Hopkins As Key Man in Economic Recovery Committee.”
(Hey, guess what, folks! Senator Harry Hopkins is a Communist spy! He later pushes the Yalta Conference of 1943 in the Soviet’s gain, giving Stalin special provisions. After the war it splits Germany with the Soviets tightening their grip on Berlin. In 1953 the Germans riot in the street, one thousand dead. You’d be suprised, but no divergence here. This also happened in our world. But just you wait, its about to get real.)

1937 - The couple pack bags and head out to California, the man establishing a radio station to fill the airwaves with his story. He never forgets about his brother. Nice looking guy, too. He went by the name of William Boone. He had four kids, all of whom live in a decripit industrial plant owned by ne’er-do-wells on the wrong side of the pavement in the Big Apple. Eldest one hunts for food in the foothills by that lake you and your twenty best friends knew about.

1938 - Shareholders in the Standard Oil decide this guy needs to be stopped the only way they know how. Them Okies going riot again, they say, jes give it few days. Lessie how they likes the law against them.
So the money changes hands, getting whiskey and sin laden on it until it reaches the marshal. He gets the militia. Next day the headlines whiz like a flashbulb
“Okies Driven out of California! Stocks Plummet as Workers Migrate from State.”

1941. Depression worsens. Pearl Harbor attacks make the President resign in a whirl of investigation. His secretly Communist advisor, Harry Hopkins, assuming command of the American war machine. With pistons steaming and rifles loaded, American enters the Second World War on December 8th, 1941. Men in green march across the cinema screens with champagne and grins. War never changes...

I really dont get how any of this ties into fallout or the point of the thread itself.

I've just started on another part, and I'll try to make this one better. The point of this story is to fill in the gaps in the lore, which in the next bit I'll do.

I have to agree.

An interesting timeline. Hopefully you'll continue!

Everything up until after World War II was exactly the same as our history.

Alright. This one comes straight from the grandparents. Both went to high school in the 50s.

1934-Grandma’s birth was 50 dollars, an enormus sum . Father had to sell cattle. A lot of people never knew where there next meal was coming from. They had enough livestock. Father lost 30,000$. Always lots to do on the farm. You got pancakes, eggs, and bacon. Men worked in the fields from 5 in the morning till 9 at night. Father attemped to make an irrigation system, which backfired and lost money. World War II turned around economy. They lived 2 miles from the country school house. Dad died when the kids were five. The nearest town was 20 miles away.
Hadley was a government kid. His dad was the chief geologist for U.S. Army core of engineers. He built dams and made the government his slave. Born 1936. Dad had master’s degree but worked at phone company as a switchboard operator because a college degree don’t mean much when you live day to day. Born in Pittsburgh, lived in Alabama and Ohio. He spent the early 50’s in high school. John McCain and Grampa graduated same year in the same town.
Wore large skirts called hoops. Very prim and proper in attire, conservative views. Never drank, or swore for that matter. Grandpa in 1954 marched in Armed Forces Day Parade as band drummer. Played hookey, got free tours of the capital on a weekend by senators.
25 cents an hour for babysitting. Grandpa lost a 5$ bill on the street. He got sent to bed without dinner and paddled. They read, played unorganized sports, skating, sledding, piano, radio.
Badge of honor to get paddled, corporal punishment.
A kid lost his temper and threw his shoe at the teacher. Teacher shook him like a blender.
Grandpa had to walk 3 miles to high school. 50 cents for a piano lesson.
Dance cards at all social events, they picked partners for the different songs. Any grinding was done at the lookout in the back of your car.
Dena Lay Dance during Christmas, every couple would dance under the mistletoe.
They rode in their boyfriends car or had dinner at one or the other parent’s house.
TV in the 50’s was black and white and grainy.
Serial programmes on the radio, Superman battled bad guys in a quaint and civil way without guns or swear words, Tom Micks was a cowboy, Lone Ranger and Tanto patrolled the midwest. You had to use your imagination for the scenery. Sound effects and dialogue was used. Wooden blocks for horses, rubbing paper for grass and wind. Most were 15 minutes long. Green Hornet, Peace and War, long half-hour programmes that consumed Saturdays and made you forget that paper or that test. Radio was bigger then, you listened to a a big old brown Filco set with an ear up against it when your folks said to turn it down. Phiber Magee and Molly, Burns and Allen, Jack Benny were more household than better and butter. First black and white television set in 1954. I love Lucy, Lucile Ball. Milton Burl, Sid Caesar. Nobody used bad language in public, Grandma says its uncouth. People were ladies and gentleman. Hippies in the 1960’s fought against constraints. They don’t know anything about civilization. They are drug-hoppin, sign-swingin, lowlifes. They will be addressed as such.
Driving age was the same. Grandpa calls lewd dancing “an abomination” Drugs were rare. It was not the norm to be amoral and loose. Flying was an occasion, to be treated as such. More people took the train.
1943, Mobile Alabama. Mother took us on the train from Mobile to Pittsburgh. Military people everywhere in uniform. Grandpa was 6. They would get told stories by the soldiers, gleaming Pacific Campaign medals. Having your own bed on the train was better and more luxurious than any plane now. Green sheets and white pillows. People didn’t travel as much. Grandma didn’t leave the state until she was 18. Says people now are too busy to appreciate the world today. The classics will stand for a while, Irving Berlin, Fred Astaire, Frank Sinatra, Ink Spots. In ten years you won’t remember them songs now. In ten years you won’t know this world. This was the 50s. It was one decade, but a lifetime away...

48 states on the flag for most the decade. Malts on the house. Black and white checkered tiles. Love was more than lust. Sleep wasn't a pastime, just a necessity. The only person who was fat was Santa, and even he was well-recieved. People ate healthier. Thank god for those years.

I still don't understand anything related to Fallout, and also space it out.

Is there more??