The Wizard of Oz Train

      Next year is the 75^th anniversary of the greatest family film ever made. To kick off the celebrations early, MGM studios has released the film, remastered in IMAX 3D. Also, for the first time, the Andrew Lloyd Weber musical adaptation will tour North America. All across the country we are starting to be inundated with Dorothy, Toto and the gang. Here in southeastern Missouri, the St. Louis Iron Mountain & Southern Railway paid homage to this endearing classic with a Wizard of Oz themed train ride.

Miss Gulch rode after us, yelling for "That dog!!!"

     The region's only full size passenger train took us on a three hour ride, while characters acted out parts of the movie, and mingled with the riders.

"I'll get you my pretty."

The train was quaint, and everything had a small town feel to it. The girls bought some homemade cupcakes from the snack bar, colored pictures for a coloring contest, and enjoyed talking about one of their favorite movies. The costumed characters were pleasant, but I had to keep reminding myself, “This isn't Disney.” I hadn't noticed it before, but we were suffering from a Disney hangover. Our expectations had been tainted. Everything down there was so perfect and seamless, that now, anything else paled in comparison. The Disney characters were... well... they WERE the actual people. That was Belle. That was really Minnie. That was the actual Eeyore. They were perfectly convincing. Flawless. And, while it is unfair to expect other entertainers to live up to those impossibly high standards, this definitely wasn't Disney.

     We stopped halfway through the ride at the fictitious old time town of Iron Mountain Junction. As we stepped off to stretch our legs, Norah states “Look, the tree is smoking.” At first I thought, “Oh they must have a fire burning somewhere in this little village as part of the show. That will be nice. Why does she think the smoke is coming from the trees? Hmmmm...” She said it again. This time with more purpose. “Look, Poppa, the tree is smoking.” I looked closer. Indeed, right there was the man dressed up as the Angry Apple Tree, puffing away on a cigarette. He waved at us with his one free limb, as we got off the train. The curtain had been lifted. This wasn't Disney.  Not that our kids had any delusions that any of these people were more than just actors. After all, Dorothy's roots aren't gray. The Tin Man's head was not made by Speedo. The Wizard wasn't 30 years younger than Dorothy. They knew. Yet, in Orlando, the magic of Disney had made believers of all of us. That was really Cinderella. That was her actual castle where she lived. Of course, we never caught her in the middle of a smoke break, sucking down a quick heater.