More Than Straw, Tin, and Fur

Sometimes the trait we seek to correct is tangled up with the quality most unique and powerful about us.”

Isabelle Holloway

Dorothy’s House and the Land of Oz Museum in Liberal is hardly meant only for children.

When I visited Sunday, Oct. 4, green light streaked across the walls as a Dorothy look-alike spun around and cried for her aunt inside a simulated tornado, while the Wicked Witch’s cackle came through glimpses of lightning. The Wicked Witch of the East’s legs lay beneath Dorothy’s house, while Munchkins and other creatures peeked between the flora and fortresses, through evanescent bubbles, and between the eyes of trees. Costumes, posters, scripts, models of houses, and movie memorabilia make the 1939 film feel less like something you have watched and more like an alternate reality.

Along the yellow brick road, Dorothy is accompanied by three unusual companions: a Scarecrow, a Tin Man, and a Lion. Each believes he needs something he is deficient in.

The Scarecrow thinks he needs a brain, with a head stuffed with straw while looking like a farm ornament. The Tin Man thinks he needs a heart, his body hard and made of tin, looking more like a machine than a man. The Cowardly Lion thinks he needs courage because he is fearful, taking fear as evidence of cowardice. In search of these missing pieces, they travel to the Wizard because they believe he can provide them.

However, what they do not realize is that they already contain the traits they are searching for.

The Scarecrow repeatedly demonstrates intelligence, such as when he helps the group reason through their problems. The Tin Man is similarly compassionate; after accidentally killing a beetle, he becomes so distressed that he cries until his jaw rusts, explaining that he is “always careful not to hurt any living creature.” The Lion admits that “whenever there is danger, my heart begins to beat fast,” yet repeatedly enters dangerous situations alongside Dorothy. He even agrees to face the Wicked Witch, insisting, “I am a coward, but I am going to try.” Oz eventually tells him, “True courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.” Each character spends the journey seeking the very quality his actions have already revealed.

We can reflect on this outside of Oz, too. Someone’s stubbornness can become a set of principles. Sensitivity can make someone deeply empathetic. Impatience can become drive and eventually a fierce sense of mission. The same trait that makes someone difficult in one setting can make them remarkably capable in another.

There is a larger historical symbolism. In 1964, Henry Littlefield proposed that The Wonderful Wizard of Oz could be read as an allegory of the political and economic conflicts of the 1890s. In his interpretation, the Scarecrow, who has no brain, represented farmers; the Tin Man, who had once been a human woodcutter before replacing his body parts with metal, represented industrial workers; and the Cowardly Lion represented northern reformers. The Emerald City represented Wall Street, colored green like money, while the Wizard represented the Money Power, whose influence rested on manipulation and illusion. Although the interpretation has been debated, it adds another layer to a story full of people who believe they are lacking something.

The Wizard himself fits into the dream-swept landscape borne out of the strange and cosmic Kansas of Oz. He manufactures a persona that relies on the power of reputation. He has a booming voice, smoke effects, and an enormous head; yet, if you pull back the curtain, he is only a man operating the machinery of his Oz.

We often assume that if someone has a title, credential, or reputation, they must possess the qualities attached to it. Someone who looks smart on paper must be smart in every facet. Someone who looks cool and collected may actually be sweating bullets inside. Someone who looks timid and sweet may be perfectly willing to put up with nothing when it comes to something they believe in.

The Scarecrow does not suddenly become intelligent when Oz gives him “brains.” Before doing so, Oz tells him, “You don’t need them. You are learning something every day.” When the Tin Man asks for a heart, Oz admits that he is “wrong to want a heart,” yet gives him one anyway. The Lion is told that he already has courage: “True courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.”

The fact that the gifts matter less than the belief they give the characters in themselves may be why this sweet and mysterious American tale continues to resound outside its own time. The politics of the 1890s have changed, the film was made in 1939, and generations have grown up discovering it. Yet the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion remain recognizable because their questions are not confined to Kansas, Oz, or any particular decade.

We all have things about ourselves we are tempted to see as deficiencies, but sometimes the trait we seek to correct is tangled up with the quality most unique and powerful about us.

When the effects fade and the curtain falls, what remains is more than straw, tin, and fur. To see behind the curtain is not to become someone else, but to recognize what was there all along.