"Niagara Falls....slowly I turn...step by step...inch by inch..."
Whatever.
Out of the blue, this tourist attraction and natural phenomenon came into my mind again. When I was flying back to Los Angeles from New York two weeks ago, I discovered I was on the plane with about 25 members of a Mexican tour group. Their guide communicated with them via an annoying clown horn. Meanwhile, each and every tourist was wearing the same damn souvenir T-shirt from Niagara Falls.
Oh, yeah, I thought. I was there. Once.
Back in those days of family vacations that generally occurred when my dad was off the last week of July and the first week of August, he took pictures of everything with his Argus technicolor camera. All the snapshots were then transferred to slides which we view ad nauseum the following winter. Now I clearly remember the slides from the Niagara Falls excursion, although I could never find them when I was cleaning out my father's things after he died. But I swear that one of the slides came back from the developer was a mistake. Or perhaps a joke from the photo lab.
Because it clearly showed the Maid of the Mist boat poised at the very top of the Horseshoe Falls and ready to go over.
I can see it clear as day. And wish I could have found it again. Because it clearly was a great microcosm of the hell that was this vacation.
You see, we were traveling with another family. I've written about them before. My mom's childhood friend and resident floozy Marie. Her big lummox of a hubby Rich. And their neanderthal son Richie who may have been my age but was clearly of a different species.
Forget the fact that my dad really despised Marie. Ignore the fact that he barely tolerated Rich. Or that I dreaded every moment "playing" with Richie. My mother had a blind spot when it came to Marie. And we might as well have all been on that boat going over the falls to a certain death.
Well, there we were. Inexplicably on vacation with these assholes. I was ten years old and sans a vote.
The good news is that we weren't riding with the Munsters to Niagara Falls. We took separate cars and yes, that means we drove. My father didn't go any place unless he could get there with his Buick.
I absolutely hated long car trips. My mom packing dozens of peaches and plums that were force fed to me every ten miles or so. I knew this trip was going to take almost all day. And I remember the signs.
"BUFFALO 400 MILES."
Groan.
"BUFFALO 300 MILES."
Spit out another fruit pit.
"BUFFALO 200 MILES."
I think I'm gonna throw up.
"BUFFALO 50 MILES."
Hey, I must have slept through the 100 mile marker.
We finally stumbled our way into town to find our screwball co-travelers already there. And Marie was already in a snit over the motel that my mom had secured.
"It's filthy. Let's get the hell out of here."
Okay, in the middle of the summer months, try and find a motel in Niagara Falls at the last minute. We spent most of the night in a caravan going from one place to another looking for accommodations that pleased the incredibly picky Marie. We finally found a place that was way out of my dad's price list and, naturally, that erupted into a skirmish between my parents.
Good times. Hey, does anybody know what the Mets did today?
The car ride there had wiped out everybody so our first day in Niagara Falls was spent in the overpriced hotel of Marie's choice. I was already bored. My mom had a solution.
"Why don't you go play in the pool with Richie?"
Audible scream!
Richie was one of those lunkhead kids who had the military on his brain. No matter what he played, it always seemed to be enacted on a World War II beachhead in the South Pacific. With him trying to kill me...the enemy. And, always, with me getting my shirt pulled off. For some reason unknown to this 10 year-old, Richie liked to see me shirtless.
I don't want to know.
Of course, an afternoon in the pool was already playing into his ultra-warped and perhaps homo-erotic play date. I spent the better part of two hours with my head held underwater. There is still water in my ear canals from that day.
I was dying to see a road sign.
"NEW YORK 400 MILES."
That night, Marie again was the ultimate party planner for dinner. She knew that my dad didn't eat Chinese food. And always went out of her way to make sure that we would eat Asian.
"I'm not going out unless we eat Chinks."
Marie was also the ultimate stateswoman.
We basically ate our meals in silence. Marie and Mom were gabbing on. My dad trying desperately to have a conversation with Rich, perhaps about the inherent differences between salt and pepper. As for me, there was still chlorine water dripping out of my head.
Luckily, we finally became tourists the next day and we were more consumed by the attractions then each other. Essentially, in Niagara Falls, you walk around from one set of falls to the other. One is in NY. The other is in Canada. And, of course, you don those yellow rain slickers for the boat ride underneath.
More water for Len.
It was on the boat ride that I noticed the problem. Well, besides Richie, who had concocted some new drama of an enemy Japanese agent hiding on the deck. I remember walking to where my mom and Marie were sitting. My mother's hand went up silently. That was my clue to get lost.
I gladly did so. Finding a spot away from them and definitely away from dopey Richie.
I wouldn't find out till later in the year what the dialogue was all about. Marie was going to ask Jethro Bodine for a divorce. I think both my dad and I had signs of relief.
"She thinks Rich is seeing another woman."
My dad's retort was succinct and to the point.
"Who can blame him?"
Indeed, that day on the Maid of the Mist was really the very last time we ever did anything with this Satanic bunch. Oh, we were there another five days but I had conveniently ended the fun that very night.
I got violently ill.
It was one of those kid illnesses that comes out of nowhere and was all consuming. 103 degree fever. Chills. Vomit. You name it. Even the hotel doctor was called.
I survived. Marie and Rich didn't. We all went home two days early. And the car ride home went a lot faster. Deep down, from the way my parents talked in the front seat, there would be no more vacations with them. Just as my mom had uttered on other summer treks with other families....
"Well, we're not going to travel with them again."
Dinner last night: Pepperoni and olive pizza from Johnnie's.
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