Johnny Case in Wonderland . . . hopelessly adrift in popular culture

Expo ‘74, the Spokane World’s Fair:

F. Scott Fitzgerald wasn’t referring to America when he coined the phrase “some sort of epic grandeur,” but it certainly applies.  Even as the country is arguably deep into the decline phase of its reign as the planet’s last great singular superpower, for many folks around the world the idea of America still exerts an almost magnetic pull and they do whatever they can to get here in the hopes of a better life.  But for many of us who already live here, the idea of America doesn’t hold the same sway it once did, in part because it just seems harder than ever to get ahead.  I have been blessed in every way imaginable and I’ve taken full advantage of the opportunities I’ve been given, yet I don’t think I have a chance in hell at being as successful as my father was; it’s certainly not for lack of effort, but because of the stark realities of our contemporary economy I suspect I’ll always feel like I’m swimming upstream.  There’s a fungus growing in the land of milk and honey, and while I sincerely hope I’m wrong, it may already be too late to eradicate it.  Nothing brings this point home quite like visiting the dilapidated former grounds of a World’s Fair.  Sure, the Simpsons famously made hay by making fun of the Knoxville World’s Fair, but they weren’t always a joke—one only need to think about the profound cultural influence of the 1939-1940 New York World’s Fair, the theme of which was “Building the World of Tomorrow.”  Yeah, it was in a lot of ways one giant corporate sponsored advertisement for America, but what it advertised was the coming future in which American developments in science and technology would lead to greater prosperity and a better way of life the world over.  And sweet Jesus did people believe in that message, as illustrated by the estimated 40 million people that visited the park during its short heyday.  Maybe the fact that the fair itself wasn’t financially sustainable should have been a warning sign, but it wasn’t seen as such at the time even as in hindsight it has become a metaphor.  Which brings us to the present and my recent travels during which I found myself in Spokane, Washington, where I had a chance to look first-hand at the old site of Expo ‘74, the Spokane World’s Fair.  If you squint your eyes a certain way and let your imagination roam, you can see that the place certainly once did have some sort of epic grandeur, but then the icy wind comes up off the river and hits your face flush and your eyes open wide and all that’s left to see are the shambolic remnants of better days now gone by forever.