Something encouraging discovered while sitting on a bench at Knott’s Berry Farm: ‘Nasty decade’ is a misnomer

As a grown adult of refined tastes and uncertain health, I probably could have gone through the rest of my life without spending a day at Knott’s Berry Farm.

However, having already survived Disneyland and Universal Studios, the other two great ornaments of our culture, I resigned myself to the third.

My wife and I went on a recent Sunday with three of our grandchildren--Adriana, 14; Alison, 10; and Trevor, 4.

I had been to Knott’s Berry Farm in the late 1920s, when it was really a berry farm. You pulled off the road at an old farmhouse and went inside and had a piece of berry pie. You could also buy pies to take home. That was all.

No rides, no shows, no shooting galleries, no ghost towns, no fast-food stands, no lost-kids-information-booth, no first-aid station, no theater, no train.

It is now about the size of Monaco, and on Sundays has a greater population.

I was bewildered by the maze of streets and attractions, but with a map I oriented myself. After all, I was responsible for my party.

I was most worried about Trevor and myself. Being the youngest and the oldest, I felt we were the most vulnerable to fatigue, anxiety, sheer terror, and the necessity of going to the bathroom.

It turned out my granddaughters had come mainly to go on the scariest rides. I thought I might take the Soap Box Racer Ride with them, but a sign outside it warned:

“You must be in good health to take this roller-coaster type ride (free from heart and nervous disorders, weak back or neck, or other physical limitations).”

I failed on at least three counts--heart, back and other. I sat on a bench, watching the crowds stream by, while the girls went on the ride. My wife and Trevor went with them. I could hear their screams.

I think that those who sit on benches and watch the crowd go by see the best show. I found something encouraging in it. This has been called the nasty decade, with everyone grubbing for himself in a selfish and uncivil society. I saw hundreds of young couples pushing strollers or carrying infants in their arms. One young woman stopped to change a diaper on a bench, doing it with the grace of a Degas figurine.

I don’t think it was the low-key presence of security officers that accounted for the good-natured demeanor of the crowd. It seemed simply a kind of social decency, a willingness to live and let live; everyone seemed aware that everyone else was there for the same reason he was--to have a good time.

My wife and I wanted to go to the Good Time Theater to see the magic show, but the girls wanted to go on more rides. We split, and agreed to meet in a certain place an hour later.

I was not worried about the girls being alone in the crowd. I felt it was as safe as church.

We took Trevor to the magic show. He didn’t like it when the magician did the old trick of cutting a girl in half. That always bothers me too; I’m always relieved when the girl jumps out.

When we met again the girls had been on the Corkscrew and two other rides of dubious advisability, but looked none the worse for it.

By this time everyone needed fodder. We grazed along, replenishing ourselves with a box of popcorn, a candied apple, an ice cream bar, a plate of cheese and chips, and five Pepsi Colas.

At 5 o’clock we lined up for the Dinosaur Ride. This is scary only if you’re afraid of dinosaurs. It takes seven minutes. You get into a slowly moving car--they don’t stop--and enter a maze of caves, going back through time to the Ice Age and then back into the Mesozoic Age of the dinosaurs. You pass a snarling saber-toothed tiger, a feeding giant tree sloth and a mammoth, and then come the dinosaurs.

A terrible tyrannosaurus rex rises on his hind legs, his forepaws uplifted, his ferocious maw agape; a horned stegosaurus feeds on a bank; an enormous brontosaurus drops his head down on its elongated neck as if to pick one of us from the car. Meanwhile, lightning flashes, and the cave is filled with an eerie screaming.

Trevor whimpered. It didn’t do any good to tell him that all those beasts were extinct. After all, scientists don’t know what caused the dinosaurs to disappear 60 million years ago--why should a 4-year-old kid believe they did?

We emerged into a world free of dinosaurs, but threatened with extinction by our own inventions.

The girls wanted to ride Montezooma’s Revenge. This is a huge U-shaped track with a loop in the bottom of the cup. Your car goes through the loop, turning you upside down, then climbs one side of the U, then falls down backward, goes through the loop again, and goes backward up the other side of the U.

I didn’t have to read the sign to see that it was not my cup of tea.

There was a 40-minute line. My wife and Trevor rode the Ferris wheel while I sat on a bench. I could see the top of Montezooma’s Revenge and see the riders wave their arms on the backup and hear their screams.

I wondered if I had experienced my last thrill.

My wife drove us home over the freeway. I found out I had not experienced my last thrill.