Sheila Connolly: Let's Play Dead

Let’s Play was unique in my experience with museums. It occupied a pair of adjacent two-story brick buildings that had begun life in the late nineteenth century as small businesses, or maybe it was factories. Little had been changed structurally, and there were still a lot of exposed beams and naked pipes inside. The city had changed around the buildings, but their location was ideal for visiting parents, since they lay in close proximity to the other child-friendly Philadelphia museums. Parents had to park only once, and then if they wished they could split up, one parent leading the older kids to the science museums to visit dinosaurs, the other heading for Let’s Play, where hands-on interaction with the diverse exhibits was not only allowed but actively encouraged. I loved the concept. Why should a museum be a dark and stuffy place where everyone kept telling you “shush” and “don’t touch”? Let’s Play was the polar opposite: it was welcoming and friendly. I was curious to see what the new exhibit would be like, but I was sure it would be fun, at least if you were a kid.

I walked in and introduced myself at the front desk, shouting to make myself heard over the noise of happy children. I smiled toward Furzie, who beamed benevolently over all comers. There seemed to be kids everywhere-must be some school group here today, or maybe the usual allotment of children had been compressed into a smaller-than-usual space because of the construction Arabella had mentioned. The frazzled young woman at the desk made a call and nodded encouragingly at me, then pointed toward the gift shop off the lobby. I made the assumption that Arabella would meet me there and drifted over.

I love gift shops, and this one made me wish I had kids. Heck, I wanted half the things I saw: a menagerie of wind-up animals; prisms; all sorts of wonderful rulers and crayons and erasers. There was nothing battery powered in sight, thank goodness, and everything looked appropriately indestructible. I was contemplating how a large spider embedded in Lucite would look on my desk when Arabella came bustling in, apologizing breathlessly.

“Nell, so good to see you. Sorry to keep you waiting, but things have been so crazy. Of course, that’s been true for months-maybe crazy is the new normal. Let me take you upstairs so we can talk.”

There was no way to stem her burbling, so I nodded in agreement and followed her back into the melee of the hall, then up a flight of stairs. Things were appreciably quieter on the second floor, and became increasingly so as we went toward the back of the building. When we reached Arabella’s office, she pointed me toward an overstuffed armchair upholstered in bright cotton fabric decorated with bunnies. “Sit down, please. I’ve made tea, and there are cookies!” She beamed at me, obviously pleased with herself.

Arabella was clearly the mother figure of her small museum. I would have said Earth Mother, but Arabella liked nice clothes too well for that, and I knew she was a shrewd manager. But she was short and nicely rounded, partial to flowery prints; her hair sprang out in determined grey curls, and her eyes twinkled.

The teacup had violets on it; the sugar cookies, matching purple sprinkles. Arabella looked so darned happy to see me, and to have the privilege of plying me with tea and cookies, it would’ve been curmudgeonly of me to decline. Besides, both the tea and the cookies were excellent.

Arabella gave me time to appreciate them, nodding approvingly as I ate. “You poor dear, you’ve had quite a time of it, haven’t you? How are you settling in?”

“It’s going well, I hope. It’s a little early to say. But I feel honored that the board chose me.” Out of desperation, most likely, but I wasn’t going to bring that up with Arabella. “You’ve been running this place for quite a while, haven’t you? You must have seen a lot of changes over the years. Do you think kids want different things now, compared to when you started? It seems that everything has to flash and buzz and beep, and it’s all electronic these days.”

A cloud passed over Arabella’s face. “Sadly so. But the younger ones still enjoy it. Sometimes I go down to the exhibits and just watch them playing. They get so excited! And we try to keep things fresh-that’s one of the reasons for the new exhibit.”

“What is it about? I apologize, but I don’t spend much time with children, so I’m kind of out of the loop.”

“It’s based on the Harriet the Hedgehog series, which is aimed at our precise demographic. It’s written by Hadley Eastman-she’s a local author, which makes a nice tie-in, and her books have sold well, so she’s well-known. She’s been working with us to develop the exhibit. And I’m so happy to be able to support children’s reading-sometimes I think they may never learn how, and then where will we all be?”

“Amen to that.” I poured myself another cup of tea-and helped myself to one more sugar cookie. “So tell me, what other kinds of programming do you offer? Do you have any agreement with the school district?”

“Oh, of course…” And we were off, talking shop. After a while it was clear to me that Arabella’s reputation as a good businesswoman was well deserved. She knew her audience, and what worked. She also knew her limitations, and she was happily settled in her particular niche, with no plans to expand beyond it. In a way it was heartening to me: young children weren’t changing much, and they were still enthralled by simple things, bless them.

When I checked my watch again, it was after five. “Heavens, I had no idea it was so late. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, but you can’t leave without seeing the exhibit! A little sneak preview? Once it opens, it will be covered with children-at least, that’s what we hope.”

“I’d love to see it.” I was honestly curious about what she and her staff had done with the exhibit.

“Well, then, come with me. You’re in for a treat!”

I followed Arabella from her office to another part of thesecond floor. It was hidden behind drop cloths decorated with whimsical animals and birds that looked like they’d been hand-painted by preschoolers, which they probably had. Across the top ran a large banner clearly made by somebody a couple of decades older, that proclaimed in big letters, “Harriet’s Coming!” Arabella turned to me and her eyes actually sparkled-something that, before this moment, I wouldn’t have believed possible. She was so thrilled to be showing off her newest addition, she simply radiated good cheer. She held back one panel of cloth and motioned me inside.

I immediately felt like Gulliver. I had stepped into a miniature world, and I was at least two feet too tall for it. The space must have measured fifty by fifty feet, and it was filled with animals and plants, interspersed with child-size molded chairs and low tables, presumably for craft projects. A case mounted on the wall contained the books in the Harriet the Hedgehog series, but they definitely took second place to the three-dimensional versions of the characters. The air smelled of clean sawdust and paint, with a whiff of old building. Two workers were painting statues, and the floor around them was strewn with drop cloths. Harriet apparently had a lot of friends: I thought I could identify a frog and what might be a duck or a goose-the latter’s identity was questionable since its feathers hadn’t been painted yet.

“It’s just me!” Arabella called out to the workers. They looked up, and one waved a hand. Then they résuméd painting. “I’d introduce you, but we’ve got such a tight deadline I’d rather they just keep working. So much to do!”

I noticed that Arabella was much closer to the right size for this exhibit than I was. “This looks wonderful,” I said, and meant it. “What’s your target age group?”