‘W’ is for World’s Fair
Ever wonder if a three-year old will someday remember the good times you shared with them? Our parents took us to the New York World’s Fair in 1964 when I was only 3 ½ years old. Of all the wonders we experienced on our first trip out of rural Northern Michigan, these are the impressions I recall fifty-six years later.
There were three of us rambling around the spacious backseat of Dad’ new Buick; my brother (5), my sister (6) and me. My brother and I could both fit in the space under the rear window. We laid flat on our backs in awe of the twinkling stars in the sky and the expressway lights that suddenly overwhelmed our eyes as we flew underneath them.
Another thrill for us was when we stopped at a roadside motel for the night. We’d never slept in anything other than our own beds. That someone provided a whole room for all of us to sleep in also put us in awe. But the real treat was discovering the teeny-tiny soaps in the bathroom, gift wrapped just for us!
Our trip was a double-hitter. We were to see the World’s Fair in New York, and visit Dad’s twin brother’s family in New Jersey. They took us to swim at the Jersey shore. We were used to swimming in an inland lake in the woods where we hung our towels on tree branches. The shore was so sandy and WIDE, covered with mile upon mile of beach blankets and sunbathers. My dad was lean then, so handsome in his brown trunks decorated with little sailboats, so strong and secure as he carried me out into the frightening, crashing giant waves.
I’m sure there must have been tantalizing aromas of tasty treats to eat at the Fair, but none of them anchored in my memory. My take away memory of the Fair was driving a car, a real car. I was unaware that the Fair was a battle ground between auto giants Ford and General Motors, each building a spectacular pavilion to outshine the other. Ford hired Walt Disney himself to design a showcase for their sleek convertibles. I saw those cars full of families sliding around the glass carousel high above the crowd and fell in deep, deep desire. “Please Daddy, please! Can we go up there and ride in the cars?” I begged as our parents tugged us along. It wasn’t a hard sell, as my Dad had worked in the Detroit assembly lines after returning home from the Korean War.
The ultimate thrill about clamoring into the white leather seats of a gleaming convertible was that the host seating us had chosen me to be the driver. I slid in under that steering wheel that was almost bigger than me, this was better than getting a pony! The car rode in a track that allowed just a little play in the steering wheel to give one the feel of actually driving. In hindsight, I’m sure my family felt the car bounce back and forth in its track. But to me, I was really driving a shiny new car in a magical world high up in the sky.
