When a roller-coaster reaches the end of its run, it is usually with a screeching halt climaxed by a jolt, like when an airplane touches ground. When an amusement park reaches the end of its run it usually closes quietly though with a jolt to public sentiment.
Forty seasons have now passed since Pontchartrain Beach, the full-fledged amusement park located on a lakefront site now occupied by the University of New Orleans’ Technology Park was enlivened each evening by the echoed yells of thrill-seekers daring the rides that were whizzing by and above.
Having closed for good in 1983, soon after Labor Day, the run had been a good one since opening day June 30, 1928, at a nearby site before moving to the location that would define it.
Though by ’83 the run was sputtering; nationwide old-style Coney Island type amusement parks were in their decline. There was a new term in the boardwalk vernacular; “theme parks” launched by Disneyland and followed by many. In New Orleans there was an extra challenge. The Batt family, which operated “The Beach,” was bracing itself for the following year when the World’s Fair would open in New Orleans and draw attention away.
Left to the future would just be memories.
There was the Zephyr, by far the amusement park’s best-known landmark – its tracks, built on a spiraling lattice of white wood was the pathway for a rumbling roller-coaster that climbed and dived along its way. The highpoint, and I do mean high, was when the ride slowly climbed to the apex and then, to the screams and flailing arms of everyone on board, plunged with a mighty rush that raced furiously before braking to reach the end.
Many times, I stared at the Zephyr vowing to take the ride one day – though that day was slow in coming.
Then there was the Wild Maus – a German made roller coaster known for its abrupt turns. From the north end of the track speeding south, the city’s skyline could be seen in the distance. Trusting ourselves to something named after an insane rodent, it looked like our ride was going to leap across town crashing into the Hibernia Bank building, but then there was the gut wrenching, lifesaving turn saving us for more scares ahead.
I never rode on the Ragin’ Cajun, being committed to a lifelong pledge to never be a passenger on anything that rotated its riders upside down while ragin’.
There were gentler rides, such as the bumper cars which, despite the terror suggested in their names, were rather slow-moving padded vehicles that even a head-on collision provoked nothing more than laughter.
My favorites was The Bug, a low level roller coaster with each unit shaped like a love bug. Passengers sat in the round clutching to a stationary wheel. Each time the bug made a turn in would send the passengers pushing into each other, hence a love bug.
Of all living creatures the most daring might have been at the stage where circus-type acts were featured twice a night. Occasionally there was a guy who sat on a horse who stood on a platform way above a water tank. The drama followed as the steed, carrying his jockey, took a leap into the deep. The crowd loved it, though there was no reaction from the horse who nevertheless always survived.
My favorite sensory experience at the Beach happened when walking along the midway past the burger place. The aroma of the patties being fried with onions was overwhelming, even overcoming the salty sea breeze.
There comes a moment when a person cannot be distracted by the senses but challenged by reality. One night, during the Beach’s final days, I had to face the issue of riding the Zephyr. I could not avoid it any longer, risking an eternity of never rolling nor coasting. So, there I was with the safety bar locked over my lap. In the foreground was the tower to which we were slowly climbing. Feeling a little frightened I looked back to the lake where, in another decade, landing boats had been tested to carry troops to the Normandy Invasion. Now that was real courage. I tried to maintain mine as the ride reached the top and seemed to pause before furiously racing into the unknown. We travelled undoubtably faster than any human had ever moved, certainly with more speed than the Apollo astronauts on their way to the moon. And then there was a sudden stop. Fellow passengers gasped as the ride reached the unloading area and we were freed of our shackles. The moon reflected peacefully over the lake.
I was momentarily stunned, but then collected my thoughts: “That was fun,” I concluded. “I wonder if there is time to do it again.”
