Not There Anymore

Not There Anymore

In 1968, my Aunt Nina, an indomitable woman, loaded her seven children into her Volkswagen bus and set out to travel from California across the country with a friend – who had four children of her own. These two ladies and their eleven children arrived at our house in Pennsylvania for a week-long visit. There were six kids in our house and both my grandmothers were staying with us. When the bus arrived, the population of our house rose to twenty-three – seventeen children, ages eight months to 13 years, and six adults.

We loved it.

We didn’t just stay home either. All seventeen kids climbed into the bus (no seat belts, no car seats) with the five ladies (my father having escaped to work) to go sightseeing. We toured Independence Hall, sticking our fingers into the Liberty Bell and sitting in Congress Hall. We went to the zoo and fed the monkeys and pet the llamas. We all loaded up into the bus to head to Hershey, AKA Chocolate Town.

         

The Hershey’s factory tour was the highlight of the trip. First we saw the raw materials that went into the chocolate – the cocoa beans, the cream, and the sugar. Hershey’s had its own cows to provide the rich cream needed to make the milk chocolate. We joked that the cows ate chocolate so that they would give chocolate milk. Next was the mixing room. Huge vats of liquid chocolate sloshed back and forth as giant mixers endlessly circulated. I can still smell the overwhelming richness of it.

We watched as the chocolate was poured into giant molds which formed the chocolate bars. After cooling, the chocolate was knocked out onto conveyor belts. Much of it fell on the floor. Bright red-lettered signs posted everywhere warned: Don’t eat the chocolate from the floor. At the end of the tour, we each got a chocolate bar and a container of cocoa. It was an unforgettable tour.

Today the Hershey’s factory is closed to the public. Now visitors travel through Chocolate World, an amusement park ride, as they watch re-creations of what happens in the real factory. A peppy little song plays as they glide along watching video screens and plastic chocolate pieces run along miniature conveyor belts. It’s fun, but not memorable.

There are many places that you can’t go anymore. The Liberty Bell is now housed in a special building. It’s surrounded by rails, guards and surveillance cameras. No fingers allowed in the cracks. Fences ring Independence Hall and tickets are needed for entrance. Reservations are required to climb to the crown of the Statue of Liberty. Tourists no longer wander the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

Some of my friends remember picnicking on the megaliths at Stonehenge. In 1589, Galileo climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa to drop two balls of different masses from the top to prove his theory that acceleration is independent of mass. Today, he would have had to make reservations a month in advance and pay about $25 to climb the almost 300 steps to the top.

Recently, the nation was shocked when a man ran across the White House lawn and into a side door which wasn’t locked. The media moaned about lax security. The door was often used for White House tours. How long will it be before the public is no longer welcome?

It is sad that time and circumstances have limited our access to what once were public places. Of course, no one wants germy little kids sneezing into the chocolate vats. Current world tensions have made it necessary to safeguard our national treasures. What other personal experiences will be replaced by re-creations and video screens?

         

Luckily, there are still many of us around to share our childhood experiences. My aunt Nina still amazes us with her audacity. She and my mother have some great stories to tell. My cousins and siblings reminisce about our childhood adventures. We remember the stories our grandmothers told. The physical places, and people, may be lost to us, but the memories remain.

Fill your lives with experiences you can share. Spend time with your family. Be as real as you can in everything you do. I still feel the squirming of my younger cousins piled onto my lap in that bus. I can hear the songs we belted out as we rolled along the country roads. The memories of that time, and many other family times, remain with me still. No ropes keep me out, no doors are locked.

I can still taste the chocolate.