A 1960’s Family Road Trip
Excepts from the memoir
I was not born a Florida Man.
I spent the first five years of life learning to become a New York Man: walking (with attitude) talking (loudly with strong opinions)
And working a side gig —
clearing walkways with a plastic snow shovel.)
The morning’s job was about finished when Dad called my name.
“ Climb in the back seat”
The station wagon was packed with luggage and the engine was running.
Dad was smiling. (His career was taking off)
Mom was crying. ( Her family was being left behind)
Little brother Pete was twisting and fussing. (That’s what two-year olds do)
I looked out the side window in silence.
Our home faded away.
Ahead, mile after mile of unknown roads with strange new billboards rushed toward me.
I read every one an effort to memorize the route home.
We drove further than my grandparents homes, then entered the darkness of a place called, The Lincoln Tunnel.
Advertising billboards were the only clue I had about 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 a 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 religious and lived in a giant three-story house in a neighborhood of large green parks and long driveways. It took a motorized snow blower to clear their front walk.
I climbed n their carpeted stairs and landings over and over.
My Nanny and Pops taught me to dip my hand into a holy water fountain and say a Hail Mary at the bottom and again at the top. They were extremely serious about this.
“What is Florida going to be like?” I asked.
“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 along a river so stinky it made
everyone’s eyes water.
“The smell is from paper mills,” Dad piped up.
“We are crossing one of the world’s most famous swamps, the Okeefenokeee”
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 mansion on Palm Beach Island.
He was moving the whole company and all the employees so he could go fishing every weekend with his young new wife Mom explained.
My mother cleared her throat—
then continued. “Florida is hot and humid, when it’s not blowing like a hurricane.
And, of course, it has 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 books and Dad’s funny poems. I had very different parents. But, overall they were good ones that had my best interests at heart.
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 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 entire crops three times to freezes, but we keep
replanting because this land being at the very edge of acceptable growing
climate makes the sweetest tasting fruit”
“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.
“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.
It even had
two of ‘the very best in the world’ as in the case of GatorLand
Orlando and St. Augustine Alligator Farm?
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:
“ 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 to take a chance?”
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 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 crack in the floor!”
Sure enough, it was impossible to miss. The
Main room was cut in two by a jagged crack.
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 them had Terrazzo floor cracks as well. Mom finally settled 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 to accommodate larger yachts!
Mom was not impressed.
He continued,
“High tide draws the blue Gulf Stream water into this waterway and along our seawall. 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 forever 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 fed on the barnacles and corals. 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. My grandmother did not like my Dad.
Nanny we called her, had a razor sharp mind, like my Mom’s. She knew every word in the English language and finished the daily New York Times crossword puzzle while sipping her first cup of coffee. She 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 a tie between 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.
“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
bomb Cuba.
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. Here, only one station came in,
the rest were static.
Thankfully, the station we got, 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
grinded and then roadway broke into two pieces to rise to let the boat pass.
As Rusty Trusty struggled up the steep incline , I peered over the railing and trembled at the thought of falling into the deepwater 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 the 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 almost fell a hundred feet and became trapped in our car
underwater with the stingrays on the bottom of Lake Worth.
But, we didn’t.
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 was red not the usual orange.
A few of us climbed the ladder to the top of
the ten meter diving platform to look East toward the distant ocean.
The ocean was covered in a cloud of 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
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 up big X’s across the sliders.
By dinner time a driving rain as loud as bullets pelted the glass windows.
We watched a sheet of house construction 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. We have duct tape I said proudly.
“The ‘lectricity is off,” my brother chirped 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 rattling glass doors would
not blow in.
Out at sea, 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 ship was tossed like a toy—right up the beach a mile from our home.
At first light, Mom, Pete and I looked out the masking taped windows to view
a horizon of windblown sand drifts 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!” Mom greeted him.
“We had a big adventure”
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 .
Finding the road at all was difficult. Sand, seaweed and debris of
all sorts spread from the sea like snowdrift.
The big billboard at Blue Heron Boulevard had blown down and laid in pieces. “It greeted us every time we went to the beach with a slogan, “Tan Don’t Burn, Get a Coppertone Tan”
We parked with
cars and dune buggies in puddles of salt water.
Under a sky of the brightest blue,
“The Shipwreck of the Amaryllis” a 400 foot Freighter
shimmered like a rusty beacon in the sunshine. Long ocean swells
slapped its rudder and hull and exploded with spray.
Teenagers, just a few years older than me stood on surfboards and
slid across the 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
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 stepped ov4r
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.
The shell rock road turned into 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
manning the entrance to her Inlet front property.
She lifted the wooden entrance gate for 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 learned how to off the heads and
trim 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.
Cars were every families prized possession.
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
drive across 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
just beneath the second sign.
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 Australian crawled
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 we witnessed
paradise on earth.
“No experience on land compared to swimming with fish in a
spring”
The glass bottomed boat ride was better appreciated
by snow birds that weren’t smart enough to bring their masks and snorkels.
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, are you? “
“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 , 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 to follow all the billboards to the largest
and best attraction in Florida—and then discover you were not
welcome.
Night had fallen on this lonely road. Dad 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
this state forest , were slim. The sky was so dark , 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 courthouse with a statue of
a Confederate soldier at the entrance and a giant Florida Oak, 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 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.
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 tacky roadside “themed parks” and suggested we look out the window and enjoy the real Florida.
Real Florida was a long, long, stretch of road with no
rest stops, just a few peanut stands with outhouses.
“In the jungle, the mighty jungle…Aweeeee aweee. A mumbwaaay” We sang
to pass the time.
Dad stopped the car beside a field of sugar cane so we could spray the trees like a lion.
One the way back to the car, Dad
took his pocket knife and 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.
This was not going to end well.
The wind switched suddenly from hot to chilly.
Lightning jumped across the marshes and we rolled up the windows quickly.
Heavy drops of rain mixed with hail 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 .
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–the secret that makes Florida peninsula so very special.
“Florida isn’t a dirty swamp” . It’s a miracle drinking water machine.
Water runs from the top of the state down through 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 gloriously wild marshes, rivers and forests to no one.
Our sons wore earphones and played Gameboy machines in air-conditioned comfort.
Seatbelts held protective child seats safely in place. No need for Dad’s “braking arm”
to save them during a sudden stop.
The Turnpike rest area was marked by modern landmark. 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.
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 one very good news of this modern age was that families of every color and nationality were welcome. If fact, 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 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 like Aladdin and Ariel the Little Mermaid warmly greeted them, then
held up a giant pen and mimed their willingness to sign autographs.
“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, What’s with the Country Bears. They aren’t in any movie?”
“Dad, the Hall of Presidents looks so fakey!”
“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 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
“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?”
