Man & His World

In the countdown to Canada's Expo 67, it was 878 days since the morning in 1964 when the first dump truck dropped the first load of fill into the St. Lawrence River off Montreal. All that seemed a long time ago as a 19-year-old Canadian Army cadet last week sprinted into the Place des Nations amphitheater and, before 5,250 invited dignitaries, handed a blazing torch to Prime Minister Lester Pearson. Grinning, Pearson tipped the flame toward a gas jet in a canister, and a fire flickered up--to burn night and day during the six-month life of Expo.

"The lasting impact of Expo 67," intoned the usually low-keyed Pearson, "will be in the dramatic object lesson we see before our eyes today--that the genius of man knows no national boundaries, but is universal." As he spoke, church bells chimed throughout Montreal, fireboats in the river blasted streams of water into the air, a flight of jet planes screamed overhead, and a fusillade of fireworks splashed in the sky, sending to earth a burst of parachute blossoms that carried the flags of each of the 62 participating nations.

"First Category." Thus began the greatest international exposition ever--the most spacious (6,000 acres), the costliest ($1 billion), the most imaginative and likely to be the most visited (some 10 million people are expected, twirling the turnstiles 35 million times). Since Queen Victoria and Prince Albert opened London's Great Exhibition in 1851, there have been dozens of "world's fairs." Some have left unforgettable landmarks (most notably, the Eiffel Tower from Paris' Exposition in 1889); some have simply left scars (the dilapidated architectural skeletons and sour aftertaste from the shill's paradise that was New York's 1964-65 fair). Only a handful have come near equaling the majesty of Brussels' classic production in 1958.

Expo 67, however, looks every bit as good as its superenthusiastic promoters promised (see following color pages). For one thing, the International Bureau of Exhibitions, which has been refereeing these things since 1928, classified it as an official "First Category Exposition" (the first ever in the Americas), as opposed to a run-of-the-mill world's fair, which emphasizes business exhibits and often-irksome commercialism. Beyond that, Expo 67 was dreamed up expressly to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Canada's national birth, and thus is powered by the energies and imagination of a proud and thriving people who have long yearned to prove that their country is considerably more than the U.S.'s backwoods halfbrother. "Anyone who says we aren't a spectacular people should see this," said Pearson. "We are witness today to the fulfillment of one of the most daring acts of faith in Canadian enterprise and ability ever undertaken." And so it is.

Contributing Stone. Expo's skyline offers a miragelike assortment of architectural marvels, ranging from West Germany's gigantic undulating steel-rod-reinforced tent to Russia's glass-encased structure to Britain's blunted, flag-blazoned spire to the U.S.'s 20-story-high geodesic sphere to the pioneering functionalism of Habitat 67 (where Pearson has an apartment) and Canada's own inverted pyramid Katimavik (Eskimo for gathering place). The unifying theme of the exposition, "Man and His World," is taken from Antoine de Saint-Exupery's Terre des Homines and his ringing affirmation: "To be a man is to feel that by carrying one stone you can contribute to the building of the world." Fittingly enough, there have never before been so many government sponsored exhibitions (Expo's 62 countries easily top the 42 at Brussels, 25 in Seattle, 13 at New York's fair). Expo also has the most distinguished advance booking in history: over 50 of the world's kings, princes and presidents have announced plans to pass through the welcoming gates at Place d'Accueil before they close Oct. 27.

Some time late in July, Charles de Gaulle will sail into Montreal harbor aboard a French warship. Castro and Tito are expected, as are Lyndon Johnson, Harold Wilson, Emperor Haile Selassie, Queen Elizabeth of Britain, Princess Christina of Sweden, Belgium's Prince Albert and The Netherlands' Queen Juliana. A complex computer-linked operations board will be used to plot each minute of every state visit to be sure that entourages never encounter one another.

Ice Control & Computers. Such unblinking vigilance over the slightest details of their vast operation is typical of Canada's Expo initiators. From the moment in 1962 when International Exhibitions picked Montreal as the site for '67 (over Moscow, which showed early enthusiasm for an exhibition, then faded from contention), the Canadians began trying to achieve perfection. Principal spark plug was Montreal's dynamic mayor, Jean Drapeau, who buoyantly declared as the first-stage preparations began: "Montreal will not be plagued by lack of imagination!"

True enough. To transport armies of Expo goers from Montreal's downtown, a new, $213 million, 16.1-mile subway was tunneled under the city. Trucks roared along the city streets 24 hours a day, dumped thousands of tons of fill from the subway excavation into the river, extended the mud flat that was the He Sainte-Helene and created the He Notre Dame, which became Expo's major sites. New bridges, a spaghetti pattern of elevated highways, and a theater complex, Place des Arts, were constructed. To provide an upstream system of ice control, Expo masterminds even built a 6,693-ft. ice boom to keep thundering tons of springtime floes from smashing into the new islands.

To guarantee that schedules were met by the Babylonian multitude of artists, architects and workmen scurrying to populate the barren site with dazzling structures, the Expo organizers programmed a computer with a "critical path method" that dictated deadlines and spewed instantaneous information about the progress on each project. The Canadians meant business too; when exhibitors lagged, Expo Deputy Commissioner Robert Shaw dispatched several aides to spur them on. "We told them to get cracking," says Shaw, "or pack up and go home." Last week on opening day, miraculously the only major attractions not yet completed were Venezuela's stainless-steel box building, Yugoslavia's opposing triangles and Mexico's starlike pavilion.

Minirails & Heel Bars. To avoid mistakes made at previous fairs, Expo officials visited Brussels, Seattle and New York, later referred to notes listing the errors and misjudgments made at each. Expo, like New York, will run a whopping deficit, now estimated at $137,747,040, which will be underwritten by the Canadian federal, provincial and city governments. Unlike New York, Canada recognizes that it should contribute something to the visitors' comfort and personal needs.

Transportation to--and through--Expo is swift and efficient. The new Metro covers the distance from downtown in just ten minutes, costs only 30-c-. The free Expo express on the grounds zings people from one section to another, while a ride on one of the 32 elevated minirail trains costs only 50-c-, offers stops at major pavilions and whizzes right through the U.S. pavilion. To prevent maddening waits in lines, 24 computerized electronic boards are spotted about the grounds flashing facts about where the crowds are so that fairgoers can avoid the crush. And where there are long queues, clowns and troubadours will be dispatched to entertain the waiting.

To take care of the influx of visitors, a travel bureau, called Logexpo, has been set up, complete with computer, to direct out-of-towners to Montreal's 174,500 listed hotel, motel and private rooms. So far, Logexpo has been able to confirm reservations within ten days, also plans to patrol against room-rate gouging. Expo has its own phone exchange--EXP--which is large enough for a city of 20,000. There are also four emergency-room clinics, 24-hour helicopter service to Montreal hospitals, and even "heel bars" to serve women who snap off their high heels.

Caviar & Moon Rocks. Admission is $2.40, and inside the prices are strictly economy class; officials estimate $8 a day as the average tab. Food and drink at Expo's 39 restaurants and 66 snack bars are varied enough to suit any palate. Cuba will import fresh seafood daily and serve it with a banana liqueur. The Russians have laid in 15,000 gallons of vodka. At the French Canadian Le Village one can quaff tumblers of caribou (a dynamite drink made of red wine and white whisky), and in Tunisia's elegant little pavilion there is Boukha, a fig brandy, to wash down couscous, a wheat-based national dish.

Among the national pavilions, the big two for popularity are already the U.S. and Russia. Inside Buckminster Fuller's splendid "sky-break bubble," the U.S. exhibit (which cost $9,300,000) focuses on a soft-sell kind of pop-camp Happening that plays off the works of Jasper Johns, Andy Warhol and Helen Frankenthaler against 20-ft. posters of Hollywood stars. There is also an impressive presentation of U.S. space accomplishments, including a re-entry-scorched Apollo craft. The Soviets, ensconced like bourgeois spendthrifts in a $12 million structure (designed by Italians) just 675 ft. across a canal from the American showplace, have foregone the traditional raised-fist propaganda of Communism that they brought to Brussels. This time they have a private pool for a small school of caviar-producing sturgeons and, surprisingly, a display of Russian Orthodox icons. Nevertheless, the core of the Soviet show is a heavy-thinker's exhibit of futuristic city plans, models for gigantic power projects, space satellites and cosmonauts' capsules, along with a model of the moon's surface--made of rock chunks brought from Arizona.

For architecture buffs, there are such fascinations as an Expo "theme" building shaped from truncated tetrahedrons; the kaleidoscopic tower of the Man in the Community pavilion; Quebec's all-glass structure which reflects the sky and clouds so that it seems to float; Japan's powerful jutting-beam construction; Cuba's geometric pavilion; and Ontario's surprisingly graceful canvas tent stretched over steel poles to form a series of canted triangles.

Masterworks & Bolshoi. Beyond its scenic wonders, Expo 67 has an entertainment panoply that seems to roll into one the attractions of Disneyland and Copenhagen's Tivoli garden. Appearing there over the next six months will be an array of talent unmatched in showbiz history. In Expo's magnificent new stadium there will be, at one time or another, an international soccer championship, a lacrosse tournament, an inter-American track meet, the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus and a rodeo. The new Place des Arts will be an opera lover's Valhalla, with performances by the Milan's La Scala Opera Company, Vienna's State Opera, the Bolshoi Opera, the Hamburg State Opera and the Stockholm Royal Opera --and for each it will be the first appearance ever in North America.

Theater? Laurence Olivier, who opened Expo's drama season last week by reading passages from a poem written by Expo Commissioner General Pierre Dupuy, will return in the fall to the Place des Arts with the National Theater of Great Britain; he will do Shakespeare's Othello (unfortunately, the four performances have been sold out for months). Symphony orchestras? The parade was led off on May 1 by the Los Angeles Philharmonic, conducted by Zubin Mehta, will be followed by the New York Philharmonic, the Czech Philharmonic and the Vienna Philharmonic, along with the Bath Festival Orchestra with Yehudi Menuhin. Painting and sculpture? Thirty million dollars worth of masterpieces from the great museums and collections round the world in a brand new museum (see ART). Popular entertainers? Carol Channing will be there in Hello, Dolly! at the Garden of Stars amphitheater.

Volcanoes & the Minotaur. At La Ronde, Expo's 135-acre amusement area, there is an aquarium with penguins, a Pioneer Land where gun fights take place every hour, a "safari" through a man-made jungle (where kids can ride on an elephant, a zebra, an ostrich or a llama). For thrill seekers, there is the Gyrotron, a $3,000,000 contraption that allows tourists to strap themselves into miniature rail cars and then be hurtled through a maze of environments that begins with a terrifyingly realistic "orbit" among the stars, careens on through the hellish jaws of a live volcano crater. On opening day, the mechanism broke down, stranding passengers in the volcano and providing Expo with its first mishap.

The amount of film footage on show at Expo is staggering. Nearly every exhibit has incorporated some kind of a motion-picture presentation to supplement its static sights, and it has been estimated that a cinema addict could spend every minute of Expo's 183 days at a screen and still not see every frame available. One of the most sensational flicks: the mad, mad show at the Labyrinth, a five-story pavilion built by the National Film Board of Canada. The feature is prosaically called "The Story of Man," but during the 45-minute film the viewers move from chamber to chamber, eye-witnessing a re-creation of the Greeks' Minotaur myth. At times, members of the audience see the movie as it flickers on a floor screen; at others, they watch it reflected in a mirrored-glass prism. They wind up in a near-psychedelic setting in which films are projected onto five different screens simultaneously. Another sure crowd pleaser is the Czechoslovakian Kino-automat, at which spectators themselves direct the film (see color opposite).

However sensational Expo's wonders, or however sad the inevitable snafus to come, its very existence is a symbol of the vigor and enthusiasm of the Canadians who conceived an "impossible" idea and made it come true. The morning following the official ceremonies last week, several thousand people milled about the ticket booths at Place d' Ac-cueil awaiting the public opening at 9:30 a.m. A voice boomed over a loudspeaker: "The time is 9:29." As the seconds ticked away, the crowd began a bilingual countdown--"ten, neuf, eight, sept, six, cinq, four, trois, two, un." Then, with a roar, the first visitors burst in. Watching them swarm over the grounds, one official, who had spent four exhausting years building Expo 67, said quietly: "I get the feeling that it isn't ours any more." But that, as he and millions of Canadians well knew, was the point--and the pride--of the imaginative new world they had built along the riverbanks of Montreal.

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