NEW YORK CITY and the WORLD'S FAIR in 1965
Part Two: At the Fair
Now it was time. We descended the concrete steps, and stood on the
subway platform. The train roared in, and off we went, bouncing and
clacking, with the lights blinking on and off. Then the darkness
faded, and we surfaced! I wasn't expecting this, either. I thought
the subway always went underground. We had a splendid view crossing
the river, with the cool air blowing through some opened windows.
Suddenly someone said "There it is!" and so it was - a little Unisphere
surrounded by those odd buildings, small but getting larger as we
approached. The train screeched into the station, and we had arrived.
We walked down the stairs from the platform, and after a short wait
in line, we passed through the portal. Flags and banners snapped in
the breeze, and we strolled down the broad Avenue of the Americas
towards the centrally located symbol of the Fair - the Unisphere.
This was a huge stainless steel globe, 120 feet in diameter, built
by a company (then) called U.S. Steel. Although it was only a shell,
with latitude and longitude lines connecting the land masses, it
weighed almost a million pounds. Three hoops encircled it, inaccurately
representing the orbits of the new communications satellites, and
thereby symbolizing (somehow) the Fair's theme, "Peace Through
Understanding". Lights on the surface located major cities, and
this big, shiny, metal ball was mounted on an inverted tripod in the
circular Fountain of the Continents.
Most of the pavilions weren't quite open yet, since they'd released
the gates a little before the official opening time, so we just
drifted about with the crowd a bit. Then we joined the queue for
the General Electric Pavilion. We'd learned about this one on
television, too - a Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color show
devoted to audio-animatronics, or what they were calling their
new life-like robots. These were introduced at several Fair
pavilions: there was an Abraham Lincoln at the Illinois Pavilion
that stood up and made a speech (but we didn't see him), some
cavemen at the Ford pavilion, all those foolish twitching figures
in "It's a Small World" and at G.E., where whole life-sized
robot-families moved about on stage. We waited in line outside,
underneath a blue canopy next to a low wall. I sat on the wall,
and set down the camera my Dad had recently given me. After a
time the line suddenly jerked into motion, and I hopped up and
joined it. About 20 feet away some man yelled about a camera
and I ran back and retrieved my handsome tan and brass art deco
Argus 35 mm. It served me well for 20 years (when Dad bought me
a new automatic model and requested its return).
We entered a theater and took our seats. The program was electrical
development in the American home, and it was theatre-in-the-round,
with each act on a different stage. But instead of the usual spinning
stage, the whole audience rotated into the new scene. This was the
General Electric Carousel
of Progress.
First we saw a turn of the century family. The system wasn't
fully powered up or something because we watched them perform
their skit repeatedly. Finally, the third time the family
broke into the closing theme,
There's a great big beautiful Tomorrow, Shining, at the end
of every day! There's a great big beautiful Tomorrow...
we rotated into the second act, a mid-'20s home with wires
strung everywhere. Eventually we saw an early Fifties family,
and then... an easy, glittering family in the near future.
It's Christmas, their aluminum tree sparkled, and their every
whim was satisfied - electrically. Now the closing music was
so familiar that we all sang along with them about Tomorrow
as we filed out of the hall.
Here we encountered the first of what was to be many different
World's Fair people-movers that utilized escalator technology
in new ways. This one was a smooth belt of ribbed metal treads,
angled up at about thirty degrees through a triangular kaleidoscopic
light-show tunnel. At the end was a large dark room with a clear
sphere in the center containing some apparatus. As an announcer
spoke, a thunderclap flashed inside the sphere. We walked on past
some trivial displays to the exit. I never did understand that
final detonation.
At the insistence of my two brothers, we next visited Continental
Insurance. There wasn't much to this pavilion, some exhibits and
an open-air movie theater, but they showed these musical neo-cartoons
that really intrigued Jeff. They were more slide shows than cartoons,
with minimal drawings suggesting famous and unknown heroes of the
American Revolution, set to stirring military-style music. Jeff so
liked this program that he spent hard-saved money on the
souvenir record album. Since this was the
first LP any of us boys had, it was played often, and I got to
know those songs well. (Too well...though now I can only recall
a few bars of "The Continental Soldier" and "General Von Steuben.")
Leaving this pavilion, we had lunch at 7-Up. I don't know what food
we had there, something international, but it was very attractive
and delicious, with 7-Up to drink, of course. The eating area was
light and airy, under a roof but with no walls. After our meal, we
rode in the semi-scary gondolas of the Swiss Sky Ride, dangling
over the beautiful fairgrounds. The pavilions of New England and
Polynesia were visited next, but I don't remember what was inside.
We paused at the edge of a reflecting pool in the Court of the
Astronauts, near the classically sculptured statue of "The Rocket Thrower".
This alleged 'Greek' god of Spaceflight was twice life-sized, and he's
still there today. Howard took over the
burden of carrying Andy in our new reversed-papoose baby-backpack. This
was a new product, and so logical that people were always coming up and
asking us about it. Then Dad and I photographed the family with the
Unisphere.
We approached the Coca-Cola pavilion. Nowadays I have little use for this
beverage, but then I was a big fan of soda-pop and Coke was one of my
favorites. Cans were new and returnable bottles were the norm back in those
days. Bottle-caps were far more common then, and my brothers and I
collected them, usually merely for variety, but sometimes to a purpose, like
contests. In 1965 the design of Coke bottle-caps included a small picture
of a globe with the Coca-Cola logo, and this indicated the presence on the
underside of a representational picture and name of a country. Prizes were
associated with collecting all of the different countries (which we never
managed), and it was all part of the current promotion of Coke as the
"international" drink. Hence, Coca-cola's "World of Refreshment": a series
of static, life-sized, meticulously detailed dioramas displaying Coke
artifacts (but no people using them) in exotic foreign environs. Since
this wasn't even remotely futuristic, I wouldn't nominally have been
interested, but this was a very important pavilion due to an incident the
year before.
Towards the end of that summer I'd made a scrapbook entry from the
Saturday Evening Post about this kid from Long Island who'd run away from
home to hang out at the Fair, since his parents wouldn't take him there.
For twelve days Dominic Tucci survived, wandering all over, eluding the
authorities; and he solved the money/food problem by scrounging coins out
of the many fountains at night. At Coca-Cola, he'd discovered a tunnel
behind a jeep in a jungle scene that led to some hideout where he'd been
sleeping just before they caught him. We found the jeep, with its
headlights burning and a couple of empty Coke bottles on the hood for
verisimilitude, but we couldn't discern any tunnel entrance. Perhaps they'd
remodeled after the Tucci affair.
The success of Dominic's mission had fascinated me, and if we'd lived
within the web of NYC public transport, perhaps I could have duplicated his
feat. Now that we were actually on the scene, however, it didn't look like
such a hot idea.
Then we visited the pale yellow cantilevered rectangular solid of the Bell
Telephone pavilion. I can't tell you what Ma Bell's message was, no doubt
something covering the history of communication, but I do remember the
beginning and the end of her show. We boarded moving seats on a conveyor
belt. These armchairs had little loudspeakers in their headrests, and
they'd rotate to point you at the action. Many of the Fair's attractions
used some form of this crowd-transportation, but the chairs were generally
for a single rider. These extra-large models held two people, so Howard and
I slid sideways down a corridor, facing a mirror. As the speakers announced
that "You would be the hero of this story", our reflections' familiar
features smoothly transformed into those of a rugged, Robin Hood-style
woodsman with orange hair and a green outfit. A row of identical, smiling
heroes rode gliding chairs into the darkness.
Afterwards, among the Bell Labs exhibit, one could allegedly 'use' the
new picturephones, but we couldn't locate them. We did find one amazing
thing there, while Mom changed Andy's diaper on an out-of-the-way bench:
a pair of short, parallel hallways connecting two areas. The ceilings of
these passages were made of that sound-absorbing material I'd seen in
various photos of testing chambers - it looks like a plaid matrix composed
of isosceles prism-wedges. It worked, too - at the midpoint of the hallway
our normal speaking voices were almost inaudible. We were in there shouting
and giggling by the time Dad chased us out, and we left Bell Telephone.
By now we were hungry, and we got to sample the dessert that was introduced
at this Fair, much like the ice cream cone at the 1904 St. Louis Exposition.
This was Belgian Waffles, served 'al fresco' at the "World Fiesta People-to-People"
next to the Festival of Gas pavilion. We'd seen people eating these large,
crusty waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream on television and
in magazine pictures, and finally we got to eat them. They were delicious,
but unfortunately, they remained a food only associated with World's Fairs - I
didn't have another until Expo '67. Now one can sometimes find them in the
boutique-eatery malls found at major urban renovations, like Baltimore's
Harborplace. (The real thing, I mean - nowadays most restaurants throw a
fruit topping on their normal breakfast waffle and call them 'Belgian' - but
they're not.) I must report, however, that due to my European travels, I
now classify 'Belgian' waffles with 'English' muffins, 'Danish' pastries,
and 'French' fries. You figure it out.
We walked along the edge of the Fountain of the Planets, moving among the
Fairgoers in the warm afternoon sunshine. Yonder was the huge white IBM egg,
resting on a forest of artificial trees. A grandstand of people were being
hoisted up inside to see the show, but we passed it all by due to the length
of the line. The show within was allegedly a multi-screened audio-visual
computer extravaganza, emceed by a host who seemed to float in the center,
standing on a small white disk. We strolled on to the United States
Pavilion - a big square international-style box, raised above the ground
and overhanging the entrance. Inside were more moving hi-fidelity chairs.
These traveled eight abreast up inclines and around corners while old
movies of comical American endeavors were projected on screens that swung
up out of the way as we approached and passed by. What's really amazing
about this pavilion is that five years later, when we returned to the
fairgrounds, it was one of the very few buildings remaining in what is
now Flushing Meadows-Corona Park. Closed, abandoned, and surrounded by
a chain link fence, with a solitary graffiti message on the wall next
to the doors:
The Pedestrian
by
Ray Bradbury
By 1980, when I again returned to Flushing, even this pavilion had vanished.
The sky had clouded up some and the sun was setting, but it was still warm.
I needed more film, and after Dad bought me some at a souvenir stand, I
reloaded my camera. Then we strolled across a pedestrian overpass as busy
traffic hummed along the Grand Central Parkway beneath us. At the end of
the bridge we entered the Transportation Area, where the Futurama lived.
A gold, slightly unusual sedan drove past us, slowly and silently. This was
Chrysler's Turbine
Car, offering free rides. I had no idea what its turbine engine was all
about, but I had a fuzzy notion that it was similar to the small, sealed
nuclear reactor-motors Tom Swift, Jr. had used in his Triphibian Atomicar
(one motor per wheel). Anyway, Chrysler was pushing this new turbine
technology then, and they'd even built 50 of these gold cars and loaned
them out across the country to loyal Chrysler customers to get user
feedback. We didn't ride in the turbine-mobile, but we did walk underneath
the big white Chrysler pentagon-stars which leaned together to form the
pavilion's roof. Next door was a huge, simplified automobile engine.
We walked underneath and looked up at the gaily-colored moving pistons,
rotating axles and gears, and flashing sparkplugs. Coming out from the
opposite side we saw the U.S. Rubber ferris wheel, in the form of a large
black tire with a central groove containing the red-roofed gondolas
(instead of the usual seats). Next door was a low, rectangular building
topped with a large floodlit dome, with realistically sculptured craters
covering its surface - the Moon Dome. Inside was a planetarium-style
theatre where we a watched a movie made by the Cinerama people. Titled
"To the Moon and Beyond", I'd marveled at its announcement in a full
page Sunday supplement advertisement the year before. The same picture
came to mind a few years later when I first saw the poster for 2001.
This movie was rather forgettable, however - all I remember is a long shot
from out in space zooming in on the Earth's disc and suddenly cutting to an
underwater shot of some fish. We left this pavilion and finally joined the
Futurama queue!
Nobody was really quite sure how to describe the shape of the General
Motors Pavilion, the Fair's largest. Most of it was long and low, like
a factory. Stuck onto one end was a flying saucer, surmounted by an
immobile propeller with 3 flat vertical blades of marquee lights flashing
the date, time, and temperature. Down at our end, the building ended in
an enormous curving ribbed metal wall, canted out over the switchback
lines of people waiting at the entrance. In my scrapbook I had a cartoon
depicting this entrance as the gaping, fanged mouth of a monster. The big
"GM" letters up towards the top of the pleated cowl became its eyes,
looking down on the crowd. The meaning of a line of dark rectangles
along the bottom of the curve had mystified me. Soon I saw these rectangles
from the other side. We boarded moving audio chairs, this time in threes,
and rode past these grilled ventilating slots, catching brief glimpses of
the evening lights of the Fair, and the people down below. Then without
any preliminaries, we slid into the Future.
Unlike the original, which tagged its vision in 1960, this Futurama was
set in an indeterminate 'near future', perhaps due to the inaccuracy of
the first predictions. Like the original, this was a highly detailed
series of modeled environments that opened up on either side of our
path. The headrest-speakers explained the vistas, and sound effects
came from the scenes. We passed a vast farm with the sun setting over
the distant mountains. A space needle protruded up nearby, and we could
see the technicians within controlling the "Blooming of the Desert". A
road stretched away, passing a solitary residence upon a mesa. Then we
were traveling deep beneath the ocean, where we saw an underwater resort
hotel 'in season.' Guests with miniature aqualungs rode powered lounge
chairs among the plastic fishes. We passed low over the moon's surface,
just in time to catch two lunar vehicles climbing over a crater's lip,
heading towards a distant base. Their sets of 6 golf-ball wheels left
fresh tracks in the lunar dust.
We came back to earth in Antarctica. After observing some busy surface
operations, we passed through the global weather control center, deep
underground. The scene shifted to the taming of the Amazon rain forest,
or maybe the jungles of Africa. Here an enormous crawling land vehicle
used its laser beam headlight to sever the trees, which it engorged
along with all the undergrowth in the path of its relentless forward
progress. After interior processing all this foliage was left behind
in the juggernaut's wake, transformed into a six-lane asphalt highway.
Truly a General Motors dream machine.
Finally we entered the dazzling City of Tomorrow, a forest of space-aged
skyscrapers set in a grid of multi-leveled roadways alive with tiny
fast-moving cars. The metropolis receded, and then we had to disembark,
just a few yards away from where we got on. I was all for staying put
for another round, but they made me get off. We rode downstairs on an
escalator, and saw some exhibits of futuristic kitchen appliances and
(of course) cars. We picked up our souvenir "I Have Seen The Future"
pins, and as we made our exit I thoughtfully noted their other slogan.
"If You've Only Seen It Once, You Haven't Seen It All."
Outside it was night, and all the lights were on. We walked back towards
the center of the Fair, and encountered the New York State pavilion (one
of today's survivors). This place was basically just a large open tubular
shell, with three towers standing beside it. These were Bauhaus Space
Needles: short, fat cylinders atop tall, narrow ones, with capsule outside
elevators providing access. The short one held a restaurant (non-rotating)
and the other two were observation platforms. We went up the tallest one,
and the view was great. The fountains were illuminated with changing
colored lights, and a few fireworks were visible over the Recreation
Area. Nearby, the domed roof of General Electric seemed to be revolving.
Thousands of colored light bulbs encrusting its surface blinked with the
proper sequence to create this effect. In front of G.E. was a pavilion
that had failed to deliver - the Electric Power and Light Pavilion. A
common image associated with the World's Fair was their vertical-prismed
building, with its wide central zillion-candlepower beam of white light
shooting straight up into the sky. They said the "Tower of Light" could
be seen six states away, but maybe because it was such a clear night or
there was a malfunction, it didn't seem to emit anything. But the Unisphere
was shiny, bathed in its floodlights, and we could hear snatches of music
coming from down below. We were all very tired then, and I don't remember
the subway ride back to the hotel at all. I may have fallen asleep.
The next morning, Dad extracted the Vista-Cruiser and we drove away from
the hotel and Manhattan. We returned to the World's Fair at the parking
lot adjacent to the Recreation Zone. Walking over to the gate, we came
across one of the spaciest gas stations I've ever seen. All red or green
enamel and chrome, the pumps had an elliptical cross section, with these
'Dagmars' protruding out of the sides over the hoses. We hurried past,
through the gates, and were back in the Fair. After walking underneath
the AMF Monorail, which slid by overhead on its pointless circuit around
Recreation, and past the Unisphere into the Transportation Area, we got
in line for Ford.
The Ford pavilion featured their Magic Skyway. No moving chairs here - we
rode in brand new Ford Galaxie convertibles, and they drove themselves
along the Skyway - slowly, but close together (and in a single lane of
traffic). A magazine article had explained the modules in the cars and
the electronics embedded in the Skyway that performed the Magic, but I
didn't recall if they'd replaced the engines with smaller electric motors.
If not, it seemed to me like a fantastic and potentially dangerous
situation, but I never heard of any crashes on the Magic Skyway. Later
I discovered the Magic was related to San Francisco's cable-cars.
We finally got into our car, with Mom & Dad taking their usual places
up front, and were driven into the time tunnel. This was great - a
slight downhill grade through a myriad of colored patches of light,
swirling down and around a seemingly endless black tube. The commentary
began, naturally coming from the car's radio. I'd been told that you
could get it in different languages by pushing the radio buttons, but
I forgot to check that out. (Anyway, I was in the back seat, where I
couldn't reach it.) We emerged in the Land of the Dinosaurs. A bronto
nearby moved his head and big neck around to observe our passage, and
a volcano was erupting in the background. Then we drove into a cave
inhabited by real, moving cavemen who looked threatening. The primeval
forest was visible through the cave's mouth. There may have been some
transitional scenes I've forgotten, but suddenly we drove into the
Future - and this was a beautiful but abstract glimpse of the Future,
very unlike the Futurama. A huge, darkened room, filled with shimmering
parabolic arches and suggestions of Jetsons-style architecture with
flashing fireworks or spaceships rocketing into the glittering stars
overhead. A thorough examination was impossible, as the car inexorably
followed its neighbors through a hole in the wall, out into a transparent
tunnel which wound around midway up the circular pavilion's exterior
wall. We hopped out of the convertible and left Ford, and I forgot to
look for the glow-in-the-dark pins on the way out! I was probably still
dazzled by that futuristic flash...
We strolled the length of the Fair's central reflecting pools and came
to the smooth golden flying saucer of Johnson's Wax, gleaming in the
sunlight. This pavilion had two attractions: "To Be Alive", a special
movie that I thought sounded kind of dumb, and the "Nonsense Machine",
an area for the kids to explore, which intrigued me. We watched the
movie in a normal theater, and it turned out to be the good part. This
kid walked around holding a long prism up to his eyes, and the camera
gave us his rainbow-edged view of the world. I thought this was neat
since I'd done the same thing with an identical prism Dad had brought
home one day a few years before. The Nonsense Machine was childish and
full of little kids - it was obviously geared towards a younger age
group than my own. Triangular translucent tunnels with barriers of dangling
green plastic cords (like a bead door) - that sort of thing. Outside,
we ran into a friend of Howard's named Paul Johnson. He showed us this
shiny orange pin shaped like a dolphin that read "Florida". The Johnsons
had just come from that pavilion, near the parking lot. We missed it,
though. We said goodbye to Paul and headed back to the People-to-People
Fiesta for a final Belgium Waffle lunch.
After chow we inspected the Unisphere. I wanted to sit on the wall
encircling its fountains and reflecting pool, but there were too many
people with the same idea. Some of them dangled bare feet in the water
but I thought it was kind of cool out for that, even though the early
June sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. We went over to Westinghouse
and looked up at the mirror-polished time capsule, suspended by cables
and pylons high in the air. Mom and Dad went inside to sign a big book
which was to be placed inside among the other timely articles. Then we
walked across the avenue into the arena-like cylinder of New York State,
and joined the crowd milling about on the floor, upon which was painted
a large road map of the state of New York. I looked up at the ceiling,
a mosaic made of red and blue plastic triangles, and at the sky between
the top of the low walls and the roof. After a short while we left that
pavilion and returned to the Transportation Area.
Here we strolled through the Sinclair Dinoland. Sinclair used to be a
gasoline company that used a green dinosaur for its logo, a Brontosaurus.
At the fair they'd created a series of life-sized dinosaurs, some with
animated appendages. They also had these new machines that made
injection-molded plastic dinosaur toys for 50 cents, while you watched.
The finished product was warm and still slightly malleable. Jeff and I
each got one, and then we found ourselves in front of the GM pavilion
again - and this time there was no line! I persuaded my parents to
ride through again, and the slogan was right - I did see much more
the second time. It was so amazing, and I hated to leave, but then
it was over, along with our visit to the Fair.
We moved back towards the Recreation Area, and bought some souvenirs.
I got some square window stickers in the Fair's official blue-and-orange
color scheme, and a box of picture-cards, one for each pavilion. Then
I spotted a machine like a weighing scale, that said for 10 cents, if
you stood on it, your aching feet would feel much better. I got a dime
from Dad and placed my feet inside the foot outlines on its platform
and inserted the coin. The platform began to vibrate, and after a few
minutes my legs and feet felt amazingly rejuvenated. The therapy wore
off a little while later.
We passed through the Vatican Pavilion, and saw Michelangelo's "Pieta",
on loan for the Fair's duration. I bought another souvenir here - a
fuzzy Pieta postcard, that allegedly glowed in the dark. When I got
home I discovered that it was, in fact, phosphorescent, and not the
usual ghostly green, either, but a bluish purple. We walked into the
Hawaii pavilion, where they decorated us with "leis", and then we
finally exited through the gates. We located our silver vehicle in
the parking lot, and drove away from New York and its great World's Fair.
© 1987
Next: After the Fair
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