A 1960’s Family Road Trip
Excepts from the memoir
CLIMB IN THE BACKSEAT
A fresh snow sparkled in the morning sun. My job was digging out the front walkway and I took it seriously—
I was already five years and eight months old.
Between lifting and throwing the Long Island slush into small mountains,
I took rests watching my breath make a clouds of smoke
in the crisp morning air.
I was happy and looking forward to Christmas, 1961 in Massapequa New York.
Then, my father called my name.
“Whose ready for an adventure trip?
I saw Mom was carrying my younger brother toward our yellow Chevy Nomad.
Dad was smiling.
Mom was crying.
Little brother Pete was twisting and fussing.
The car was packed with luggage.
“Dad got short with me, “Simmer down and climb in the back seat,”
he directed.
Mom passed me our prickly army blanket.
“Share half with your brother, ”“
The backseat was filled with pillows and bags of clothes to prevent us sliding from side to side on the long bench seat.
I looked out the side window in silence.
Mom lit up a cigarette and began smoking.
We drove further than my grandparents homes, then entered the darkness of a place called, The Lincoln Tunnel.
I closed my eyes and asked myself, “Why me? What did I do wrong?”
I was learning to become a New Yorker,
walking (with attitude); talking (quickly) and clearing snow from the
front walkway. Now I felt kidnapped.
Unknown roads with strange exit signs
rushed past. “Where am I headed?”
Billboards along the roadside
were the only clue as to my fate.
I read them to memorize the route home.
The highway was crowded with cars and trucks.
The horizons were as grey and colorless as the cities passed.
“We are adventuring South, all the way to Florida,” Dad explained.
We are in New Jersey now and have six more states to go.
When you you need to pee, use the bottle. When you get tired, close your eyes and sleep across the seat”
The roadside billboards became my silent friends out the window.
They were the only clue I had to the
personality of each new state we crossed. New Jersey was all
about cigarettes and liquor. I imagined it was a place of hard living
grown-ups.
Some sun peeked out in Maryland. The land was green and there were no billboards. Maybe serious
people who don’t appreciate clutter? I slept through Washington D.C.
and most of Virginia.
I woke in time to see that Virginians had a lot of interest in
cigarettes and chewing tobacco.
NORTH AND SOUTH CAROLINA
My mood improved when we came to North and South Carolina—
The billboards had aa great sense of humor. “Pedro says, Chile Today,
Hot Tamale” Pedro says, “You Never Sausage a Place!” “Highway
Ribbery!”
I never tired of reading them out loud, And, the one that had us laughing for miles…an
upside down billboard that read, “Oops, Too Moooch Tequila?”
My mother’s parents Nanny and Pops, who we left behind in New York would have loved these silly jokes. Nanny was a prankster who
gave me a trick peanut jar to hand out at parties. When an aunt or uncle would open it, a giant paper snake would spring out!
They were very religious and lived in a giant three-story house in a neighborhood of large green parks and driveways. The walkways were far to long for kid to clear the snow.
I loved climbing up and down their carpeted stairs and landings.
My Nanny and Pops taught me to dip my hand into a holy water fountain and say a Hail Mary before climbing. They were extremely serious about this.
“What is Florida going to be like?”
“Hurricanes, Bugs, Snakes and Alligators! Mom answered first.
“Sunshine, Beaches and Swimming Pools,” Dad countered
“What about friends and neighbors?
“Watch out for the crazies!” Mom replied.
“We won’t know until we give it a chance” said Dad.
“Give it a chance? For how long?”
FLORIDA STATE LINE
We crossed the Florida state line over a river so stinky it made
everyone’s eyes water.
“That smell is from paper mills,” Dad piped up.
“We are crossing one of the world’s most famous swamps, the Okee fenokeee”
My Dad was a salesman. He saw the glass half full, but the rest of us knew not to fall for his
‘oh so cheery’ and positive view of the world.
He described our destination: The Buccaneer Hotel and Sailfish
Center on Singer Island.
It’s the “Sailfish capital of the world”.
The owner of Dad’s new
company lived in a winter home in Palm Beach.
Now he was moving the whole company and all the employees so he could go sail fishing every weekend with his new wife.
My mother cleared her throat—indicating that Dad
was selling us again. “Florida is heat and humidity, when its not blowing like a hurricane.
And, of course, the worst schools in the nation,” she
added.
Back in New York, Mom drove me to the public library once a week and had me complete a new book before the next trip. Already I had read , all the Cat in the Hat books by Dr. Suess.
Dad taught me funny poems call Limerics by Edward Lear and Ogden Nash. Some had racy stories that made Mom complain. I liked both Mom’s serious story books and Dad’s funny poems. I had very different parents. But, overall they were good ones that had my best interests at heart. My favorite book—
was “Go Dog Go”, about a cartoon dog that his drives a car until he finds the big tree at the moment of a party with dogs playing tennis on top of a tree top of fluffy leaves,”
Maybe we were driving to find the big tree. “To the tree, to the tree!
What’s this? Its a party. Its a dog party!”
A sign ahead announced: “Fresh Orange Juice Ten Cents, All You Can
Drink!” Impossible to miss—painted bright orange with a glorious
illustration of an ice cold sweaty glass of tasty juice. A mile ahead,
another one showed a kid eating salt water taffy.
My mouth watered just at the sight of it.
“I need a bathroom break,” I declared, while silently thinking that
salt water taffy sure would be fun to try.
THE SWEETEST TASTING FRUIT
We were greeted by the husband and wife owners of The Orange
Shop—a roadside home attached to a grove and fruit packing barn.
We stepped into a world that bombarded all of our senses.. Aromas
of sweet Orange Blossoms. Tart sips of freshly squeezed juice. The
odd sight of round fruit rolling and tumbling down ramps, passing
soapy brushes like a car wash. The machines did all the work.
“Easy Life”, I thought.
Then the owner told us his family story. He
spoke slowly which frustrated Mom.“We’ve lost en….tire crops three times to freezes, but we keep
re….planting because being at the very edge of acceptable growing
climate makes the sweetest tasting fru….uuuit”
“The toughest conditions make the best fruit”, Dad restated, and
nodded in my direction—to note this life lesson.
Orange sacks of citrus and a box of pastel colored taffy now
accompanied me in the back seat. Even baby Pete was
smiling as he licked a long string of candy.
My mother described these first Floridians we met as not too smart.
“Why would you plant in a climate that freezes your crop every few years?”
Dad thought these first Floridians we met were both courageous and smart—They owned a machine that automatically washed oranges and had the best smelling store.
I liked that they were personable and gave us a tour and free juice. That would not have happened at Macy’s or Gimbels.
CAMELOT
Florida’s colorful road signs began to win me over.
Floridians seemed to be an adventurous group of people. They were launching rockets and hosting twenty four hour buffets for future astronauts.
They were constructing a base
for flying missiles. They wrestled alligators for sport.
And, if the headlines were true, Florida had the best in the world of so many attractions that
hopefully Mom would come to her senses and cheer up. Maybe an
upcoming sign would announce,
“Best Broadway Shows in the World” or “World’s Best Library and
Public Schools”. Dad whistled or sang when he was excited. Today the tune was “Camelot” from a play they saw in the city.
He sang the parts he remembered,
“In short there’s merely not, a more congenial spot, than Camelot”
Why couldn’t Mom see that Florida was so amazing that it often had
two of ‘the very best in the world’ as in the case of GatorLand
Orlando and St. Augustine Alligator Farm?
By tremendous
coincidence both reported to be the home of the world’s largest reptile.
Deep thoughts like these made me sleepy, and when I awoke, I had
only three more signs to read until we arrived:
“Most Beautiful Riviera Beach”; “World Famous Singer Island” and
“Vacancies Buccaneer Hotel and Sailfish Center”.
Dad jumped out of the car and announced “We are here!
Who is ready for an adventure?”
We climbed out , took in the warm salty air then
held our breath while waiting for Mom to react.
ALMOST PALM BEACH
We walked past
white fiberglass sports fishing boats floating on a lake of aquamarine water.
“Each of those boats is worth a fortune, Dad pointed out”
We climbed up the steps to our new rental apartment.
Mom opened the door and gasped.
“There is a huge crack in the floor!”
Sure enough, it was impossible to miss. The
Main room was cut in two by a crack in the floor.
A giant beetle, I later learned to be a Palmetto bug scurried for cover beneath the rusted kitchen appliances.
Dad gave the owner hell and we were shown other units—
All of which had Terrazzo floor cracks as well. They agreed upon one without bugs.
The owner had the gift of sales talk, just like Dad.
He pointed to the giant mansions across the inlet,
“Hey, this is Almost Palm Beach !
Every room on the water has
cracks. The channel was just widened with explosives for the new port”
Mom was not impressed.
He continued,
“High tide draws the blue Gulf Stream water into this waterway and under our docks. Its the best view in South Florida”.
There was that word, best once again.
Floridians used that word an awful lot.
And, so we settled in, with Dad’s promise, we would move when we found a real house—not an apartment-with cracks and bugs.
I would have stayed for the blue water views and the colorful Angelfish under the docks. I lay on the warm wooden boards dock and peered into the clear waters of high tide while tropical fish that fed on the barnacles and corals every day. Mom let me buy the FIN guidebook of Florida Fish sold at the grocery counter and I memorized their names—French Grunts, Spanish Hogfish, Neon Gobies, Queen Angelfish, Rock Beauties.
I looked across the inlet and agreed, this was almost Palm Beach.
CALLING FROM DIXIE
Mom’s parents called every Sunday night from New York to make
sure we had survived another week in this “god forsaken place”.
They were very proud to live in a large house close to New York City.
My grandfather was tall and kind—He was very religious and had me dip my hand and do the sign of the cross at his holy water stations, when we entered or left his
home.
My Nanny, had a razor sharp mind, like my Mom’s. She knew every word of the language and completed the daily New York Times crossword puzzle while sipping her first cup of coffee. She was always noticed as dressed like the wife of a president, and rode her bike to the Lynbrook post office where she was the boss.
After work, she and I set the dinner table and planned the evenings first prank on my parents or relatives. Our first favorite was throwing a plate that was already broken, our second was stuffing a peanut can with a spring loaded worm, third was the “black teeth gum or the whoopee cushion.”
“We saw a coral snake on the walkway this week Nanny. They kill you in an instant if you get bitten.
“Did you go to mass today?”
“No, Dad took us to the Christmas in Dixie Parade!”
“DIXIE Parade? Did you march with people wearing white hoods?”
“Remind your father that Dixie is a bad word where you come from
and that its a mortal sin to not attend mass and take your children to
Catechism.”
“Well, Nanny, here the word Dixie is everywhere…
Dixie cleaners, Dixie Highway, a song we sing in school, and the Old
Dixie Cafe which does have pictures of the white robe people”
“Mary Mother of God!”
“And there is a Dixie Kitty Kat Club on Dixie Highway!”
“Are there any other streets?”
“
Well, there is Military Trail, but right now its crowded with trucks and rocket launchers heading south to Miami”
Mom grabbed the phone.
“That’s it, no more talking to your grand mother”
“Nanny, “I wish I were in Dixie, Hoo Ray! Hoo Ray! In Dixie I will make
my stand, to live and die in Dixie!”
WHEN CARS HAD WINGS
Mom’s rental car, which Dad named, “Trusty Rusty”
had a radio with five chrome buttons to push but, here only one station broadcasted.
Thankfully, it came in strong, and played a mix of current hits like the song, I liked,
“Sixteen Miles on the Erie Canal” by Tennessee Ernie Ford.
Mom loved —“Dominque”
by the Singing Nun.
As the Grator Gator bait and tackle market was unsuitable for our refined shopping list,
we drove off-island to find a “proper grocery store”.
But leaving the island wasn’t easy. First we had to get over the Intracoastal Waterway by crossing a giant span called a draw
bridge.
Back in New York, they built span bridges that were so big that every ship ever built could pass under.
Here in Florida,
a big fishing boat blasted its horn, sirens sounded, gears
Grinder and the road would break into two pieces and rise to let the boat pass.
As Rusty Trusty struggled up the steep incline of the drawbridge, I peered over the railing and trembled at the thought of falling into the deepwater far below.
To make things even scarier, the concrete road gave way to open metal grating at the very top of the bridge. Here, a kid could look down and see exactly how far a car would fall with just one
little mistake.
And, then we made one.
The gates lit up and dropped
behind us. Mom had a quick decision to make: Gun it and
attempt flying over a rising span, or back up and break the gate.
She stalled Rusty. I had my first panic attack and yelled,
“Pull the choke”
That’s the knob my Dad used to start the car on bad days.
“The engine stopped and we were going to fall off the bridge.
We honked the horn. The bridge tender threw up his hands
Shook his head and winched up the gate manually.
We didn’t fall a hundred feet and become trapped in our car
underwater with the stingrays on the bottom of Lake Worth, but
still the moment changed all of us.
I added drawbridges to my list of nightmares.
Mom looked at me and laughed nervously,
“ Sometime you have to take chances”
THE BLUE MARLIN DAY
My alarm clock was also a transistor radio. Today it played “Puff the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea..”
I threw on my Speedo and rode my bike to the pool for swim team.
Peddling up the hill to the pool, I saw that today’s sunrise broke deep red not the usual orange.
Before practice a few of us climbed the ladder to the top of
the ten meter diving platform to look East toward the distant ocean.
Offshore, was the blue Gulf Stream was invisible—covered in a thick salt spray .
Swim team ended abruptly that morning.
Coach whistled us out of the pool. His smile had changed to a look of concern.
“Pair up and carry the chairs and loungers to the deep end and toss
them into the pool.” We did as we were told and watched the deck
furniture sink slowly to the bottom of the diving well.
I usually tried to stay at the pool all day long, but today the
coach was serious, “Go straight home, NOW!”
Mom was waiting for me as I biked into the garage. She got the
news of a big storm coming in a phone call from a neighbor. She tried to reach my Dad on the phone by long distance but was unsuccessful.
We clicked on the radio. The station announced that
ship’s reported a powerful hurricane.. A call from the Bahamas. Indicated the storm had flattened the outer islands.
Hurricane Betsy was
coming our way.
Dad was on business in California. I would be the man of the house.
We had two hours to prepare. We carried in the plants. We filled the bathtub with fresh water. It was too late to run to the store for extra batteries and canned food.
I looked around and wondered “What would a Cub Scout do?”,
Hurricane prep was not included in the manual. But, our glass doors looked like potential trouble. I found
Dad’s duct tape in the garage and put it big X’s across the sliders.
By dinner time rain as loud as bullets pelted the glass windows.
We watched a sheet of plywood dance across the golf course from
the 16th to 18th holes. Other neighbor’s dads had nailed plywood to
their homes to protect windows, Mom said.
“The ‘lectricity is off,” my brother announced as the television tube
snapped off and darkened. By bedtime the wind sounded like a
steam kettle.“Let’s set up camp in the walk-in closet” Mom motioned for us to get
moving.
We gathered flashlights, made a fort of pillows and hat boxes beneath
the scratchy army blanket. We snacked on moon pies, drank red
Kool Aid, and found WJNO on the transistor radio.
“What’s that screaming?” My brother asked over and over.
“Its just the wind on the sliding glass”
We tried a few songs to keep up our spirits, “Puff the magic dragon,
he lives by the sea. And frolics in the autumn mist in a place called
Hanalei.”
“The eye of the storm is moving north up Military Trail,” reported the
local weatherman.
“It’s headed straight for us!” I yelped.
Then the radio was interrupted with static.
We huddled together and hoped the wildly rattling glass doors would
not blow in.
We didn’t know it at the time, but a Greek
freighter ship, the Amaryllis, found itself cascading down thirty foot ocean
swells just off of Riviera Beach. Giant waves blown up by the one hundred mile per hour winds made the ship’s prop and rudder useless for steering toward the Palm Beach Inlet.
Instead of landing at the port, the storm swells tossed it like a toy—halfway up the beach a mile from our home.
At first light, Mom, Pete and I looked out the masking taped windows to view
avast plain of sand where our lawn had once had been. Palm trees
lay bent and broken, but we were not.
Dad flew home to hear our survival tale.“We nearly died!” I greeted him.
“We had a big adventure” my Mom said.
She did not mean this in a
good way. “I couldn’t reach you by phone” she said angrily.
Dad was surprised that breakfast wasn’t being offered, so he
gathered up Pete and I and drove us to see the storm damage.
He navigated through tree-covered roads to get us to the beach to
see
Finding a road to drive on was difficult. Sand, seaweed and debris of
all sorts spread from the sea like snowdrift.
The Blue Heron boulevard billboard had blown down and laid in pieces. “It had greeted us every time we went to the beach with a slogan, “Tan Don’t Burn, Get a Coppertone Tan”
We parked in a row of
cars and dune buggies in broad puddles of salt water.
Under a sky of the brightest blue,
“The Shipwreck of the Amaryllis” a 400 foot Freighter
cut our beach in half.
Teenagers, just a few years older than me stood on surfboards and
slid down the fronts of rolling waves. They turned and glided on
colorful fiberglass surfboards all the way to the sandy shoreline.
In that moment, my higher purpose became crystalized: “When I
grow up, I am going to become a surfer!
This Sunday morning, there was peace in the valley. Mom had
gone to Saturday Mass the previous afternoon, Dad had completed his “project list” and no
toast was thrown during breakfast. It was a good day to drive up the
coast to picnic with our Florida neighbors. Dad controlled
the radio and he sang along with Nat King Cole, “When your smilin’
when your smilin’ the whole world smiles with you.”
Sand dunes flanked the shell rock ocean road from Juno to
Jupiter. Some weekends, we pulled over and carefully negotiated the
patches of “bull thorns” to see if fish were running in the surf.
On this day, we spied the lighthouse ahead on the horizon and
headed its way.
They shell rock road turned to a grass road as we entered the
property of John and Bessie Dubois, two of
Florida’s true pioneers. They built a home at the mouth of the
Jupiter Inlet. They spent their childhood in the early 1900’s, catching
fish, salvaging treasure from shipwrecks after hurricanes and going
to school by boat.
We saw Mr. Dubois up on a ladder tending bees on his
Honey farm. In addition to cultivating and shipping honey,
and vegetables, he and his wife Bessie ran a fish camp, and a
hotel.
Today, she was mending a net, directing her restaurant staff, and
writing notes for an upcoming book on the history of Jupiter.
She also lifted the wooden entrance gate for my our car and
collected 25 cents from my Dad for us to enter.
My Dad rolled his eyes at the high price of entry.
We parked under the pine trees overlooking a crystal clear lagoon.
We snorkeled with masks and fins along the mangrove roots.
“I see lobster, in the shadows”
“You’re not from here my native Florida friend laughed,”
“I’ll wrap my shirt around my hand and grab them”
The biggest challenges create the sweetest fruit
The lobster tails were laid side by side for all to admire on the
wooden picnic table. My New York Mom pulled off the heads and
trimmed the fins like a local.
We added the crawfish to the doves and quail
brother Pete and Dad had shot the day before.
It all went on the fire, and we feasted like pioneers.
When asked where I was from, I now replied, Florida”
THE FLORIDA FAMILY VACATION
U.S. Highway One was packed with cars like ours: chrome and
winged land yachts. Family wagons boasted rocket shaped fins
reflecting our optimism of the New Frontier and coming Space Age.Our favorite TV show, Bonanza began with a singing commercial,
“See the U.S.A. in a Chevrolet.” School was out and it was time to
see Florida during the hottest time of the year from a car without air
conditioning.
I was in charge of spotting scenic attractions. What I spotted were
mostly cows.
“Everybody simmer down,” Dad warned. He found a Howard
Johnson’s and we piled into a booth with an orange mica table,
orange vinyl bench seats and a Wall-O-Matic jukebox for Pete and I
to abuse. We punched in the numbers for an Elvis Presley record.
One look around us and I knew that Mister Howard Johnson was a
marketing genius and had saved the day.
The hot dog buns were grilled with tons of butter. The placemats had
maps of Florida with roads and cities and every major attraction.
Colorful illustrations made it easy for families to plan their holiday.
Glass Bottom Boats. Leaping Porpoises. A pyramid of women in
bathing suits riding water skis, Mermaids swimming in a spring?
“Florida was a state of amazing options!” I thought to myself.
“ This was going to turn out like Hoss Cartwright said on TV, ‘The
Best Vacation Ever!’”
TWO SILVER SPRINGS
The entrance at Silver Springs, had two signs. The first read,
“Welcome”
The second read, “One mile ahead to Paradise Cove exclusively for
Colored Folks” The sheriff of Marion County, Florida parked his
cruiser in the shade of the signs.
My brother and I changed into our speedos in the Silver Springs
parking lot. No need for modesty. We already had on snorkels and
masks.
We ran to the water and dove in.
The sparkling turquoise pool was as cold as a frost covered ice tray.
Because Tarzan and Mike Nelson (star of TV show Sea Hunt) swam
here without complaint, we stroked a wind-milling Australian crawl
against the current to the main spring vent. Here, a gusher of ice
water blasted forth from deep within the earth.
We dove down through rays of sunlight, grabbed onto the rocky
limestone walls to hold our place and peered over the edge.
Hundreds of small fish defied the currents and schooled on the floor
of this cathedral-like space. With each dive down we witnessed
paradise on earth.
“No experience on land compared with swimming with fish in a
spring”
The glass bottomed boat ride was better appreciated
By land lubbers that weren’t adventurous enough to bring their masks and snorkels and swim in the cold spring!
I was bored and antsy. The captain gave commentary on the fish we
already knew up-close and underwater. The boat cruised downriver
where the banks were muddy and alligators slept in the sun. As the
captain attempted to create a dramatic story about how dangerous this part of the river was,
I turned to notice a crowd of kids my age swimming near a
small beach and picnic area.
The captain finally concluded his
narration and asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”“I do”
“Yes, young man, what is your question.”
I pointed to the kids my age swimming by the muddy beach.
“Why are there two Silver Springs?”
Suddenly, the captain scowled at me in anger.
I felt embarrassed for asking a question no one wanted to hear.
My mother broke the silence.
“Children see everything, you know”
“The captain gave his reply. “ Your not from here. “
“If you were, you would know that they like it that way,
And WE LIKE IT THAT WAY.”
The captain’s helper said loudly, “That’s right!”
My parents and some others moaned in disapproval. I guess they weren’t from here either.
Back In the car my, Dad explained,
“Silver Springs doesn’t allow Negro families.”
“The State of Florida is breaking the law of the United States” my
mother added in her most condemning voice.
This would never happen in New York, she added.
I wondered what it would feel like to be a kid and come all this way to the largest
and best attraction in Florida—and then discover you were not
welcome.
Night had fallen on this lonely road, my father was exhausted and
wanted to turn in at the only motor court we could find, the “Dixie
Springs Lodge” .
“Absolutely NOT” said Mom. “Only when we reach a Howard Johnson’s”
No one spoke, but everyone knew our chances of finding a Howard Johnson’s on this
this state forest road, were slim. The sky was so dark here, we could see the stars of the
Milky Way rising in one window and setting in the opposite.
The next small town we passed had a big courthouse with a statue of
a Confederate soldier at the entrance and a giant Florida Oak, “ like the hanging trees Dad described. A sheriff’s car passed and I
shuddered to think that such evil existed.
From that day I began to notice all of the “Whites Only” signs we encountered in restaurants,
hotels, public beaches and public parks.
Turned out, this scary town had a Howard Johnson’s and lucky for us, they let us sleep here overnight.
THE MIRACLE
We traversed the state from north to south for hours tying to overlap
musical parts. Billboards were few:“Homassasa Springs—Fish Haven”,
“Cypress Gardens, Human Pyramid of Skiers” and “FloridaLand, one ticket ten attractions”
“FloridaLand” looked to be a combination
“Western Town” “Alligator Safari”, “Circus” and “Food Cafeteria”
But, by now, Mom and Dad had enough roadside “themed parks” and suggested we look out the window and enjoy the real Florida.
Real Florida was a long, long, long stretch of road with no real
Rest stops, just a few peanut stands and outhouses.
“In the jungle, the mighty jungle…Aweeeee aweee. A mumbwaaay”
Dad stopped the car beside an endless field of sugar cane so we could piss behind a tree.
We walked
among the forest of giant plants, , saw a rabbit or two, then returned to the car. He
took his pocket knife, cut a section of the sweet stalk for us to taste.
Mom was annoyed. “You’ll get arrested for
stealing”.
Anvil clouds began to form over the fields. I could see the
rising heat fuel them with power. The afternoon was growing impossibly hot and we
we were the only car driving a pot-holed road across the Everglades.
Buzzards huddled over dead possums and skunks killed by some car before us. This was not going to end well.
The wind turned from brutally hot to crazily chilly.
Lightning jumped across the marshes and we rolled up the windows quickly.
Giant drops pelted the windshield so hard Dad couldn’t see to drive. He pulled
off the road beside a small bridge. Lightning flashed and the thunder shook our car for what seemed like hours. I closed my eyes and put the army blanket over my
head .
To calm myself, I though about the “big picture” as Dad would always
recommend. How would I describe this crazy state to a stranger?
The downpour ceased so we climbed out , stretched and walked to
look over the bridge.
“The water is clear like a spring. I can see fish!” I shouted
“Taste it, its clean” my Dad smiled.
“No, its a swamp!” Mom warned.
I took a taste. “Its a miracle!”
And, then it came to me. A secret that the Florida peninsula chose to reveal to me in this very moment.
“Florida isn’t a dirty swamp” like most people think.
Water runs from the top of the state to the Everglades, is purified by the plants and goes back into the earth to make more silver springs!.
CONFRONTING THE MOUSE
Three decades have passed.
The drive on the newly completed Interstate took less than two hours.
I pointed out the wild marshes, rivers and forests to no one.
Our sons were snuggled into safety child seats. They wore
earphones and played Gameboy machines in air-conditioned comfort.
The Turnpike rest stop was a sleek bunker of concrete and tinted
glass. While waiting for the kids to finish their business, I counted
over 30 stalls—a major improvement over the 1963 trip “one hole”
outhouse. Standby attendants ensured the floor was spotless and the
only smell was that of bleach.
Disney had its own exit—no Stuckey’s, no fireworks, no boiled peanut
stands selling mummified Alligators. Here, a daily mowed grassy
median divided six lanes of incoming cars. Lush topiary trees
sculpted into Disney characters pointed the way with gloved hands.
“Hey Dad, quick, put on the Disney Radio Station!”
Over a background of swelling movie themes, the voice-over talents
from each current box office hit welcomed us and teased the array of
fun we would soon be having. Soon our children became
overwhelmed and overstimulated. Good thing I paid more for
The on-site Disney hotel and VIP tickets.
YO HO” A PIRATE’S LIFE FOR ME
We checked in with two dozen other tearfully happy families.
The good news was families of every color and nationality were welcome. All of us. were treated
equally to the non-stop movie theme music that blared from
speakers hidden in flower beds.
All park employees spoke with absolute politeness peppered with
bits of movie dialogue—“Disney Speak,” I called it. In this world, no person’s native language was slighted. I found the atmosphere comforting compared to the“klan days’ of old central Florida, and realized, Florida had finally come of age. But I deeply missed something—the raw nature, the challenges of navigating real snakes and alligators and crusty old timers. Here everything had a fresh coat of pastel paint on it.
To regain some sanity…I took everyone for a relaxing plunge in the
pirate-themed swimming pool. Water cannons aside, it was a relief to
be underwater and to hear only muffled screams.
We slept easily in an immaculately tidy room. I told stories of
killing roaches on the dirty floors of aging motor courts, and the fun of on putting quarters into a “ Vibro Massage” machine that made the bed shake so hard it nearly walked across the room with my bother and I sailing it. When the kids looked at looked at me quizzically, I half wished a giant waterbed or cockroach would appear to give them the kind of adrenaline rush I knew as a child.
Their eyes opened wide and their mouths dropped when we stepped into the next morning’s
“character breakfast” I had reserved.
Mickey, Minnie, Goofy,
and newer film characters warmly greeted them, then
held up a giant pen and mimed their willingness to sign autographs
for those with Disney autograph books.
“You guys start eating while I buy the official signing portfolios”. I
enjoyed the aromas of breakfast while standing at the cash register.
With stomaches and autograph books filled, we dashed to the most
popular rides to wait in shorter long lines.
“Dad, The Jungle Cruise won’t make us cry!”
It did.
“Dad, The Splash Mountain ride …won’t scare us!”
It absolutely terrified, and
Disney sold us a lovely family portrait of us falling four stories with
distorted faces.
“Dad, the Pirates of the Caribbean ride won’t scare us!”
“It did, and very badly so, the moment the music began, “Yo Ho a pirate’s life for me”
Out of range of my kids, I asked my wife Lise,” How much money did we
spend today for our children to be so Disneyfied”
I chose to make the last sugar infused cafeteria meal of the day a
successful “Dad Talk”.
“Let’s discuss tomorrow’s schedule,” I said mustering the kind of
sales enthusiasm that would make Pops proud.
“ I think it would be a REALLY fun idea to swim in a REAL Florida
Spring rather than a pool surrounded by seven year olds manning
water guns”.
The suggestion was met with total silence.“Then, we could go to a museum to see Thomas Edison’s Florida
laboratory where he perfected the electric light and the
grammophone!”
More total silence.
“And…we could stop at an orange packing plant and do nothing but
watch fruit tumble down water slides into scrubbing machines while
we eat salt water taffy and Mom samples the Orange Blossom
perfumes!”
“Who’s ready to take a chance?” I asked with all remaining energy.
Sunburnt faces with rub-on tattoos stared back in disbelief.
I drove a brooding crew up the Interstate to the exit for Silver Springs
and the Don Garlits Museum of Drag Racing.
“Is our real vacation over?”
“We won’t know until we take a chance!”
“This is where your
grandfather took me to see races and meet Miss Hurst Shifters!”
“That’s crazy, Dad” slowly the kids came alive.
“Mom did you have Disney World in Canada?”
“No, we had trees”
“Dad, did you go to Disney when you were a kid?”
“No, Pops took us to see a show where the live Mermaids that were almost
topless!”
“No way!”
“I know, its amazing I turned out to be good a good husband to your
mother!”
“Suddenly, we were laughing while driving to nowhere.”
“Where are we going next,” they asked.
“We are going to the middle of nowhere!”
“Perfect!”
We criss-crossed the state on country roads and I pointed out the
Confederate Flags and statue in front of the Hernando CountyCourthouse and had a long discussion about racism in my time and theirs.
We stopped at a horse farm and an orange packing plant just to
soak it all in and feel the sun on the top of our heads.
They couldn’t wait to talk to their grandparents.
THE CAR TELEPHONE
After our year in Michigan, my mother and father had ironed out their
problems. I was grateful they were still together and even more grateful that they had a chance to enjoy Lise and our children.
I believed that our kids were meant to be true Florida kids and if we got out of Disney, they might even grow up to be normal.
“Nanny and Pops!” They gushed. “We are on vacation!”
“Right now?”
“We are talking on THE CAR TELEPHONE… it like a giant walkie-
talkie!”
“Are you in Disney World?”
“No, We’re in the LAND ROVER, driving to the City of the Mermaids,
but they are not naked anymore, Pops!”
“Your father is taking you there?”
“The whole attraction is old and dangerous, it smells like old shoes, and the floors are slippery with algae and moss. Some silly
Tourist is going to kill themselves there!”
Sounds like when I took your father there!
“We dove into a spring which is a hole in the earth where ice water
comes out!” Matt, chased a black snake across the sidewalk until it
was under our car.”
“Oh My”
“We watched out for the crazies, but I had to go to the bathroom and
the only place was a gas station with a KKK sign on its wall.”
“Oh my word!”
“Yup, Florida has good people and bad people—just like anywhere else.
I got you Orange Blossom perfume at the fruit factory,” Eric gushed,
and Matt bought Pops a Don Garlits drag racing sticker for his car!”
“Are you heading home?’
“Nanny, All of Florida
is our home!”
My wife looked over at me. “ Did you hear that?”
