It’s been at least two years since the letter arrived. An honest-to-goodness, hand-written letter meticulously penned by a 91-year-old first cousin of whose existence I was completely unaware. Anita, it seems, had sought me out through family in Southern California.
It was a wonderful letter written by a delightful woman. In her letter, my nonagenarian cousin offered her Southern hospitality if my travels should ever find me in Madisonville. Three weeks ago, Katherine and I made the trip, first flying to Michigan to spend time with her brother’s family, then borrowing a car and driving south to Kentucky.
Since this was, after all, a vacation, we decided to break up the nine-hour drive into two halves. We spent our first night just inside the Bluegrass side of the Ohio border.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Williamstown was the proud home of Noah’s Ark and was but a short hop to the Creation Museum in Petersburg. I had read about the amusement center in 2007 when it first opened but had dismissed it as a flash-in-the-pan. Who in their right mind would fork out good money to go see Adam cavorting about with dinosaurs?
Boy was I wrong! This 76,000 square foot extravaganza brought in revenues in 2019 of more than $43.5 million. The venture proved so successful, in fact, that there were two spinoffs: a massive ark and a theme amusement park for the kiddies. The parent organization “Answers in Genesis,” is, of course, tax exempt since the purpose of all three is to “equip Christians to better evangelize the lost.”
I should’ve expected nothing less. My mother, Kentucky born and raised, was proud of her Bible Belt roots. Snake handlers, holy rollers and speaking in tongues.
My dear cousin doesn’t fit the stereotype I’d formed of good, Southern Christians. True, she was devout, said grace at every meal, attended church every Sunday. Yet, she is the soul of compassion, could care less who marries whom, supports a woman’s right to choose and, without fail, votes Democratic. Out of respect, my wife and I shared nothing of our visit to the Creation Museum.
Admission to the Museum is $54.95, with $10 off for seniors. It is notable that children 10 and younger get in free. I won’t waste too much time describing the exhibits except to note that dinosaurs were actually flying dragons, and dragons, as we all know, were real. What more could we want for proof than that it was a terrible dragon which was slain by St. George? What a cool way of explaining away Stegosaurus’ skeletons while maintaining the earth is only 6,000 years old.
More interesting than even a realistic robot Noah answering a prepared list of questions (only baby dinosaurs were led onto the ark owing to the cramped space) were the museumgoers themselves.
I had expected to see hordes of gap-tooted troglodytes sporting MAGA hats and wearing American flag T-shirts stretched tight over protruding beer belly. Not a one.
What I saw instead were young families giving the word “wholesome” new meaning. Lots of well-scrubbed, white faces beaming beatific smiles.
So far, so good. But then I remembered Hannah Arendt’s book “Eichmann in Jerusalem” and thought of her description of the everyday functionaries who made the Holocaust possible. A culture she described as “the banality of evil.” Bookkeepers, clerks, railroad engineers. Regular folks doing regular jobs and 6 million died as a result.
Hitler got ’em young. Think of the “Hitler Jugend.” Brainwashing in Nazi Germany started early. And then I looked around at all the children who were admitted free of charge and their young minds being bent at such a vulnerable age to believe only one world view.
All of this pondering brought me back to Moscow’s own Christ Church and the creation story being stuffed into the heads of children from preschool age through New St. Andrew’s College. Right here in River City. Indoctrination centers passed off as schools and all of this tax exempt.
If you’ve been a hankerin’ to have your kids’ heads bent just right, save the trip to Kentucky and just enroll them in one of Doug Wilson’s academies.
McGehee, a lifelong activist, settled here in 1973 and lives in Palouse with his wife, Katherine. His work life has varied from bartender to university instructor to wrecking yard owner.
