Sometime back in the late 1960s, my mother began to collect elephant figurines. She would explain that her Republican political sentiments initially sparked the accumulation, but after a time, the collection grew mainly because others discovered she had one. Once word gets out that you collect something, you make yourself an easier target for gifts. We generally regarded Mom's odd little obsession with good humor, while always keeping an eye out for something to add to the menagerie.

Coincidentally, Mom acquired her first elephant about the same time Mr. Ed received his. While Mom's collection probably fits in a television box, Mr. Ed's has its own building on the Lincoln Highway just west of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Now numbering well over 6,000 artifacts, Mr. Ed's Elephant Museum has evolved into a classic, offbeat roadside attraction that seems to thrive in the era of the corporate theme park. Indeed, the unexpected sight of Mr. Ed's induces a slam on the brakes for any serious roadside enthusiast passing by. Proudly greeting visitors out front is Miss Elly Phunt, an eight foot fiberglass mechanical elephant. Break the electric eye beam, and Miss Elly talks, blinks, and waves her paddle-size ears.

I knew I'd enjoy talking to Mr. Ed. How could anyone in the business that also sells old-fashioned candies and fresh roasted peanuts not have a cheery disposition? With his white beard, portly stature, and twinkle in his eye, the guy could pass for Kris Kringle, and we'd have another "Miracle on 34th Street."

"My name is Ed Gotwald," he says with amused resignation, "but about 27 years ago I lost that name and became Mr. Ed. My last name was never used anymore, so every once in a while, I have to say it out loud so I don't forget."

Mr. Ed leans on Miss Elly Phunt, an 8-foot mechanical elephant that talks to you.

Today, Mr. Ed's collection includes just about every conceivable elephant image and figure ever produced – and he'll snub no pachyderm. Of course, you'll find a stuffed Dumbo and a copy of Horton Hears a Who, but you'll also see valuable P.T. Barnum advertisements for Jumbo as well as finely crafted original sculptures. A trip to Mexico uncovered a surrealistic ceramic head with three emerging elephants sculpted by Sergio Bustamante. Trawling the flea markets scored a five-dollar elephant-shaped hair dryer with a trunk for a hose. Then there's the elephant bong, which had a purpose unknown to Mr. Ed until a very excited visiting college student explained it to him.

Yet the fun doesn't stop there. What began as a simple, two-room museum and gift store has evolved into a six-room mini department store, featuring an eye-popping assortment of old-fashioned "penny" candy. You might no longer find Skybars at your local CVS, but Mr. Ed has them. Same goes for those little wax juice bottles, Maple Nut Goodies, candy buttons, chocolate covered babies, and as he describes them, "the coconut pieces with the red, white and blue colors on them."

"Some people like to say that memory doesn't taste the same. This is wrong. This candy tastes just like memory." Mr. Ed insists. "Those old-time candies taste the same."

The store also features an assortment of souvenirs, T-shirts and hats, as well as a growing general antique business. But it seems the real money is in peanuts. While the connection between elephants and peanuts would seem natural and planned, Mr. Ed assured me the combination was purely serendipitous.

"About six months after we opened the store, this man comes buy with a peanut roaster in the back of his truck. He asks, 'Want to buy a peanut roaster?,' and I ask 'For what?' and he says, 'Well, to roast peanuts!'" The roaster, built in 1903, supplies his concession for fairs, races, and festivals from Detroit, Michigan to Washington, D.C. What began as a lark now sells twenty tons of peanuts a year.

Mr. Ed came to this avocation after a twenty-year career with Giant Food stores. "One day, they wanted us all to attend a seminar on 'Transactional Analysis' where they urged us to 'Get out of our box' and 'expand our horizons.' So I quit!"

Free of his box with horizons ready for expansion, Mr. Ed and his wife Pat opened a general store with a small section devoted to the elephants. With the collection growing almost daily and most of it still in the house, Pat eventually urged him to find a new home for the herd. In 1984, they moved the business and started the museum at their current location. "They say elephants bring luck, and I can't argue with that. I've been very fortunate. Every year since, we've done better and better."

Mr. Ed had a real elephant on the premises just once for a weekend, and while it proved popular with the kids, he dismisses the idea of adding one to the permanent collection. The cost and upkeep would just be too much to handle.

Change the discussion to the plight of real elephants, and Mr. Ed's smile quickly dissolves. He keeps a small display of real ivory in his museum, but he solemnly insists it is "many, many years old."

Subscribe!

"Some of it is over a hundred years old, but I will not buy or accept anything made of ivory." Mr. Ed laments the slaughter of these grand animals all for the sake of their tusks, and adamantly believes that "ivory only looks good on elephants." Every year, Mr. Ed and Pat donate to the American Wildlife Federation in support of that organization's ongoing efforts to preserve the wild elephant population.

Meanwhile, Mr. Ed, like Santa on Christmas, sweetens the world with wonder in wax bottles and a Jumbo of a collection. "I think in today's world, with all of the unhappiness -- and I think we have a lot of it -- it's nice to be able to pick up something that brings back memories of simpler and happier times. I think that's important to us today."