Scenes from Childhood

   Being (OR Having been) a young boy of 5 years old, my recollections are, at best, hazy.  The blur of childhood, as seen by an older adult, at times compresses years.  Years can be identified by a school grade or a certain birthday, holiday, event, occurrence, or a birth or death year.

   

   At the wonderful and grand 1964-1965 New York World’s Fair, I was but a lad.  My foster parents, my Mom and Dad brought the family here 4-5 times each of its two years, April to October.  Our classic family photo albums prove the attendance and happiness.  My older brother and sister surely remember more. They both competed in school “Fife and Drum Corps” musical band competitions.

 

At the Fair, the Sinclair Oil Company had Mold-a-Rama machines, throughout the park.  These machines created molded wax dinosaurs of various colors.  “Dear God, I gotta have one.  Dad!  Mom!  You gotta see this!”  My Dad would say, “We’ve have to see it, son, not gotta.”  OK.   “You have to see this!”

   

   For one quarter, 25 cents (I researched this), the machine, with one particular dinosaur mold only, upon receiving coins, would close its mold to the sound of scientific genius.  “This is fantastic!”  Hot wax would be poured by a tube into the mold.  The process may have taken one minute, with a minute to cool down.  It was hot wax, you know.  A spatula-like shovel scooped the hot wax dinosaur into a lower bin, and into the anxious hand of the boy or girl that had to have one.  I would assume that there were other wax figures that were not Dino dinosaurs.  I didn’t care.  I had to have a dinosaur. 

   

   My Dad said. “Maybe later, son."  We will all get a souvenir if you behave.  All treats and souvenirs were incumbent upon good behavior.  At the end of the day, unless you wanted to carry it, all day.  At 5, I understood.  Later was later, Dad said so.  As we walked throughout the fair, going on the sky ride, seeing the various pavilions and exhibits, I would see a Mold-a-Rama machine, the creator of variously colored molded hot wax dinosaurs.  “Wow, this machine makes a Triceratops.”  I was bent out of shape. It was a madness, I tell you. Another machine had a hundred kids getting a hot wax Brontosaurus.  Dino the Dinosaur, himself.  One machine had a Stegosaurus.  “Look at that tail!  Dad!” Another hundred kids were getting a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  I was about to explode.  Ahhhhh!

   If I didn’t have a hot wax dinosaur, I would surely die.  Nothing meant more to me at that moment.  The love of a Mother?  Well, Ok, that’s first. Then God.  Then, the dinosaur.

   

   We eventually came around near the fair entrance where our car was parked. It was hot and my Dad was about to send my brother Steve out to the parking lot, to put something in the car.  He was allowed to leave and return to the fair like that, back then.

   

   My Dad decided to let me get the molded hot wax dinosaur now.  A nearby machine had a dark blue, what was called a “Trachodon.”  The least fierce, I would later learn, of all the available molded hot wax dinosaurs.  I triumphantly observed the molding and creating of MY hot wax dinosaur.  The type of dinosaur didn’t matter at this moment.  Though not a bronto, or a T-Rex, or even an Anklosaurus, he was my duck-billed dinosaur.  Steve delighted in the dinosauric knowledge he shared.

   

   I held this molded waxy warmth for about 12 seconds when My Dad took it from me, and gave it to Steve to put in the car.  See you later, recently created blue molded wax Trachodon.  See you later.  My Brother ran the items to the car and was back quickly.  The family continued on throughout the World’s Fair, eating food, learning stuff, seeing the water show, going up that really high tower.  “You could see the City!”

   

   At the long day’s end, we dragged our weary frames out to the car.  The dark blue Ford Falcon where my dark blue molded wax Trachodon was.  I wasn’t sure where Steve had placed the dinosaur, probably in a bag.  I raced my sister Loretta to the car, and touch it. The car is hot.  We are hot.  The cool air on the drive home will be great. 

    

   As Dad unlocks the car, we open the doors to get in.  I asked Steve where the dinosaur was and he pointed to the back window, a sloping space with a piece of dark blue thick Masonite board. 

  I look for the dark blue molded wax dinosaur……..”Ahhhh!  It’s melted!”  Melted down to the feet.  “It’s too hot in here!”  Like a melted candle. Dark blue Trachodon on dark blue cardboard.  Ahhhh!   Dear God, my dinosaur.  I am five and I know this is a terrible thing.  Ahhhh!

     

   Mom and Dad come to the rescue.  Steve and Loretta and my Mom all got souvenirs.  My Dad, I guess, always unselfish, got the joy of a happy family.  There may be no greater joy in a man’s life than a healthy and happy family.

   Steve got his way back in, as my Dad went to the entrance with him and told the story.  Dad came back to the car.  Steve, in about what seemed to be five years later, probably 15 minutes later, returned with a dark blue molded wax Trachodon, still warm to the touch.  No back window for this guy.  He was safe in my soon-to-be moving automobile cooled hands. 

   

   This highly cherished dark blue molded wax Trachodon was safe home.  Steve cleaned up most of the melted hot wax stump of a Trachodon from the dark blue Ford Falcon back window. 

   Funny, the wax remnants and the blue stain remained there until we traded in the dark blue Ford Falcon in 1969 for a brand new light green Chevrolet Concourse station wagon.  The new, bigger and better family vehicle.  With a shift on the steering column, no less.

   The dark blue molded wax Trachodon hung tough for a few years, I suppose.  Cared about until the next really cool toy item entered my life.  Such is the fleeting nature of a child loving a toy.  “I gotta have it!”  I mean, “I have to have it!

Richard M.

May, 2020