Here in the Northeast, we're coming up on the warmer months, and I'm struck with memories of summers past. I'm sitting at my desk, feeling a bit wistful, or perhaps pensive. For about the last ten minutes, I've been kind of lost in memories that span more than 50 years of my life. Most of you know that I grew up in the Rochester, NY, area and, in fact, still live nearby. It’s on the southern shore of Lake Ontario, one of the Great Lakes.
Living here, one is presented with a number of unique places to experience. One of them is the only amusement park of any serious size along the south shore—Seabreeze Amusement Park
The Seabreeze of today is sort of the last man standing. Rochester had several amusement parks years ago that one thought about spending their time at. Thirty years ago, one had Roseland, southeast of Rochester in nearby Canandaigua, and Olympic Park in the town of Chili (pronounced Cha eye-l-eye, if you’re a local).
Roseland and Seabreeze were by far the older ones… Olympic was the upstart. Olympic had rides that were designed to travel around to state fairs and whatnot, whereas the other two had more of a sense of permanency about them.
Seabreeze had a merry-go-round built by the Philadelphia Toboggan Company (PTC #36). Inside the roundhouse was a Wurlitzer Style 165 band organ that was a wonder to listen to. That organ and the merry-go-round were mated at birth, both having been built and purchased in 1926.
They also have a wooden coaster, a largish “out and back” created in 1920, called the Jack Rabbit… an intense ride even for today. I’ve been on that ride perhaps 100 times over the years, and it still scares the hell out of me. This summer it celebrates 107 years in operation. Even the world-famous Cyclone at Coney Island can only lay claim to 96 of those years.
Roseland was older by a few years, and most of its rides and attractions had a somewhat older feel to them. Its merry-go-round was also created by PTC. Number 18 was built in 1909. Roseland closed nearly 42 years ago, and Olympic closed at more or less the same time. Of the two, Roseland was by far the more memorable for most folks.
The amusement park at Olympic had the largest bowling alley in the area with some 80 lanes, a go-kart track that was the biggest in the area, and a BBQ restaurant that was always pretty good. All of it is now gone.
Roseland’s merry-go-round now lives inside what was once the Carousel Mall in Syracuse. Roseland was actually the name for the area and the name is now claimed by a water park.
Those closings left Seabreeze all alone in the Rochester market, which in turn gave rise to the Darien Lake megapark at Corfu, N.Y., about 20 miles west of Rochester, which is run by the Six Flags people.
As for Seabreeze, on March 31, 1994, came the worst. (My gosh, 32 years ago, almost to the day?) I never thought I’d have a practical use of my recording of Todd Rundgren's “The Night the Carousel Burned Dow,” but I did that day.
The fire was started about 3 p.m. by contractors who were working to re-tar a roof. An hour later, PTC 36 and the Wurlitzer — 100 rolls of music and all — were gone; nothing was left but ashes and a column of smoke that could be seen for 30 miles. Being positioned directly across the street from the firehouse didn’t help at all; it was gone at the first spark. Local stories said some of the firemen were crying as they tried unsuccessfully to put the fire out. It took an emotional toll on them, the local news said at the time.
I remember looking out of my 23rd-floor downtown office window and wondering what that column of smoke to the north was, not realizing that one of my memories would now never be anything more than that. A place in the entire area’s collective consciousness was dying. Even when co-workers told me what was happening, it didn’t hit me.
Until, that is, later that night. I remember driving past the park that night to get an idea of how bad the damage was. It was dark by the time I got by there. But I recall being taken back at the sight. I leaned on my horn in a salute to the pile of ashes as I sat in front of the place, my headlights playing on what was left of that ancient frame of PTC 36 as I sat on the edge of the park grounds. In doing so, I happened to catch the eye of someone else, who apparently was there for the same thing. He was sitting in his car, his young wife with him. He simply nodded at me, and joined in, giving a blast from his horn as well. He understood and shared the loss. I’ll never know his name, but it doesn’t matter.
You know, I can think of a number of people who wouldn’t get that kind of reaction. I certainly can’t imagine that any MegaPark such as Darien Lake would ever attain that kind of status within the community. Perhaps because it hasn’t been there long enough, but also possibly because, as loud, gaudy, and intense as it gets, it’s never really as comfortable as some of the older parks this country has to offer…. Seabreeze among them.
Fortunate, indeed, that the owners of Seabreeze understand that factor and take such pride in their park. The fact that they’ve been there for 147 years this year, and plan to be there for many more, speaks loudly to that pride. They rebuilt the merry-go-round and the organ, all to the original specs, from the original drawings, with handcrafted care. The cost must have been several million dollars. The merry-go-round of today… well, all you can say is, it’s a real beauty.
OK, I know it’s a long lead-in — over half this column, in fact — but I say all of this because you need the background to understand where I’m going with this.
My last visit there was several years ago, when I attended a company picnic that they often host at Seabreeze. At the time, I’d been going to the park for around 55 years. In many ways, it had attained the status of an old friend. It did my heart good to see my old friend looking well, fit, and well cared for. After all, I’d already seen a couple of friends like this wither and fade away. The Seabreeze folks obviously take great pride in caring for my old friend.
I remember that one of the first places my two boys wanted to stop at was the newly rebuilt merry-go-round. I found myself feeling a little sad going into the new merry-go-round. I had to sit and think about why, though.
In all the activity, I rediscovered the emotions of seeing my two boys’ delighted smiles as they discovered and enjoyed the very same rides I had enjoyed as a child their age. The reaction, the feeling, the emotions surrounding that moment are as powerful as any I’ve ever experienced. There’s a sense of… well, of permanency, of a continuance of sorts. And for just that brief, powerful moment, I found myself looking at myself many years ago. I now understand a bit more about my own parents. Heady stuff, this.
Sadly, though, for the merry-go-round, as nearly perfect as its replacement is, that emotion is gone. As strange as this may sound, it feels too new, in a way. I guess the best way I can describe it is to borrow words Neil Diamond wrote about visiting the apartment where he grew up, which displayed, as he put it, “all the scars that love erases.” In some ways, it’s like a first love: you never quite love a woman the same way again as you did your first. You can marry and find that one true love, and yet, in many ways, you’re always affected by the memory of the first. Sadly, it can never be again.It’s all that and more; and understand, please, I don’t mean at all to slight the efforts of the Seabreeze folks; they’ve done the best anyone could ever have done. I and the remainder of the community are forever grateful to their efforts in rebuilding 36, and the organ.
Thing is, though, I’ll always feel a twinge of sadness when entering the new structure for the one that was lost, because I can’t tell my kids, “I rode on this when I was your age.” I’m sorry, gang, I can’t help it. I find myself surprised at how important that one point is to me.
I know things happen, and changes come. But I think I’m beginning to understand what places like that mean to a soul, and what the preservation of our landmarks means to us, both individually and as a community.
At least Seabreeze’s ownership was thoughtful and foresighted enough to understand that new memories count nearly as much as old ones, and to provide for them by rebuilding.
They understand that old memories, precious as they are, do not die when the structures involved in those memories are gone—and that new memories need a place to be made as well. Places like Seabreeze are what give our memories a home.
Collectively, we must not lose sight of the importance of that. The effects of places like this on our daily lives—and, in turn, on our culture, our very way of thinking—while admittedly intangible, are vital to our culture’s continuance in ways I simply don’t have the words to describe. But if you’ve made it this far in these textual meanderings, I think you understand.
