I Googled Therefore I Was

There's a saying that a little Google is a dangerous thing.  And if not, then let me just say, "A little Google is a dangerous thing." (copyright, Beth Falkenstein, 2015).  Otherwise, how can you explain all the nut jobs out there screaming on Twitter that the KKK is filled with Democrats?  And then there was the time I was sued by a woman who had gotten all her knowledge about partnership law by typing the words "partnership law" into her search engine (she lost).

But a lot of Google?  That's a different story.  In fact, I credit Google for proving I exist... or at least I existed.

For example, in 1964, when I was 7,  my family took a trip to visit my grandmother in New York, via the Finger Lakes.  For years afterward there have been aspects of that trip I had always wondered if they were real.  That we went to New York was never in question for me -- and I am proud to say I never for an instant doubted the existence of my grandmother (see Exhibit 1, below). 

Exhibit 1. Grandma Charlotte & Me

But for years I kind of thought that maybe I had made up that part about the Finger Lakes.  I don't mean I was wrong about the route we took, I mean I thought I had actually made up the name "The Finger Lakes."  Who else but a seven year-old would name something after their fingers?  It wasn't until years later, when I finally thought to look it up on a map that I was able to reconcile the reality of that detail with my memory.  (Although, I suppose it is still possible the region was named by a seven year-old.)

But there were other aspects of that vacation on which I was less clear.  The fact that yes, while we were in New York we took side trips to Coney Island and the World's Fair was corroborated over the years through family discussions, and more recently through a cache of slides I uncovered.  But beyond that, I was on my own.  The smattering of any specifics that I retained only exist as images filtered through the very cloudy, imperfect lens of my own memory -- like blurry home movies and fading Polaroids -- and were therefore beyond any family member's ability to confirm.

For instance, I'm confident that my memory of going on the Cyclone with my father is pretty accurate because I remember they made him take his glasses off so they wouldn't fly off his head.  That meant I spent the entirety of my very first roller coaster ride cowering next to a man who could no longer see ten feet in front of his face and who, rather than comforting me, insisted on yelling "Wheeee!" on every death-defying downward swoop.  Terror and cruelty of that sort will indelibly sear any memory into a child's brain in technicolor clarity.  On the other hand, my memory of the Steeplechase "racetrack" ride was far less vivid.  I always thought my mother may have taken me on one of the wooden horses with her but to be honest, I wasn't certain.  Would they have let two people ride together?  In fact, the only evidence I had to go on that I went on the ride at all was because I somehow knew that the secret to going faster was to lean forward.

Enter Google (no, I hadn't forgotten my opening paragraph).  Type in Steeplechase Park.  Search images.  Yep, they let two people ride.  Search Steeplechase ride.  Yep, in fact, the horses were designed for two riders.  And what is more, after some further search and research, I learned that the entire ride operated on the laws of gravity.

"The rider's horses, drawn up a cable to an elevation of 22 feet at the start of the race, suddenly dropped downward along a 15% grade wooden track to gain speed. The riders then plunged across a miniature lake, while their momentum carried them upwards again to a height of 16 feet beyond the beach. The riders then descended through a tunnel and raced upwards over a series of dips representing hurdles until they reached the finish line far ahead. While heavier riders had the advantage, usually the horse on the inside rail won, especially on the shorter course."  (http://www.westland.net/coneyisland/articles/steeplechase2.htm)

Mystery solved.  Memory verified.  Sanity confirmed.  Thanks, Google!

So, what I'm leading up to here is a memory from this time about another side trip with my family to an amusement park called Freedomland.  It was not so much the place itself I seemed to remember as it was something that happened there.  Or, at least I think it happened.  Because when I finally brought it up years later, not a single member of my family remembered the event.  What is more, not a single member of my family remembered ever having heard of Freedomland, much less visited it.  Cue Rod Serling, and submitted for your approval:

Scary Emmet Kelly

Picture, if you will, an old-timey Main Street, very much like the one in Disneyland (although in 1964, having never been to Disneyland, I could not have made that connection).  This was the setting of my Freedomland odyssey.  I assume there were also characters playing old-timey pedestrians that mixed in with the crowd on that old-timey street, but I say "assume" because there was only one character of which I had any specific memory: a hobo-clown, a la Emmet Kelly.  And, as with my ride on the Cyclone, I remember this hobo-clown distinctly because I was terrified of him.  Another reason it is safe to assume that the place was crowded is because at some point my brother, Geoffrey, and I discovered we had become separated from our parents.

At this point, my memory takes a jump cut -- maybe the panic of being lost was too much for me? -- because the next thing I remember is Geoffrey and I, still alone, watching a silent film inside one of the storefronts along Main Street.  It was the Keystone Cops. I imagine, that Geoffrey, being older, had wisely suggested we stay close to the last place we saw our parents.  I don't know exactly how long we stayed there, but it felt like forever, probably because we watched the movie repeat on a loop so many times that I eventually had the scene sequence memorized.  Finally, I guess the monotony of the film drove us out onto the street again (and to this day, I cannot watch the Keystone Cops without immediately getting a sick headache).  Not only were our parents still nowhere to be seen, but even if they were, we couldn't have seen them over the crush of humanity that now filled the sidewalks.  It was our bad luck that at that moment there was a parade going down the middle of Main Street and everyone had been herded onto the sidewalks, effectively blocking our sightlines.  So Geoffrey and I made our way to the curb to watch the parade, at which point I, tired, lost, and probably hungry, started to cry...

It isn't hard to guess that we were eventually reunited with our parents, and you'd think I'd have some sort of recollection of that grand moment.  But I don't.  Instead, what I remember was standing there on the curb, watching the parade and sobbing, when suddenly, to my utter horror, who should spot me in my misery and make a bee-line straight for me?  It was Hobo The Clown!  And he was coming at me!  I froze.  There was literally no where for me to run. 

Dramatization

Closer and closer he came -- it's a wonder I didn't wet my pants -- until he was right in front of me.  He knelt down and asked me why I was crying.  I suppose I told him, but after that?...

There is only one final moment I remember of my day at Freedomland and that was when my worst nightmare handed me a business card and said "This is so you'll never cry again."  I'm pretty sure it worked and I stopped crying.  Because at that point I recall having a thought, something akin to a seven year-old's equivalent of "How the fuck is a business card supposed to stop me from crying?"

So, did it happen?  Was Freedomland real, or did it only exist for me like St. Elsewhere in Tommy Westphall's snow globe?  Surreal as it all seemed to me I really wanted to believe it did.  So I took to Google to help put the pieces together, even though those pieces were grainy and faded images that jumped around in my mind like a blurry home movie.  And Google came through big time. (Note: please watch this video all the way through to the end, as I found it only after writing all of the above, and it sincerely blew my mind):

Case closed.