Just down Interstate 45, off the Telephone Road exit, is the granddaddy of offbeat places, a
two-lot
assemblage of found materials called the Orange
Show
(2401 Munger.) From the otherwise normal blue-collar residential street, the multi-level
construction, topped by flags and splashed with bright tile and paint, looks like a carnival ride
from
another universe.
Retired postal worker Jeff McKissack spent 25 years building this tribute to the orange. He'd hauled truckloads of the fruit during the depression and was possessed by the conviction that it was the nutritional equivalent of the clean energy of steam.
Within the gates are displays attesting to the orange's healthful properties and McKissack's optimistic philosophy, which is described in a tiny book available in the gift shop, How to Live to Be a Hundred Years Old and Still Be Spry. McKissack didn't make it. He died in his 70s in 1979, months after the Show opened to a less than enthusiastic public. He thought the attraction would draw more tourists than the Astrodome; after all, he'd shaken hands with Thomas Alva Edison, an event he felt destined him for greatness. Some say he died of a broken heart.
Maned lions named Mike and Judy (the latter with some anatomical correction) stand guard over an amphitheater with a pond, which is usually empty except for a miniature steamboat on blocks. The Side Show provides another stage area, crowned by a tile roof and delicate inlaid hearts. A proper American dream hardly being complete without a touch of capitalism, the Show also has an Oasis that sells orange juice, as well as a gift shop stocked with inexpensive toys that appeal to grown-up kids.
The place is a study in new applications for old materials, many of which McKissack salvaged from razed buildings. Railroad spikes form candle-like patterns in the entrance gates; wagon wheels make up railings; tractor seats line the upper levels. Tiles spell out polite, friendly slogans everywhere, urging visitors to watch their step, love oranges and enjoy the show.
They've done a great deal more. Over the years visitor participation has escalated from merely
blowing bubbles or yelling out replacement dialogue at silent movies. Devotees have polkaed,
rested
on a mound of sand to watch Beach Blanket Bingo, vied for prizes in an array of lookalike
contests
(Carmen Miranda being the first), sung "Indian Love Call" in a warm-up to a screening of
Rosemarie, cajoled their pets into displaying weird talents, and performed some strange tricks
themselves, like playing baseball in the pond (using, instead of balls, transistor radios tuned into
that
night's game.) The Show has served as chapel for several weddings and one known funeral;
McKissack's own ashes were strewn across the place, before it was sold to the foundation that
rescued and restored it. (Fun fact: the foundation's initial contributors included surrealist art and
human rights champion Dominique de Menil and ZZTop's Billy Gibbons.)
The Show has become the hub of artsy activities that usually approach surrealism and performance art. The wide-ranging schedule of events reflects the site s close ties to alternative art spaces, prolific (if not up-and-coming) young artists, ancient blues musicians, and people with an insistent bent for having a good time.
The Show is also the driving force behind Roadside Attractions, an annual parade of art cars from all other the country, which takes place during the springtime Houston International Festival. The Show owns one of the cars that started the trend, a 60s model station wagon covered with plastic fruit.
The Orange Show is open from March through December from noon to 5 p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays and by appointment for group tours. Admission is $1 for adults. The show also has a schedule of special children's events, live music and oddball films.