EPCOT. Orlando, Florida. 1994. I'd heard exclamations of “space,” “don’t miss,” “oh, the countries,” “foods”...and was excited about its newness for me.
A monorail moved silently high above me. I thought about New York's El and the clanking of rails overhead: did windows in nearby buildings tremble when the subway soared into daylight and passed like a bridge atop automobiles? No eel-like monorail with its slithering could shudder the silence.
A sphere glistened in the Florida sunshine. EPCOT's logo. Was this new to those dressed in casual clothing and rubber-soled sneakers who pushed baby strollers? I had a sense of place, lapse of time, feeling I'd been aware of this once before.
1939. In my white Breton hat with its long blue streamers, a navy blue two-piece outfit, blue ankle socks and Mary Jane patent leather shoes, I climbed into my dad's 1938 brown Chrysler sedan. The wool seats itched against my exposed five-year-old thighs. We drove along Northern Boulevard and pulled into Flushing Meadow Park where the World's Fair was set up. My mother straightened out the seams in her silk stockings, pulled her cloche cap securely around her finger-wave hairdo, and stepped on the car's running board to help me out. My dad's double-breasted suit jacket got re-buttoned as he always unbuttoned it when he sat down; he creased the seam in his wool hat. We were ready to walk around.
What has lingered all these years about that fair? What could any five year old remember with eyes that had not yet seen war, and still believed that the tooth-fairy was a real person?
I met Mr. Pickle and he gave me a pickle pin to wear. Honestly, it was Mr. Pickle, and I also ate the tiniest pickles I ever ate — free, too.
Men blew glass vases. I didn't know what kind of magic it was, but holding a rod then giving a-huff-and puff, a jar came out...kind of like bubble gum blowing I guess.
I had pictures taken of me sitting on a small Perisphere; so did every other daddy sit children on it. And I got a coin bank shaped like the Trylon and Perisphere with the penny slot in the big circle. I didn't like the Trylon as it was pointy and stuck my small hand. Why couldn't it have a flat top that couldn't stab my palm?
The movies where I wore green paper glasses really frightened me. An airplane flew out of the screen and came right over my head. Big auto tires were so big close up and they weren't even on any cars. Some make-believe fake rubber or something like that was going to one day be made. I didn't know about tires or cars except that I often needed the wool blanket that hung on the strap behind the seat where my daddy sat and drove.
But my very favorite fair thing was being in Japan. I was too! It smelled different so I knew it really was Japan...perfume aroma but sweet and strong.
EPCOT's space ride couldn't duplicate the fascination and wonder I felt when I saw on television American astronauts stand on the moon. The ride into the future had been done weekly on television's "The Jetsons,” and advertiser sponsors' logos were reminiscent of the World's Fair. I guess I expected to be transported into magic not media.
The second time I went to the '39 Fair, we parked by the Prospect Movie Theatre on Flushing’s Main Street and took the trolley. I loved the trolley. I also loved the dentist, hated haunted houses, and looked forward to Sunday drives to Brooklyn to see grandpa. Grandpa always had a nickel for a Charlotte Russe and free passes to the movies. But he didn't go to the World's Fair with us. Why?
EPCOT's Japan didn't smell of incense. Seiko watches filled a display case, and bonsai trees could be boxed and shipped via UPS to my New York address. But I can buy Seiko and bonsais a mile from my door, or have a jet fly them within a brief period of airtime from any distributor. EPCOT's England with its Royal Doulton china shop, and woolen dry goods, had the very same merchandise local department stores have...and British tea sits on my supermarket shelves. Since I smiled with pleasure at someone dressed as a Disney character, and related to a little girl who got a hug from Goofy and believed it truly was Goofy, why couldn't the exhibits convey the same sensation?
A robot drew my picture after I sat before a computer that made graphics of my face for the robot to copy. I missed the darkroom that my photographer Grandpa had invited me to share. Another concession, by Kodak, took snapshots that could be rapidly developed then made into postcards from a selection posted. Disney pictures were pressed into the fabric of tee-shirts. Where was the future as seasonal greeting cards and tee-shirt iron-ons are available in my shopping mall?
A double-decker bus circled the area of EPCOT worlds. I used to ride a double-decker bus from Jackson Heights to Fifth Avenue in New York; I loved it, and I loved the EPCOT one also.
EPCOT is for adults, I'd been told. Maybe I – ho likes walking barefoot on wet grass, still allows a sprinkler to shower me on a hot summer day, squats in a cardboard box while playing with my grandchildren, wears macaroni necklaces when made for me – am not adult enough. I won't ever be. I want a ride to illuminate, or educate, or scare, or just be fun. I want a visit to a country to be more than eating and shopping; I want to smell and touch what fragrances, goods, and customs represent it.
I'd been to a mini fair, but I missed cotton candy....
Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including 12 different divisions of The Smithsonian.