Theme world U.S.A - theme parks

E: The Environmental Magazine, Dec, 1994 by Will Nixon, Suzie Boss, Sally Deneen, Jim Motavalli, Kellyn S. Betts

Americans love amusement parks. New ones are coming, from Wayne's World in the Florida Everglades to Trump Park in Connecticut. Just how much of the natural world should we trade for fantasylands?

The story of theme parks and the environment may best be told at EPCOT Center at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. In the early 80s, the construction crews hit the swamps--clearcutting pine trees and palmettos, removing alligators and rattlesnakes, landfilling sinkholes and digging a 100-acre lake--to build the Future World pavillions that now draw millions of visitors a year. All of the exhibits at EPCOT share a theme, notes Judith Adams in her book, The American Amusement Park Industry: The Triumph of Technology. "There is no pollution or acid rain in the 'The Universe of Energy,'" she finds, "no famines, dust storms, droughts, or even natural dirt in 'The Land'; no gridlock, smog or highway carnage in the 'World of Motion.'" Greenpeace will have to build its own theme park to remind us of the lost alligators and wetlands that did not belong in Disney's idyllic Future World.

E Magazine examines three new theme parks in the works, all very different and yet all revealing our desire for fantasy entertainment rather than the natural environment. In Opryland in Nashville, you can walk indoor wilderness trails modeled after those right outside. "We can have nature on our own terms," says Maria-Lydia Spinelli, an anthropologist from DePaul University. "We can direct what we want it to be like."

The United States has upwards of 300 amusement parks, raking in $4 billion a year from 90 million visitors. The fantasyland entertainment now extends to the country's 1,800 malls, following the example of the Mall of America outside Minneapolis, which features an indoor "park" with roller coaster, ferris wheel, tropical jasmine and orange trees, Buddhist pines and black olives that don't quite match the press kit's promise of "the awesome splendor of the Minnesota woods."

Michael Jacobson of the Center for the Study of Commercialism regrets that these "family entertainment centers" have replaced our trips to state parks for swimming, picnicking, playing ball or just watching the grass grow. Even the sandbox has been replaced by the pay-to-play Discovery Zone, which Leah Brumer, a writer from Oakland, California, describes as a walk through "a Saturday morning television show." But real discovery happens when kids play in the real world. "When children get dirty, build sand castles and create their own games, they're learning to negotiate, to be flexible and to master their surroundings," she notes in the East Bay Express. "What do they learn in the human gerbil cage" of the Discovery Zone?

"To hold onto their glasses."

Four of the five largest theme park owners are media conglomerates like Disney that use every chance to sell, sell, sell. "You can see the movie, The Lion King, as as ad for The Lion King parade at Disney World, which becomes an ad for Lion King gift wrapping paper," says Susan Davis, who teaches at the University of California in San Diego. Theme parks have become one more spin-off of popular movies and TV shows, a theater set to match the T-shirts and soundtrack CDs.

But before we conclude that theme parks are unstoppable juggernauts, give a thought to Disney's America, a $650 million, 100-acre history-themed park proposed for Haymarket, Virginia (pop. 500). The tiny town is 35 miles west of Washington, D.C. and a stone's throw from the Manassas National Battlefield Park. Disney thought it could attract a million visitors a year when it opens in 1998.

But Virginia (which stood to gain 19,000 jobs and $1.5 billion in taxes over 30 years) flew its flags at half mast September 29 after Disney announced it was cancelling the plan in the face of withering public opposition.

Political cartoonists had had a field day, drawing mouse ears on dead presidents and showing Mickey at Bull Run. Historians attacked Disney's America for its plastic, prettified view of history. Opponents organized and held demonstrations--anathema to the family-oriented-and-squeaky-clean Disney. While Disney's own internal discord may have played a part, here was a clear sign that a well-organized and outraged citizenry could stop big development plans.

Unfortunately, most communities can't resist the mix of tax dollars and new jobs: A Manassas-like retreat is all too rare. Soon we'll need signs at theme park exits reading, "This Way to the Real World. Watch Out for Unscheduled Events."

WAYNE'S WORLD

WAYNE HUIZENGA'S PROPOSED "BLOCKBUSTER" IS A GIANT, ENVIRONMENTALLY DANGEROUS THEME PARK ON THE EDGE OF THE EVERGLADES

He started out humbly enough--as a garbage man. His Waste Management Inc. grew into one of the nation's largest waste-hauling empires and fostered a nice-guy image with green ad slogans on TV and sponsorship of National Public Radio, despite its dump load of environmental fines. H. Wayne Huizenga, garbage man, became H. Wayne Huizenga, rich man. But the balding fellow with the round, smiling face wasn't really famous. Not until the blue signs of his Blockbuster Video stores dotted street corners everywhere and he nearly cornered the ownership of Florida's pro sports teams: Florida Marlins (baseball), Florida Panthers (hockey), and (as part-owner) the Dolphins (football).