Dispatch From Disneyland
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American Highway Landmarks

Despite predictions of total disaster, Disneyland enjoyed incredible success during its first few years of operation. Among other reasons for success, including shrewd marketing partnerships with ABC and a genius level understanding of show biz, Walt Disney had somehow tapped into the zeitgeist of America's growing love for cars.

Throughout the 1950's Southern California had a growing dependence on the car, and more specifically, the expanding freeway system. Although Disneyland was built beyond the edge of the freeway system as of 1954, Walt knew that if you built it, the freeway would come. When the Magic Kingdom did open more acreage was devoted to parking than to attractions.

In the 50s and 60s Los Angeles was expanding in every direction. Sleepy farm towns, were quickly becoming bedroom communities for a growing workforce. Anaheim, lost the last of its orange groves to development. In fact, by the early 60's it was possible to drive from Canada to Mexico on Interstate-5, the same freeway that sat less than1/4 mile from Disneyland's main entrance. The new face of America was Southern California, and Disneyland was its shining new icon.

Fifteen years later, when, as an infant on my grandfather's knee, I began my yearly trek to Walt's park, Disneyland was still very much an icon of that lifestyle. As I grew older one particular part of the park played an important role in my pilgrimage.

The typical Indigo family trek started one early summer morning in Portland, Oregon, before the birds awoke or the sun had colored the sky. Mom and Dad had thoughtfully pre-packed the family station wagon the night before, so all that remained was to gather my younger brother and I, with our pillows still attached to our heads, and deposit us in the back seat.

Inevitably, it was three hours into the drive, nearing Medford, Oregon, before I woke up. Mom had snacks packed in the car, so there was no need to stop, other than gas and potty breaks, until lunch on the California side of the border.

The change in weather was always a dead give away as to when our car crossed into California. Some years the clouds literally stopped at the border. That was our signal to eat all the oranges and other fruit in the car. Ahead of us lay the inspection station, and no fruit was allowed south. That's okay, because we didn't allow California beer north.

Mount Shasta and her beautiful lakes was the next important landmark. There was that rock that was painted a different color each time we drove past and the restaurant/bar we always stopped at for lunch. After six hours in the car with the kids, I'm sure my parents needed a stiff one.

The thing I remember about the restaurant was the beautiful view of the lake it provided. In the late 80s, when the water levels were low, I remember eating there once and not being able to see the water at all. Haven't been back recently to see if it's back to normal.

After the restaurant it was back on the road. If it was to be a one-day trip, Shasta was our last real stop before a late arrival in Los Angeles. However, it was more likely we would stop early in the afternoon in Redding, California. We always stayed at the same hotel, even though its name seemed to change every year we were there. It had a nice pool, which my brother and I took advantage of and a Denny's and an IHOP in close proximity.

After a leisurely breakfast it was back in the car for the final drive south. If we were checking into a hotel we usually made it in one shot for a 4pm check in. If we were staying with relatives, the trip was more relaxed and stops were frequent. Somehow the parents managed to remain calm as the excitement level grew in the back seat.

I am convinced that whomever decided Los Angeles County should be so huge did so with the sole intent of torturing young visitors to Disneyland from parts north. The county border sign would always notch up the excitement level. We would bounce around in the back seat for a few minutes until we realized we were still in the middle of mountains without a city street light in sight.

Once in town, Burbank was our next indication we neared the Magic Kingdom. Mom would point out Forest Lawn Memorial Park where Walt was buried, and Walt Disney Imagineering where my grandfather used to work. Then everybody would get quiet as the driver would have to navigate the family station wagon through the rush hour traffic that we inevitably hit each time we drove through town.

My next landmarks were the twin signs of commerce -- the Coppertone girl and the tire factory fortress. When the Coppertone sign was working it was cute, but toward the end of its life, it was very rundown. Still, I think it would be wonderfully nostalgic to have restored back in its original location.

Once past this sign, I could practically smell Disneyland. My brother and I would put down our games and push our noses up against the windows taking in all the detail. If we were lucky, the traffic would miraculously clear up and it would be full speed ahead to the Happiest Place On Earth. Otherwise the wait for the final landmark was a slow and torturous one.

It was a game. Who would spot it first? If you were too excited, you might mistake a phone tower off in the distance for it, claim you saw it too soon, and lose the game. If you waited too long the moment would pass and mom or dad would claim they saw it first out of pity for the kids asleep in the back seat.

But it was always there. At some point the car would turn the corner, or come over the rise, and it would be there soaring majestically above the tree tops. Your mouth, dry with anticipation, wouldn't function as you tried to cry out, "I see it. There's the Matterhorn."

And before you knew it, you were there at Disneyland.

-- Indigo

-- Posted April 5, 2000