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.