A special pastime for families on Summer nights up until Sept. 5, 1983, almost 40 years ago, was to go for a drive along the lakefront. They could see the lake’s waves crashing on one side. On the other side were picnic spaces that included a vending stand where slices of watermelon were sold.
As the journey continued, moving toward Elysian Fields Boulevard, the overwhelming visual attraction was up ahead on the left. From a distance it was already easy to see the blinking lights of Pontchartrain Beach amusement park. Traffic slowed, allowing those in their Chevys to experience the visual buzz especially as they passed the main attraction, the roller coaster known as “The Zephyr.”
Its track ran atop a lattice of white timber that dipped, climbed, ascended toward Mars and then rushed down, traveling, like Superman, “faster than a speeding bullet!” Even from the safety of our cars we could hear the screams of the riders making the plunges. The most dramatic moment was when The Zephyr reached the track's apex after teasingly creeping upwards to get there. Then the gravity balance shifted and the ride raced toward inner-earth. That moment always inspired my mom to exclaim about the riders, “crazy people!” And yes, we of the back seat agreed, “crazy people.”
Perhaps because I was saving my courage so that I could one day apply for the astronaut program, I always avoided The Zephyr, even those times when I walked alongside it on the midway. But then, one evening, and I do not remember why, I decided to take the ride. There was usually a long line to board the roller coaster, all the more to strain the nerves and to build apprehension.
Finally, we were directed into a roller coaster car where a bar was lowered over our waists to prevent us from being flung into eternity. The ride began slowly, then faster then negotiated a medium-sized hump, and then the big climb began. Finally, there was that moment when we knew the drop was frighteningly soon. I looked around realizing that we were indeed all crazy people, myself included. There was a time in world history when the word “zoom” applied to traveling at a fast unbridled speed and not to teleconferencing. We zoomed.
September 1983 was the last night of operations for “Pontchartrain Beach.” The Batt family, which had operated the amusement park at lakefront locations since 1928, saw the reality that attendance was declining. Maybe it was TV, or air-conditioning or the emergence of theme parks like the Disney places or Six Flags, but the old Coney Island type non-themed amusement parks were less of a draw.
In New Orleans there was an extra challenge. In the next year, 1984, the city would stage a Word’s Fair. Attention would be shifted from the lakefront to the river.
A minor league baseball team relocated to New Orleans in 1993. It would be known as the Zephyrs. In its early years, the team played in UNO’s baseball park, which happened to be across a boulevard from where the amusement park once was. If the roller coaster’s track still existed it could have been seen from center field.
Naturally, it would be assumed that the team was named after the Beach’s ride, but it wasn’t. The baseball club had relocated from Denver where it was named after the Rocky mountains’ rushing winds, known historically as “zephyrs”
Today, most of the former site of the amusement area is a research perk. The lake still pounds at the seawall and there are benches for watching the clouds or the planes that descend from them as they glide toward Lakefront Airport.
Far less tranquil had been the moment of my ride when The Zephyr screeched to a stop at the loading area. I looked around. Surprisingly, I wanted to go again.
But there would have been another line to wait in. “Next time,” I thought to myself. I never made it back. Just as when the roller coaster negotiated its final turn – time was running out.
Nevertheless, I learned that night that we roller-coaster riders were not so crazy after all.
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