Santa's Land

 

Since 1958

    As some of you may know (perhaps you don’t...it doesn’t matter), I grew up in Stratford, one of the major towns along Connecticut’s Long Island Sound coastline.  Wedged between the bustling burg of Bridgeport (where Kevlar vests are encouraged) and Milford, Stratford was as good as any place to spend one’s childhood.

    As long as you didn’t venture into Bridgeport after dark.  Or, really, anytime.

    My father loved to take car rides.  He would pick a direction (not south...Long Island Sound, don’tcha know) and then just head out.  I don’t remember how much gas cost back in the 60s, but it certainly wasn’t north of $4 a gallon.

    Most times, we would just motor around the countryside, waiting until my little brother would get sick enough to vomit out the back window at unsuspecting tailgaters.  It wouldn’t be out of the question, for example, for the old man to drive over four hours to Maine to get a lobster roll sandwich.

    He was not a well man.

    One time, though, he took the family canary yellow Ford LTD Country Squire station wagon with faux side wood paneling

This chick magnet would end up being my first car. 
The front seat was a bench, which allowed me to...none of your business.

 to what was, to us at least, the delightful Santa’s Land in Putney, Vermont.

Even though a work of fiction, this is heavily based on real events. 
The chapter, It Has a Brochure, for example, describes a family vacation to the Adirondacks.

    Santa’s Land was one of those ubiquitous roadside attractions which peppered the nation.  Like the uppity Santa's Land in New Hampshire and Land of Make-Believe in New York, they were designed to draw families and their money to small towns.

Nothing screams "TAKE US TO DISNEY!!" quite like this.

    This was before behemoths such as Six Flags, Disney World, and Great Wolf Lodge.

That inside petri-dish waterpark which smells heavily of chlorine and diaper.

    During a recent visit to my brother in Connecticut, we wondered whether Santa’s Land still existed.  Well, after a little research (thank you, Dr. Google!), come to find out, it does.  Although not nearly to the extent it was when we were little kids chaperoned by the Connecticut Road Warrior.

    Santa’s Land was opened in 1957 by a man name Jack Poppele, founder of WOR in New York City.  Apparently, Mr. Poppele was entranced by the beauty of Vermont’s foothills and the financial windfall of a tax break (ok, that may not be true).  So, he figured, why not throw up (pun intended) a quaint little fun park for the kiddies?

    The attraction boasts that it’s been in operation for over 60 years (I could do the math, but it's late).  That’s not really the case, though.  Due to lack of revenue (no doubt exacerbated by the aforementioned behemoths), Santa’s Land closed in 2014.  Not surprisingly, vandalism and the effects of New England weather worsened the condition of the place. 

    However, it was restored in 2017 and plans to open this Fall as Santa's Land USA, nighttime hours only.  

Not to be confused with Santa's Land Canada. 
Not terribly different, but they are wicked polite.

    The rides and animals are gone, sadly, but Santa remains.  Sounds a little depressing, but at least it didn’t fall into total disrepair. 

    When we visited in the 60s, though, Santa’s Land offered an array of attractions sure to make any little kid lose his or her mind.

    NOTE:  Unfortunately, the “Santa Claus Visits Saigon Whirling Tea Cups” ride lasted only one season.

    The venue offered a merry-go-round, choo choo train, a variety of animal exhibits (although, the camel looked strangely out of place, fake antlers or no), elves (on loan from the Brattleboro Little Theater production of “The Wizard of Oz”), and the creepy Rex the Talking Reindeer.

Who apparently didn't make the cut to pull Santa's sleigh.

It also had this, but we really didn't understand its purpose. 
There were a lot of teenagers doing things that I wouldn't understand until my later bench seat in the station wagon days.

    The highlight, of course, was a chance for us to actually speak to Santa, who smelled faintly of gin.  When we asked our mother how the Jolly Elf found time to talk to kids, she replied that, since it was summer, he had plenty of time before the Christmas rush.

    Mom.  Stone-cold liar.

"I'll be honest with you.  It's hot as balls. 
I mean...ho, ho, ho."

    Still, kind of a sucky summer vacation, if you ask me.

    Although, since it was July, I thought all that flannel must have been wicked uncomfortable.  But, I suppose, cut-offs, tank top, and sandals woulda destroyed the vibe.

    Finally, full of sugar from the Bubble Gum Gift Shop and carrying Santa Action figures (no Marvel, mind you), we made our way back to the parking lot and the beginning of a two and a half hours back home.

    Unless the crewcut crazy man craved a lobster roll, that is.

    What no one noticed, though, was the purchase our parents made before we left:

    A commemorative cedar fanny whacker.

From Santa's Land!

    Yep, we got home, we fed that bitch to the dog.