Childhood: Brought to You By the Letter C.



Memory is an odd thing. Much of childhood seems to be lost in the mists of time, represented only by vague concepts and few specifics. Only sparse and random moments stand out with clarity from the general slurry of preadolescent remembrance, but once in a while, those lost memories resurface in alarming detail, shocked into reanimation and sending the victim lurching back into one’s youth. 

 

Last fall, my wife and kiddo and I traveled south to Atlanta, GA. We endured the cramped drive and the unintentional detour through the outskirts of the Smokies to meet a lovely new baby. Juliana is the adorable wee beastie who is blessing the lives of my friends, Mark and Lynnette. Mark has been a close friend since high school, and it’s wonderful to see he and his wife checking off the box marked “parents” on their already formidable list of qualifications as exemplary humans.

 

Of course we had to sight-see, but I had no idea Atlanta would fill me with wonder and childlike delight not once, but twice in the short time we were there. The first showstopper appeared like a vision at the Georgia Aquarium. 

 

Have you ever seen a whale shark? You’d remember. I’ve never stood in front of a living thing so magnificent. I felt like Alan Grant in Jurassic Park, waving vaguely at an as-yet invisible brachiosaurus. That aquarium has some seriously good CGI. Their main tank holds 6.3 million gallons of water. It has thousands of fish, including grouper the size of my daughter, Manta rays the size of a small car, and these enormous, peaceful, plankton eating whale sharks that just swim at will, surrounded by an entourage of golden trevally, like finned shop assistants trailing a Kardashian. 

 

It was worth the effort to get there - the long walk and the money lost in glitchy subway pass terminals. Pricey and touristy, but with dolphin shows, interactive touch pool exhibits, a pod of beluga whales, and surprises around every corner. The location was dramatic as well, adjacent to the Olympic park. Yes, I recommend the aquarium, but this is just an interesting side note in a blog about nostalgia. 

 

My biggest thrill took place in a much more modest setting. The next day, we found ourselves outside a neat little museum.  Being a Sunday, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. The Center for Puppetry Arts in Atlanta might easily be skipped over in the tourism guides, except for one truly amazing aspect. It has one of the largest collections of Jim Henson puppets and memorabilia in the world. Sesame Street, the Muppets, Labyrinth, the Dark Crystal, and more are encapsulated and enshrined within its walls.

 

I’m a fan of Star Wars, Harry Potter, Dune, Isaac Asimov, 90’s animation, Monty Python, MST3K, and many other pop culture themes, but Jim Henson holds a particular sense of reverence with me. I’m a bit of a voice actor, and I have been doing a Kermit impression for as long as I can remember. I was wearing Kermit cufflinks on my wedding day. If the Swedish Chef could have catered my wedding, I’d have hired him and damn the health inspectors.

 

You could say that I approached this felt-and-foam mecca with much anticipation. Even so, I had no idea where it would take me emotionally. I have been to many museum exhibits for film props - I’ve seen galleries for Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter. I have laughed at the disgustingly deteriorated remains of a tribble, which basically looked like something dislodged from a bathtub drain, and been creeped out by the disturbingly lifelike mannequin of Sean Bean in an elfish canoe. All of those exhibits were exceedingly cool. None of them slapped my inner child into prominence like this place.

 

We met our friends outside and walked in under the watchful gaze of a pumpkin-headed marionette over the door. It was almost Halloween, after all. Past the lobby and the ticket office, there were the entrances into the galleries. Off to the side, there was a special exhibit gallery. I will get to that later. Ahead, there were two primary galleries. To the right, there were the puppets of the world. It is a fine exhibit, with many detailed examples of Japanese shadow puppets, marionettes, vaudeville dummies, and the like. For the purpose of this discussion, it is worth noting that this gallery contained my original draw to this museum: the permanent exhibit of Tom Servo and Crow from Mystery Science Theater 3000. The bots looked so shiny and cool next to their stuffy roommates. That was a fun geek-out for me. They had a couple figures from Tim Burton’s The Corpse Bride as well. 

 

Our first venture, however, was the gallery on the left, where the giant picture of the famed Muppeteer beckoned. Walking through and around the corner, the very first thing you see is Rowlf the Dog. He is in a glass case, and he’s holding a piece of sheet music. For the aficionados, the music is Lydia the Tattooed Lady, the first song that Kermit sings in the first season of the Muppet Show. Rowlf, of course, accompanied him on piano. 

 

Just further on, you see Jim Henson’s desk and office décor, complete with frog lamp, awards, gold record plaques, and a Bert and Ernie stained glass window. The desk gave way to a stroll through a simulated Muppet build-shop; complete with the animatronic dog from The Storyteller, which was pretty cool. 

 

I entered the next room and suddenly became my 6-year-old self. The first thing you see is Bert and Ernie. They’re right there, and they look like they came right out of your TV. Shabby old puppets, but I felt like I wanted to cry. The human brain is weird, right?

 

From there, I turned around and nearly lost the remainder of my composure. There he stood, 8 feet of turkey-feather glory, and an expression of kindness that shouldn’t be possible in a foam beak. Only a complete sociopath could meet Big Bird face to face and not feel all warm and cuddly. The rest of the Sesame Street room was a riot of colorful pictures and backgrounds, and featured more old acquaintances: Grover, Cookie Monster, Oscar, and more. I know the museum has an Elmo and several others we couldn’t experience that day, but they rotate their pieces regularly. I guess I’ll have to go back after Covid.

 

After an interactive room for the kids, you come to the Muppet Show room. The walls abound with wonderful puppets from my favorite franchise. Dr. Teeth, Pigs in Space’s Link Hogthrob and Dr. Strangepork, and a myriad of minor characters all look to the center of the room where, sitting in a director’s chair and brandishing a megaphone is my froggy hero. He’s not a working puppet, but a wire-framed, poseable photo puppet. He looks perfect. I’m gone now. My brain has left the building. I was elated posing for pictures with the little green Hollywood giant. 

 

The rest of the museum was a happy blur. Fraggles, advertising puppets, denizens of the Labyrinth, and a full sized Garthem were all cool highlights of this surprisingly in-depth exhibit.

 

We then perused the other gallery, which thoroughly bored the kid, I’m sure. I posed for a few pictures with my favorite movie-heckling bots, and then we headed to the special exhibit. Remember the special exhibit? Puppets and artifacts from Henson’s, The Dark Crystal. Oh yes.

 

Wow. The details on the Crystal puppets were amazing. They had one of the mysterious Mystics, the Skeksis general, Augra herself, and Jen, the gelfling. Not to mention an impressive array of creatures, animatronic parts, and props from the film. As a life-long fan of a movie that admittedly scared me as a child, I can’t imagine anything cooler than that room. Only the props from WETA had as much attention to detail, and the otherworldliness is unmatched.           


 

So, the long and short is that this little museum left me with something I have rarely experienced in my adult life: the sense that childhood does not completely leave you. No matter how jaded you get, you can find the way back to childhood wonder and delight. The day went further, with a little workshop where my daughter got to make her own puppet, and a visit to the tiny gift shop, but ultimately I left the Center for Puppetry Arts with two things: a souvenir hat, and a profound sense that I had spent the day with my oldest and dearest friends. 

 

Going to Atlanta? Stop in, meet Big Bird, and hunt down Fox Bros. BBQ for some really good ribs. Maybe take in some whale sharks and a sea lion show if you have the time. 

 

There is a companion monologue for this blog on the nerd culture podcast, Storytelling Breakdown. Here is the link to the episode My piece is at the end: Storytelling Breakdown: Inside the Hall of Heroes

 

Check out Storytelling Breakdown, my own podcast: Oh, Shoot… Reboot!  and more from Fort Wayne podcasters at wayneshout.com.

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