Laugh til You Cry

Well, summer has come to a close. My thoughts harken back to days spent at Lagoon with its gigantic roller coaster, Wild Mouse, Terror Ride and the Million-gallon swimming pool with “water fit to drink.”. Remember the Fun House—that insurance underwriter’s nightmare? It was the best part of the park. My siblings and I would spend the better part of the day there while Mom and Frank played “air-conditioned” Fascination and chugged beer at the Fireman Day pavilion.

Ah, The Fun House—mortal danger from the second you set foot into its chaotic, cavernous walls. Upon entry, you’d start off with the obstacle course, a stockyard cattle maze with NordicTrack-like sliding planks. They led you to the lily pad discs which were round wooden stepping stones that would pivot on posts and most certainly were the cause of many a sprained ankle. There was the rolling metal pipe section where you could roll like airport luggage and the canvas web—another orthopedic delight.

The obstacle course would lead you to the tilted room. It was a darkened room lit with a black light and turned on an angle. This made it hard to walk up one direction then the other direction would send you like a runaway truck crashing into the carpeted wall. Without exception, some husky kid would come smashing into you knocking the wind out of you. In one of the walls, there were small windows filled with neon ping pong balls for added enjoyment.

If you made it through all of that unscathed, you were into the main room. There were lots of great attractions there. Interspersed between them were air jets on the floor that a bored carny would use remotely to blow up girls’ skirts or just annoy the boys.

There was a huge rotating tunnel painted with a red and white spiral inside that would hypnotize you into having fun. The game was to walk from one end to the other in your stocking feet trying to avoid a broken elbow, concussion or a grand mal seizure.

On the far end of the room was the slide. It was made up of two long metal slippery slides that descended three stories. If you survived the stair climb to the top without some big kid knocking you out of the way, you would grab a gunny sack with a foot pocket for use in avoiding cuts and abrasions as you slid to the bottom.

There was a big wooden tub which acted like the spin cycle on a Maytag. You would stand against the perimeter and it would spin so fast that the centrifugal force would keep you against the wall as the floor dropped out from beneath your feet. The force would also keep the vomit against your own face rather than the kid’s across the way.

The most memorable attraction, though, was the spinning floor wheel. It was a huge spinning disc on the floor painted with yet another red and white spiral. Kids would all sit in the center and hold on for dear life as our friend Mr. Centrifugal Force would throw you off into a padded wall sustaining floor burns all the way.

But the Fun House days are gone. Years ago, it was drawn and shuttered. The Haunted Shack is gone, too, as is the miniature golf course. I’m too old for Bulgy the Whale. I’d be a bit more wistful, but frankly, these days I need to pop a dramamine even for Pioneer Village.