Indiana Beach all about families and nostalgia
I’ll miss those delicious tacos the most. Or maybe those cold smoothies on a sweltering day. Or maybe the refreshing water swings that circled over Lake Shafer. Or maybe the Skyride, which seemed like a death-defying thrill ride due to its old age and creakiness.
Tuesday’s sad news regarding the closing of Indiana Beach amusement park felt like we were reading the obituary for a dear old friend. The park died at 94. Survivors include everyone who visited there through the decades. Arrangements are pending for our misty remembrances.
“Who’s gonna feed the carp now?” asked my fiancee’s daughter when she read the death notice.
Who didn’t enjoy wasting a buck or three to feed those ugly fish off the dock? Who didn’t dread the boring drive to Monticello while passing by endless cornfields? Who didn’t wonder if the amusement ride they were strapped into would suddenly burst into smithereens or fling you into the man-made lake?
More to the fact of its permanent closing, who else didn’t go last summer to that once-popular amusement park, or the previous summer, or any summer in recent memory? Let’s face it, Indiana Beach closed down in our minds long before it closed down in reality. For most of us, it had turned into an amusement park of only nostalgia, memories and old jokes from our youth.
Earlier trips there felt like visiting an elderly loved one in a nursing home. You showed up before the inevitable either out of due respect, or for one last hug, or to introduce your children before saying goodbye. I wonder if Earl Spackman, who opened the park in 1926 as “Ideal Beach,” would be proud of it lasting so long or crushed that it’s now gone forever. He’s probably turning over in his hammock.
The park’s Californiabased owner, Apex Parks Group, closed Indiana Beach and three other amusement parks in the country for financial reasons: “Despite significant efforts to improve financial performance and considerable investment in rides and infrastructure, we have not seen improvement in operating results at… Indiana Beach,” Apex said in a statement Wednesday to the Chicago Tribune.
This was not a surprise to anyone who’s been there over the last few years. It often felt like watching someone on life support. Sorrowful but not shocking. Still, its closing was major news in our region, where cornfields still exist despite our smokestack skyline image.
Spending a day, or part of a summer, at Indiana Beach became a rite of passage for generations of Hoosiers, as well as for residents of nearby states. Indiana Beach felt like the poor second cousin of richer, popular amusement parks such as Six Flags Great America in Illinois or Cedar Point in Ohio. Nonetheless, it felt like the big brother of long-deceased amusement parks in our area, such as Enchanted Forest in Porter County and Kiddie Land in Lake County. It certainly outlived both siblings until Apex Parks Group pulled the plug on it.
The news of its death immediately prompted us to recall – and rejoice – an old park that featured hand-me-down yet cherished rides, attractions and amenities. Like Antique Autos, where I once finished off a mango smoothie belonging to my fiancee’s young son while his focus was staying on the road (although it was impossible to stray off ). And Dr. Frankenstein’s Haunted Castle, where my fiancee’s now 18-year-old daughter is still afraid to enter.
Also, the Lost Coaster of Superstition Mountain, which my sore back felt for days afterward. And Cornball Express, which rattled around its passengers like frogs in a blender. And the Double Shot thrill ride, the only double shot I’ve ever had in my life.
Let’s not forget the Skyride that crossed over the entire park with scenic views of all the wayward flip-flops that fell off passengers’ feet onto the rooftops below. (A rookie mistake, by the way.) I was always leery of the Skyride’s weary cables (initially installed in the Roosevelt administration as legend goes) snapping from its pole, and dropping my dangling gondola to the ground. Splat! At least my obit would be funny.
Then again, the modernstyled Steel Hawg was billed as Indiana’s first custom steel coaster, standing nearly 10 stories tall and featuring a 111-degree first drop, “once the steepest in the United States!” Yeehaw.
And we can’t leave out the park’s sprawling boardwalk where families gobbled down the best tacos south of U.S. 30, searched for any shade from the blistering sun, and watched other families argue with each other. Oh, and how about those rental cabins on the property with rooms so small you had to step outside to change your mind.
My memory of the water park, named in honor of Ideal Beach, includes the odd squishiness at the bottom of the wading water near the sand. I never knew for sure if my feet felt imaginary fish, unexplained plant life, or simply a perpetual slipperiness that first began after the Great Depression.
Old jokes aside, Indiana Beach had a gritty charm that other larger amusement parks could not replicate. It offered down-home fun that embodied its rural location and personified Hoosier Hospitality. The park and its popular campground attracted tens of thousands of visitors who would otherwise never trek to Monticello (where?), or maybe to Indiana.
It’s smell of deep-fried… everything. It’s sound of parents giggling like little kids. It’s bright lights on a dark night along the bustling boardwalk. It’s distant screams from thrill rides. If you close your eyes tightly enough, you can imagine it all.
We’ll have to settle for this roller coaster of nostalgia.
Indiana Beach’s updated website, www.indianabeach.com, now screams the somber news: PERMANENTLY CLOSED. In smaller print, it adds, “We appreciate your support and patronage through the years.”
Indiana Beach was more than just about support and patronage. It was about families and memories and traditions. And the promise of returning there one more time.