At a time when travel by air has all but ceased and museums are closed, I am reminded of simple pleasures once taken for granted but now curtailed and sorely missed. One of these is flying into the San Francisco airport and arriving at International Terminal Three—an experience that never fails to stop me cold in my tracks.
For having made my way from the gate through the security exit, I suddenly encounter a forest of vitrines presenting the latest exhibition of the San Francisco Airport Museum. It’s like a pop-up show of fine and decorative art both old and new, often whimsical and always magical.
One of my favorite exhibitions took place in 2014, Classic Plastics: 1870s-1970s. Here was a compelling walk down memory lane showcasing vintage plastic products from American companies now gone or forgotten: a 1920s accordion made by Colombo & Sons of San Francisco; a Zenith Cobra-Matic record player and radio of 1950; a slew of Brownie Star Flash cameras of 1958-1960—every object of eye-dazzling design. One vitrine, in particular, seized my attention. It displayed Florence dinnerware of the 1950s in a riot of colors, all manufactured in the town of Florence, Massachusetts. And oh what memories it summoned—of my college years and trips at all hours to the fabulous Miss Florence Diner in that very town!
Then there was Life and Style in the Age of Art Deco, an exhibition of 2015 with an array of sleek, elegant glass, ceramics and sculptures. As always, a lively curatorial essay was displayed prominently for those travelers with time to pause and read it.
By chance I came across a photo this week from that exhibition, and it sent chills up my spine. For the object displayed was parked on the airport concourse, an immense 1931 Pierce-Arrow Model 41 Club Sedan in deep burgundy.
I recall the crowd staring at it, deep under the spell of a glorious automobile that once epitomized status and wealth. Its well-heeled and discerning clientele—tycoons and Hollywood stars, “The Pierce-Arrow Sort of People” as the ads of the day proclaimed—acquired not merely a car but a work of art. But Pierce-Arrow was doomed by the Depression. By 1938 it was defunct.
Seeing that photo of the Club Sedan, and thinking about today’s grim upheavals, made me wonder: What other great symbols of luxury and leisure long taken for granted may soon meet a similar decline and fall?