Going To X-S

My mother has a very particular idea of what constitutes fun – especially in her choice of movies. (Here she is with me at Disneyland). She is a sucker for a musical, romantic comedy, or anything silly, like Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation. She is quite the product of the traditional Hollywood movie formula where boy meets girl, boy overcomes all obstacles to win her heart, and they all live happily ever after. For her, good must triumph, happy endings are essential, and the bad guy must get his comeuppance.

What she does NOT like is any movie theme dealing with the supernatural, the occult, satanic activity, witches and goblins, vampires and zombies, or any unexplainable phenomenon. Of course, the entire encyclopedia of horror flicks is out of the question. She has a very tender heart and finds nothing entertaining in the suffering of innocent victims at the hands of lunatics. To this end, we kids have steered Mom away from such movies as The Exorcist, The Devil’s Advocate, or any movie with the words “chainsaw” or “Friday the 13th” in the title.

A large grey area for Mom is the entire science fiction genre of films. Movies that deal with the future, like Star Wars, are generally OK with Mom, and even modern day science fiction silliness, like Back to the Future or Multiplicity, are harmless good fun. But hostile aliens from outer space intent on the destruction of earth is deeply upsetting to my mother and leaves an emotional wound of very disturbing images that she would rather avoid. She would not go near any movie like War of the Worlds, Alien, or Invasion of the Body Snatchers. She even sought to keep us kids from being traumatized by shocking movie images when we were growing up. I remember when the old Vincent Price movie House on Haunted Hill came to TV, she forbade us kids from seeing it, in a motherly gesture of nurture and protection. “It will just give you bad dreams,” she warned. I managed to sneak a peek at the movie anyway, and I am no doubt damaged as a result.

I never fully understood her depth of feeling in this matter until we coaxed her to join us to see the newly released Close Encounters of the Third Kind in 1977. The story dealt with the whole idea of alien visitation and abduction – a big no-no for Mom. But she liked Richard Dreyfuss from The Goodbye Girl, and she felt safe in the hands of master storyteller Steven Spielberg, the director of the movie.

Big mistake! As the story unfolded on the screen, I could see Mom’s agitation grow at the depiction of rather scary UFO activities. But when the aliens abducted the little boy from his farm house despite his mother’s frantic efforts to save him, Mom wanted out of the theater. Literally in tears, she whispered, “You know I can’t stand these satanic movies.”

I vainly attempted to split hairs. “This isn’t really satanic – these are just aliens.” I could see that wasn’t much comfort. After watching the little boy get sucked out of his house amid blinding lights and vibrating appliances, Mom was beyond reasoning. She agreed to sit through the rest of the film, but she covered her eyes through most of it. Lesson learned.

By the 1990’s Tomorrowland had become a real sore spot for Disneyland. After three complete overhauls and numerous tweaks and renovations, this area of the park had Disney executives exasperated. They continue to wrestle with two major challenges: 1) keeping up with advances in science and technology so that Tomorrowland doesn’t go out of date so quickly, and 2) making the future look as interesting and exciting as it did to us in the 1950’s.

For Walt, and most of America, the future was outer space. He said:

"Tomorrow can be a wonderful age. Our scientists today are opening the doors of the Space Age to achievements that will benefit our children and generations to come."

But once we landed on the moon, shot probes at Mars, photographed the outer planets, and launched numerous shuttles to develop an orbiting space station, America’s interest in outer space cooled. While the everyday benefits derived from the space program are quite numerous, most people think of Tang, Velcro, and Teflon as our principal payoff for the multi-billions of dollars spent by NASA (although none of these items were actually developed specifically for space applications).

In addition, with nuclear meltdowns, oil spills, and chemical poisonings, growing fears about the dangers of science and technology to our planet have convinced some people that science is not the solution, but the problem to our quality of life. Go figure that one out and get back to me.

Anyway, something was needed to give the “future” a new makeover. In the 1990’s Disneyland announced a new vision for Tomorrowland that it labeled “Tomorrowland 2055”, which would coincidentally mark the 100th anniversary for the park. The plan called for a new line-up of exciting rides with a strong alien flavor. The centerpiece attraction was to be ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter, a sit-down theater with harnessed special effects seats. The back story for the attraction was that a futuristic corporation called X-S was demonstrating the technology of teleportation. The company’s motto was “If something can't be done with X-S [excess], then it shouldn't be done at all.”

For those of you who have experienced this ride, be patient while I explain it to the other readers. Guests were ushered into a darkly lit stadium-style chamber for the demonstration. Each seat came with a harness needed for the ride’s special effects. At the center of the chamber was a large plexi-glass container – the “teleportation tube”, where the demonstration was to occur.

The “host” and announcer for the show, along with two X-S Tech employees, run the demonstration. Initially, you are told that a single guest is to be teleported out of the chamber. Then the host is "seized" by inspiration and decides to have himself teleported into the chamber to meet the entire group.

Here is where the ride takes an unexpected dark turn. Through some technical glitch, the teleportation signal is diverted through an unknown planet. As a result, a towering winged, carnivorous alien is beamed into the tube by mistake. As ugly and dangerous as any movie alien, this terrifying creature is on full display, with only the plexi-glass shield to protect the audience. Of course, you can guess what happens next. The creature shatters the glass tube and escapes, amidst intermittent darkness and flashes of light that reveal the empty teleportation tube. A power outage suddenly plunges the entire chamber into total darkness as guests sit helplessly restrained in their seats.

During the portions of the attraction that take place in darkness, binaural sound effects suggest that the alien is moving through the chamber, menacing the guests and even devours a maintenance man. In-seat vibration, air-blasts and other effects contribute to the illusion, with the alien appearing to be breathing and at one point licking the guests. "Blood" spattering in the dark is simulated by the spraying of water. Among other spine-tingling highlights during the encounter is a moment when a cast member shines a flashlight over the guests to ask if they are alright, only to be "ripped apart, limb-from-limb, and eaten" by the alien, using the technology of sound effects.

With assistance from the two X-S technicians, the ravenous alien is ultimately driven back into the broken teleportation device and destroyed. Guests are then released from their seats.

Of course, I had no idea what this ride was actually going to involve, or I would never have taken my mother on it. This was The Magic Kingdom, for crying out loud, full of little children. What was Michael Eisner thinking? I suppose the name of the ride (with the word TERROR in bold caps) should have given me a clue. It was probably not what Walt had in mind when he envisioned the exciting possibilities of tomorrow. No matter. Walt had been dead for almost 30 years, and there was a new team in charge. I am told that when Disney CEO Michael Eisner first sat through a dry run of the ride, he complained that it wasn’t scary enough, and ordered the fear factor ramped up. The ride was being test marketed at the Orlando Magic Kingdom, where it opened in June of 1995 amidst lots of promotional hoopla. The ride was described as “hip” and “edgy”, and “a darkly humorous science-fiction experience”. It was kind of like a dress rehearsal for the ride, which would ultimately be installed in the Anaheim park once all of the bugs were worked out of the system.

In 1995 I was living in Tennessee, and Orlando was a mere nine-hour drive away. For Thanksgiving, my wife and I decided to fly my mother out from California to spend a week with us. Knowing her affection for Disneyland, we planned a thanksgiving excursion to Walt Disney World, with a stay at the Contemporary Hotel, and plans for a sneak preview of this coming attraction for Anaheim.(Here she is with me, our two kids and a cousin at Disneyland in 1995).

As we stood in line for the Alien Encounter, we observed the warning label alerting guests that the ride was very intense, and that parents were recommended to not bring small children into the attraction. I had never heard of such a warning for a Disneyland ride. Thunder Mountain came with a warning, but that seemed more related to the physical demands of a roller coaster. The Alien Encounter warning focused on potential psychological trauma. Undaunted, we pressed on.

As we were seated in this theater-in-the-round, it reminded me of the Mission to Mars chamber. I was anticipating a pleasant virtual reality experience similar to Star Tours. Was I in for a shock.

The teleportation of the “Alien” into our plexi-glass tube was startling enough. The creature was large and menacing, and I could see that Mom was nearing her limit. I thought, please don’t let it get any more intense. No such luck. The lights flickered, the beast broke free, and we were all cast into total darkness, with only the sounds of screaming patrons, death, and destruction all around us. At one point a puff of air from our harness and the slobbering sounds of the Alien made it seem it was right behind us. I could only grit my teeth and hope for a speedy conclusion.

By the end of the ride Mom was a wreck. When I turned my head to look at her, she was gripping her harness with her eyes shut tight. I broke the silence by offering, “Well, that was fun.” I don’t think she has forgiven me to this day.

We were not the only ones to be stunned by the nightmarish Alien Encounter. Many guests complained that the ride was too frightening to be enjoyable, and refused to go on the ride again or to recommend it to others.

The ride was finally closed down in 2003 and was never installed at the Anaheim park. Compared to the lifespan of most Disneyland rides, it was a short run. While it developed a cult following among some Disney fans, it was largely criticized for terrorizing the park’s primary customer – young children. The ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter is perhaps the scariest ride in the history of the kid-friendly Magic Kingdom.

Even without the Alien Encounter, there are enough heart-stopping rides at Disneyland to prompt management finally to install cardiac defibrillators at some of its more intense thrill rides, as a protective measure, which currently includes:

• Haunted Mansion
• Splash Mountain
• Space Mountain
• Big thunder Mountain Railroad
• Pirates of the Caribbean
• Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger Spin

I guess Disney has decided that it will not cut back on the “thrill factor” of its rides, but if you have a heart attack, they are ready to revive you. How’s that for fun! Just to be safe, some of the non-thrill rides that lack defibrillators come with warning labels. Even Snow White’s Scary Adventure has a warning that reads “WARNING: May be too intense for young children.”

Nevertheless, I was not sad to see ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter retired. If I want a Disneyland ride to plunge me into imminent danger, I will settle for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Straddling those bumpy railroad tracks with that locomotive headlight bearing down on me is unnerving enough. And while the ride ultimately sends you to hell, it doesn’t actually try to kill you.

Betrayal

I can’t believe I did it. What was I thinking? She had never given me a reason to stray. She had always been constant, even more charming as the years went by. She always took care to look her best and impress me with a few surprises now and again. But I admit, after years of a mutually fulfilling monogamous relationship, I was restless and curious about other rivals for my affection. For years I had been faithful to my one love, but I was eventually to bear the guilt and shame of breaking my vow of fidelity. My union with Disneyland was tested the day I set my heart to visit its younger sister – the Orlando Magic Kingdom – when it opened its arms to me in 1971 and wooed me to travel across the country to see how much more fun she could be.

Why would I commit such an act of betrayal? Disneyland had always been so close, so convenient. I could roll out of bed, stroll down Main Street, and be back home in time for dinner. She was what you might call “easy”. I didn’t have to work for it – wait for it - not like kids who lived in Chicago, Kansas City, or Pittsburgh. One overly crowded day at Disneyland I had to share a sky bucket ride with two kids from out-of-state. They gushed to me that this was their very first trip to Disneyland.

“Oh,” I replied. “This is the third time this month for me.” Their mouths dropped in awe. “Wow,” they uttered. “We’ve waited our whole lives for this.” I could only gaze at them with pity.

And what about the rest of the world? If Disneyland was a faint dream for kids living in Atlanta, Georgia, imagine the kids living in Japan or Europe all pining for their first spin on the Mad Tea Cups! I was always amazed to see any international tourists in the park. While standing in the Matterhorn line, I would occasionally hear people speaking to each other in a foreign language, and thought, “Wow - they traveled the globe to be here.“

I am sure Walt anguished over the problem of making Disneyland more accessible to the world, until he struck upon the genius solution – if you can’t bring the people to Disneyland, bring Disneyland to the people. Why not just build another Disneyland on the other side of the country. Brilliant! So in 1963 he started looking for land in Florida to construct a duplicate theme park. He wanted a little bit more land than he had for his original Anaheim park, which was only 160 acres including the parking lot. So, just to be safe, he bought 27,000 acres south of Orlando. That’s over 40 square miles, or more than twice the size of Manhatten Island. I think that was probably big enough.

Although Walt Disney himself died in 1966 before the Disneyworld Resort could be completed, his brother Roy oversaw the construction of the resort’s first phase – the new Magic Kingdom. When the Disneyworld Magic Kingdom opened in Orlando, Florida, in 1971, my favorite hangout had been cloned on the other side of the country. In no time the inevitable comparisons arose and lines were drawn over the question: which park was better - the original or the clone? I had to take a stand in the great debate.

In my heart I felt deep loyalty to the Anaheim park, the haven of my childhood, but since I had not yet seen The Clone, I could not speak with authority. Although both parks bore the same name, I had read that the Walt Disney people made certain modifications to the new park. They called them “improvements”. I had my doubts. How could they improve on the original? I wanted to defend Anaheim as the best, but until I had seen the Clone for myself, I knew I would have no credibility. Back in the 1970s I didn’t know anyone who had been to both parks. It just seemed that the east coast crowd went to Orlando and the west coast crowd went to Anaheim, and everybody in the middle flipped a coin.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. I felt a little unfaithful, like checking out your girlfriend’s younger sister. I could hear Disneyland whispering in my ear, “I gave you my best years, and this is how you repay me.” How could I betray my first love by patronizing The Clone.

I remember my first visit to the Orlando Magic Kingdom. The experience was eerie and unsettling. It was Disneyland and yet it wasn’t. Like a Stepford Wife, it looked like the original, but her soul and personality was missing.

So, what were the differences? The first thing that struck me was that I couldn’t walk from the parking lot to the ticket booths. The two are separated by the gigantic Seven Seas Lagoon, which must be crossed either by ferryboat or monorail. What was the point of that? Crowd control? It made no sense to me, especially at the end of the day when all the throngs of people are leaving the park and wanting to get to their car.

If this was an improvement, I would have liked to have overheard that design meeting:


“OK, I’ve got a great idea. Let’s make the new parking lot even farther away than the one in Anaheim. Let’s put the parking lot so far away, you can’t even see the park at all.”

At the Anaheim parking lot you could see the tippy-top features of the park in the distance, and it beckoned you on. In Orlando, you have no frame of reference when you park your car. You simply have to trust the signs and follow the crowd.

At the end of the day at Disneyland, when you leave the park, you could always just keep walking to your car. Outside the exit, the crowds are dispersing, and you finally have some breathing room. As exciting as it may feel to join the press of the crowd at the start of the day, it is a relief to get your space back at the close. But no such luck in Orlando. After you leave the park you have two choices to reach your car: monorail or ferryboat, and the lines for both are crushing. Wow – was this ever a bad idea, I thought. At the end of a day at Disneyland most people just want to fall into their car, not mount one last battle against the hordes and the obstacles to make good their escape. Who wants to spend an extra hour just to get out of the parking lot? Not an improvement, this giant lagoon, not to me.

Next, I was immediately taken by the size of the new Magic Kingdom. The Orlando park was bigger – way bigger. The Anaheim Disneyland had about 60 acres of park, while the Orlando Magic Kingdom had over 107 acres. A bigger park means longer walks between land and within lands. But the worst of all is that a bigger park means more people. The Anaheim Disneyland max’s out at about 85,000 people. And believe me, at that point, it is no longer the happiest place on earth. I have been at the park when the press of people was so great, I felt like the ball in a pin ball machine.

And the lines for rides get intolerable when the park is at capacity. So in Orlando, if you increase to park size by 40%, you end up with 40% more people all vying for the Pirates of the Caribbean or the Jungle Cruise. It was nuts. The lines would weave back and forth, and we waited and waited, sometimes for an hour and a half for one ride. At that rate, you could log in six rides and the day would be over. I have to admit, I prefer the scaled down feel of the Anaheim park.

There were some other modifications, such as Liberty Square instead of New Orleans Square. My precious “Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln” was gone from Main Street, much to my sadness. I love that attraction. It was always the first thing I saw when I walked through the gates. What a great show and an inspiring message. I always left that attraction energized me for the day.

Most of the rides at the Orlando Magic Kingdom were pretty much the same as the Anaheim park. But the structural differences were striking, and here is where the original park wins out in my mind. The Anaheim Main Street is actually only a scale model. Every brick, shingle, and every lamp post was made five-eighths true size, making the town feel like a toy.

However, the Orlando Main Street buildings are all built to full scale, from the first floor up. When I first entered the park and gazed at the two anchor buildings at the head of Town Square, they appeared massive and overpowering. The same was true for the massive Cinderella Castle (pictured to the right), which was much bigger than Anaheim’s Sleeping Beauty Castle. Also, the Cinderella Castle lacks a drawbridge, to me one of the essential features of a castle. The drawbridge at Sleeping Beauty Castle was to me the hub of the park, and the logical family checkpoint throughout the day.

I know – sometimes you can improve on the original, but in this case I will hold my ground. The Anaheim Disneyland rules. When comparing notes with some of my east coast friends who grew up with Orlando’s Magic Kingdom, they often tell me how disappointed they were when they finally visited the Anaheim park. They thought it felt too cramped and crowded. I guess you just become attached to the version you grew up with. I cannot talk sense to the Orlando “loyals”, and they cannot convince me.

The Clone Wars did not end there. When I heard that another Disneyland was going to be built in Tokyo, I blew a gasket. But nobody asked my opinion, so it opened in 1983. Yet another Disneyland opened in Paris, France in 1992, and still a fifth Disneyland in Hong Kong in 2005. All of these parks have their own modifications to adapt to the local cultures. In France Tomorrowland is called Discoveryland. It doesn’t glimpse into the future as much as it celebrates the past, so obviously it made no sense to call it Tomorrowland. Tokyo replaced Main Street with a World Bazaar under a glass canopy, and Hong Kong Disneyland has no Frontierland at all. I am reminded of the movie Multiplicity, in which the Michael Keaton character gets cloned, and then the clone gets cloned and then cloned again, with each new generation bearing less and less resemblance to the original.

I count my blessings that I grew up with the original. It was the purest rendering of Walt’s vision and executed under his personal direction. And I like it. Even today with all the changes made to the original park, it still rules.

For the sake of comparison, let me ask you this - why is there only one Eiffel Tower in the world? And it is in Paris, France. It is so far away and difficult to visit. Oh, wait. I guess we have the Eiffel Tower clone in Las Vegas. That will due. It is so much closer, and I think it is just as nice. What do you think, France?

Is This What Tomorrow Smells Like?

Of all the lands in Disneyland, Tomorrowland has changed the most over the years - which makes sense, since the future is changing so fast we can hardly keep up. When the park first opened in 1955, space travel was an H. G. Wells fantasy, a single computer filled an entire room, and the pocket calculator of the day was the slide rule.

Walt Disney presented a modest picture of “the future” in his Tomorrowland. There were only three rides in Tomorrowland when the park first opened (Autopia, Astro jets, and Rocket to the Moon), mostly due to budget constraints, but by 1961 Tomorrowland featured eight rides:

1. Rocket to the Moon
2. Astro Jets
3. Autopia
4. Monorail
5. Submarine Ride
6. Flying Saucers
7. The Skyway
8. The Matterhorn

I was always troubled by the designation of the Matterhorn as a Tomorrowland ride. What did bobsledding have to do with the future? Not to worry. In 1971 the Matterhorn was reclassified as a Fantasyland ride, making it the only Disneyland ride to switch from one land to another without ever moving.

Even if Disney had a blank check to build whatever he wanted, no crystal ball could have imagined the milestones achieved by science and technology in our lifetime. When the original “House of the Future” premiered in 1957, it was described as Tomorrowland’s most futuristic attraction. For example, it promised that soon I would be able to cook a potato in just a few minutes with something called micro-waves. Are you kidding me – no way! But even if it could be done, I didn’t think that potato would be safe to eat. I was sure it would be radioactive or something, and would cause me to grow a third arm. The House of the Future also featured other wildly fanciful concepts, like lights that could be turned on and off with the clap of the hands, push-button hands-free telephones, a flat screen wall-sized TV, and a closed circuit intercom with a screen to see the person talking to you. Whoever heard of such things? When would they be available? Not in my lifetime, I was sure. Ironically, within ten years the “House of the Future” had to be closed, it was so hopelessly obsolete.

The Tomorrowland Autopia premiered when the park opened in 1955, and is still one of the most popular rides at Disneyland. I was never sure what these souped-up go-karts had to do with “tomorrow”. I am told it was supposed to be a foretaste of America’s interstate system. If these cars were the future of transportation, I could not have been happier. It was a 4 ½ minute “C” ticket ride that was unquestionably one of my favorites, for all the obvious reasons. I got to drive a gas-powered Corvette-shaped car before I was street legal, and I actually got to control it. I could go fast or slow (there was no brake pedal), steer to the left or right, and bump into the unsuspecting driver ahead of me. The bumper-car aspect of the ride really troubled my tender-hearted brother Brad, who took no pleasure in whiplashing the neck of the driver in front. To me it was the point of the ride. I maneuvered myself in the Autopia line so that my sister Carol would end up in the car ahead of me. I would collide into her car whenever possible, and when she turned and shot a homicidal glare at me, I would throw up my hands and shout “I can’t control this thing. It has no brakes.”

In 1955 harnessing the elements of nature and unlocking their secrets was clearly viewed as the key to the future. And so Disneyland established the Hall of Chemistry as a centerpiece pavilion in Tomorrowland. Sponsored by Monsanto, this exhibition hall was a like a grown-up science fair, demonstrating all the everyday benefits derived from chemistry, like synthetic materials, miracle drugs, food additives and preservatives, and concoctions designed for industrial use. Because sulfur has so many uses, including industrial, agricultural, and medical, it got prominent display in the Hall of Chemistry, a PR snafu in my mind. In spite of its numerous applications, the smell of sulfur is anything but welcome. The sulfur compound in matches makes them the poor man’s bathroom deodorizer. The aroma that emanates from a burning match is the Muhammad Ali of smell and kicks the butt of all bathroom odor. It doesn’t really clear the air – it just gives you something worse to smell. It’s kind of like stabbing your leg to take your mind off your headache.

Anyway, whenever I walked through the Hall of Chemistry, I was overwhelmed by the smell of sulfur. I don’t know why they felt the need to pipe that fume into the pavilion (maybe for a dose of realism), but to me it was downright noxious. I thought to myself, if that is what “tomorrow” smells like, you can keep it. I am sure I was traumatized from a life of scientific pursuits by the stink that wafted from that building. I don’t know what genius came up with the suggestion, but I am even more mystified that it was approved:

Bob: I know how to draw a crowd into the Hall
of Chemistry – let’s pump sulfur smell
through The whole building.

Group Leader: Bob, that’s brilliant. All in favor,
say “Aye”.

Thankfully, the Hall of Chemistry was removed in 1966 to make way for a whole new Tomorrowland. Today I live about 10 miles from a large paper mill in southeastern Tennessee that manufactures newsprint, and gives off an odor not too different from the Hall of Chemistry. When the wind is blowing south I take a deep breath and think, boy that smells just like tomorrow.

For me, the centerpiece of Tomorrowland was the Flight Circle, a large round concrete deck used for aerial exhibitions. Forget the Rocket to the Moon, the Submarines, and the Flying Saucers. My hangout was the flight Circle. On special occasions the Bell Rocket Belt (made famous in the opening scenes of the James Bond movie Thunderball), was demonstrated, using the Flight Circle as the launching pad. That jet pack, strapped to its pilot’s back, really looked like the future to me. He lifted off and hovered over Tomorrowland to the amazement of every boy and girl. I couldn’t wait for the Bell Rocket Belt to go on sale in hobby stores everywhere. I imagined owning one and rocketing my way to school. What a babe magnet that would have been:

Larry: Hi, Susie. How did you get to school?
Susie: I rode the bus. How about you?
Larry: Oh, I used my jet pack.
Susie: Really?
Larry: Yeah. Wanna go for a ride?

Most often the Flight Circle was used for demonstrations of control-line gas powered model airplanes. Unlike the radio controlled version, these model airplanes are manually controlled by the operator with the use of guide lines extending from a handle in his hand to the airplane itself, allowing him to manipulate the tail rudders and make the plane go higher or lower. Standing in the center of the flight circle, the pilot flew his tiny plane in a circle until the small gas reservoir emptied and the plane glided back to earth.

For even more excitement, Disneyland would hold combat exhibitions with two control-line planes that simulated air-to-air combat or “dog fighting.” Two pilots flew their plane in the same circle, towing a crepe paper streamer behind each plane. The winner was the one to cut his opponent’s streamer with his propeller. The demonstrations were riveting to me, and I organized my day to be at each show. I knew I had to have one of those model airplanes for my own. I had found my calling. Maybe one day I would be good enough to put on demonstrations at Disneyland.

With relentless coaxing, I begged my mother to buy me one. To her it just looked too dangerous. A nurse by training, she saw every possible way this thing could kill me. The spinning 4” propeller is definitely not a toy, and the instant you do not respect it, it will cut your finger off. But I wore her down, as only kids know how. I promised fidelity and obedience. I vowed to do my chores in perpetuity. I swore to play with it only after all my homework was done. I begged on bended knee with the soulful eyes of a sad puppy dog. She gave in.

In the mid 1960s model airplanes were all the rage, and the hobby store had a wide selection, from the most basic to the most elaborate, handsome model WWII fighter planes with small plastic bombs that you can drop in mid-flight. Mom agreed to start me off with the “trainer” model – the kind of plane whose wings are attached to the fuselage with rubber bands so that when you crash it (and yes, you will crash it), the plane can be easily re-assembled and flown again.

I cleared away a smooth take-off and landing pad in the back yard and prepared for a life of aviation. My brother Brad served as ground crew. His job was to hold the airplane in place once I got the engine running, to give me time to get to the center of the circle and grab the control handle. With the nod of my head, Brad let go of the tail section and the plane took off. I required several take-offs, crashes, and rubber bands to master the control line, but eventually I began to feel like a bona fide model airplane pilot.

Over time the small engine would get gunked up with fuel and needed cleaning. The engine was detachable from the fuselage, and that is when I got the brilliant idea to fire up the engine while holding it in my hand. Without thinking things through, I managed to start the engine with one hand, while pinching its backside with my fingers. The propeller blades whirred and the engine hummed with a sound hypnotic.

In less than a minute the small engine started heating up in my fingers. I never considered the fact that metal heats up in an internal combustion engine, and my thumb and index finger were rapidly sending alarm bells to my brain. I had about three seconds to decide what to do.

Too late. My fingers reached the second degree burn stage and I reflexively snapped my hand away. Good news and bad news about that – the good news was my fingers were no longer on fire. The bad news was the engine was still running. With nothing to control the direction of the whirring propeller, it spun to the earth in wild rotations. I could not get out of the way fast enough, and the propeller managed to slice my leg open on the way down.

I looked at my thigh, which was bleeding into my shoes, and I knew that Mom must never know, or my flying days would be over. With Band-Aids and alcohol I attended to my battle wound, and bear a faint scar on my leg to this day.

Disney’s Tomorrowland invited us to preview the exciting prospects of the future, but I never thought the future could be so hazardous. With car crashes on the Autopia, toxic odors in the Hall of Chemistry, and slice & dice with model airplanes, I only hope I should live so long.