Zippo Lighter Visitors Center
Long before Beanie Babies began taking up useful brain space in the American mind, there were Zippo lighters. Zippo, back in the early 1950s, realized that it had a product that was small, relatively inexpensive, and could be modified with endless embellishments and gewgaws, thus making it necessary to not only own one, but several dozen.
The Zippo Lighter Visitors Center caters to Zippo collectors by displaying many of their favorites. It also demands much of them, for while it is a well-funded and well-mounted shrine, it is in the normally attraction-parched northwestern corner of Pennsylvania. The quickest way to get to it is from adjacent western New York state. The interstate dead-ends at the Zippo exit. There was apparently no reason to build further.
The Center offers tribute to visionary George G. Blaisdell, "the Zippo man," a rich guy who happened to be at the right place at the right time (as rich people often are). He was hanging out at a local country club in 1931 and became intrigued by an ugly Austrian lighter one of his rich friends was using. "It works," was the man's defense, and Blaisdell was hooked. Blaisdell bought the rights to the lighter, modified the design, christened it "Zippo" in honor of the zipper (one of his favorite inventions), and made a second fortune.
The museum sports several works of Zippo art, including Old Glow'ry, an American flag constructed with almost 300 red, white, and blue lighters. Like any postmodern corporation, Zippo proudly and preemptively embraces all Pop Art interpretations of its products -- even a junk sculpture lighter made from a bunch of little worn lighters inspires rather than mocks.
The history of 20th century America can be told through its consumer products, and the Zippo has a role unmatched by any, save, perhaps, Spam. The exhibit designer opted for amusing imagery when assembling the chronology of Zippo ads and promotions. But there are poignant moments captured as well. In one gallery, an eerie white sculpture depicts two World War II grunts sharing a light from a Zippo in a sandbagged foxhole.
Oh, yeah, that's right. Zippos, aside from their collectible status, are used to light cigarettes. If any museum should allow smoking it should be this one, but it doesn't.
Other displays of note are the original artwork from the 1989 Reagan-Gorbachev summit commemorative Zippo (a coveted model); a video loop of recent Zippo product placements in Hollywood films -- including Die Hard, Scream 3, and Space Jam ("The Magic of Zippo Lighters, as seen in Stargate" reads a caption under a blurry frame grab); and news stories of working Zippos found in the stomachs of a Northern Pike and a dead bear.
The big draw here is the observation window into "The World Famous Zippo Clinic," where sick Zippos are sent by distraught owners and examined by technicians. The company's pledge, "It works or we fix it free," is taken seriously in Bradford. Beneath the windows are small glass cases with Zippos that couldn't be fixed; many of them are unrecognizable as lighters. The labels beneath each tells its story: "power mower," "logging truck,""bulldozer," "garbage disposal," "sledgehammer,""railroadtrain," "taxiing airplane." The message is clear: nothing short of annihilation can stop a Zippo.
There are more exhibits, strange installations and kinetic sculptures that hypnotize adults. Though the Zippo story ends, the Visitors Center isn't done with you. It also pays tribute to Case knife products, and we see a few visitors cast respectful glances and move on. They're really here for the Zippos.
The gift shop is packed with a Japanese tour group during our visit. How they got all the way the hell out here is a mystery. But they've clogged the gift counter and are eager to buy their own collectible Zippos, even though most can only point and nod.
A clerk asks "You want this one?"
"But I thought you wanted this one."