The Circle of Life
By: Professor George Estrada
It was 50 years ago, but the scene is as vivid in my mind as if it occurred just yesterday. The day was bright-hot, and the colors all around me shimmered as if I were trapped inside a Kodachrome image.
I was with my mother, and we were having an outing at Children’s Fairyland in Oakland, Calif. I was 5 years old, and I’d lived in Oakland just two years, my first three having been spent in Manila, Philippines, the town of my birth.
My mother and I immigrated by boat in 1956 to the United States, land of enchantment and big dreams. Elvis Presley was on the radio, Mickey Mantle was in center field, and the air was thick with promise.
But, all I knew on this day was that I was having big fun at Children’s Fairyland, romping inside the belly of Willie the Blue Whale, climbing up to see the Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, and riding the Wonder-Go-Round again and again.
My mom sat and waited as I pursued my childish whims. And, when I ran back to her, she would give me her warmest Filipino-mother smile and embrace me like I’d been gone for many years.
Startled, my mother lurched back. Then she smiled at the clown and replied, “Marunong ka bang magsalita ng Tagalog?”
“Oo, obviously,” he said, and they both laughed. It turned out that this clown was a GI stationed in the Philippines before World War II. He learned the Philippine language there and used it occasionally to shock unsuspecting Filipino Americans – like us.
The clown and my mom talked and laughed for several minutes before he bade adieu and left.
“Wow,” I thought to myself. “Anything is possible here in Fairyland.”
I kept that memory in the back of my mind for half a century, long after my mother had passed away, long after I moved away from Oakland. But, the memory came rushing back last weekend, as I drove past Lake Merritt and the big Children’s Fairyland sign.
My family and I were touring through my old haunts in Oakland at the time, and I told my wife the story about the Tagalog-speaking clown.
“Well, let’s go see Fairyland right now,” she said. “It’ll be great for the kids.”
I was taken aback for a moment by this suggestion. I didn’t even know if the little amusement park still existed. I suspected that Fairyland had been neglected, and was in a sad state of disrepair. I really didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want my precious childhood memory to be spoiled.
Two kids visist the tale of "Peter the Rabbit"
When I pulled up to the entrance though, the friendly attendant explained that the park was still there, and it’d been fixed up nicely by the city of Oakland. Better yet, it only cost $6 each for us to go in. And so it was that my family – I, my wife, my mother-in-law, my 6 year-old son, and 4 month-old daughter – all spent a sunny Sunday at Children’s Fairyland in Oakland, Calif., reliving old memories and creating new ones.
As I gazed upon the statues of fairy-tale characters like Alice in Wonderland and Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, it seemed like I was looking at the very same figures from 50 years ago. I later discovered that I was. The originals had been restored, repainted and brought back to life here in the park.
Something else struck me as I looked at the figures. They looked an awful lot like their counterparts in Disneyland. They had had that playful, dreamlike look. It turns out that this is no coincidence.
Walt Disney himself visited Children’s Fairyland not long after it opened in 1950. Inspired by this small amusement park that was based on fairy tales, Disney opened a much bigger version in 1955, the mega-park that we all know as Disneyland.
This modest 10-acre park built along the shores of Lake Merritt, a park that cost just $50,000 to build, was the inspiration then for not just Disneyland, but also for Six Flags, Great America, and all the other giant amusement parks that followed in Disneyland’s wake.
Thanks to the restoration of Children’s Fairyland, the memories of sunny days, my mother’s smiles and a funny, Tagalog-speaking clown were kept alive for me. And as I watched my little boy romp around the same grounds, I knew that the circle of my life had become complete.
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Upon seeing this display of affection, the resident Fairyland clown approached us. I could see that under his makeup he was a middle-aged white man, perhaps in his 40s or 50s. He seemed harmless enough, so we greeted him politely. As he drew near, an amazing thing happened. He began speaking to us in Tagalog.
“Kumusta kayo?” he said.
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