Fort Knox? It’s not in Johnstown Betty.

Yesterday I had this dogged notion that Jeff and I would manage to remain at Disney Hollywood Studios (the movie-themed theme park) until they turned on the multi-wattage dancing lights holiday extravaganza that is the seasonal highlight of the “Streets of America” section.

To that end, I took us back to the good old Animal Kingdom Lodge for a mid-day nap. It’s what you do with small children to recharge their cooperative spirits, but the results were guaranteed to be dubious at best with Jeff.
Still, I will say this about our subsequent evening in the park: We managed. We poked around a bit (best defined as freezing in place every so often to let the throngs filter around us,) then had a very satisfactory early dinner at a facsimile of The Hollywood Brown Derby restaurant, where they chop the Cobb salad so finely it resembles tabbouleh. Not once though, did I encounter any reference to Fort Knox.
Fort Knox? Yes, I was wondering about that myself. In the inimitable way of an Alzheimer brain, Jeff awoke from his nap with the idea of Fort Knox somehow teetering on the edge of his frontal lobe.
”Yeah, Fort Knox,” he said as he got up, without further explanation. We went outside to our rented vehicle (a Nissan Cube, which I turned out to like very much.) “What did that sign say about Fort Knox?” asked Jeff, pointing out the window.
”I didn’t see it,” I said. “I just saw something about 'cast members only.'”
But Jeff saw it again a mile or so down the road, on a grassy, hazy highway median. “Right there,” he said, “It says something about Fort Knox.”
”It does?” I replied. “I’m just missing it.”
He saw it again as we entered the vast and sprawling parking lot. Small billboards line the lanes where the trams pick up and discharge human cargo. I saw an ad for the television show “PanAm.” Jeff saw something about Fort Knox.
As usual, I clued in the turnstile-manning cast member that Jeff would struggle with the insert ticket and fingerprint entry procedure, and she managed his ticket herself then invited us through the wheelchair gate. Jeff squinted at her name badge. “This is Betty,” I said, “from Johnstown, Pennsylvania.”
Jeff said “Oh yeah, near Fort Knox.” Betty forced an uncomfortable smile, already realizing that not both our decks were full.
”Thanks Betty,” I said.
For reasons that are unclear, that was the end of Fort Knox for the day. And the delicious but highly overpriced Viogniers at the Brown Derby made it better, fortunately, not worse.