parktrotter

More on my complex relationship with the Disney octopus:

We of course went to Disneyland. Everyone in Burbank went to Disneyland, usually about twice a year; one smart thing that Walt did from the start was keep the cost enough in hand that a family with a car was never priced out, even though families were bigger in the 1970s.

So twice a year, we made the drive. And what a bleak drive, if you think about it: an hour of nothing but concrete autobahn and light-industrial ghetto, enlivened only by the distant view of downtown LA and Dodger Stadium. We three kids sat sprawled in the back of the 1960 Chevy Impala, a car with tailfins that made the rear end look like the rear of an Imperial Star Destroyer. The car died soon after the years of which I am thinking. The backseat upholstery was sticky from exposure to tobacco smoke, and no one wore seatbelts then. No car seat even for the baby. We amused ourselves as best we could until the Matterhorn appeared on the right side of the freeway. We always had a contest to see who could spot it first, and being oldest, I always won.

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