For A Couple Of Decades...I Knew This Information By Heart

 Last weekend, I arrived at my side gig a little early, so I thought I'd walk around and see some of the things I don't have time to see once I clock in. Near what was sometimes called "Gaslight Gardens," there are a couple of walls where photographs showing the amusement park during the past 100+ years of its existence are displayed.

I also spotted a large poster that listed the year certain attractions opened at the park.

And, for many of those years, I knew exactly what attractions were added, and when. Lagoon was such a large part of my life.

For example, earlier this year an incident occurred on the Sky Ride, a "ski lift" type ride that allows patrons to go from what was then one end of the park to the other. Reports said the ride had been incident-free for fifty years. I instantly knew that was wrong, because I knew the ride wasn't installed in 1971, but later. The poster confirmed what I already knew.

Back in the 1970s and eighties the park usually put in a ride or two new attractions every year. As kids we couldn't wait to see what new things awaited us. I remember when they put in the Jet Star 2--it was so cool. I mean, it almost went upside down. Seeing what new attractions were at the park became an annual event...maybe not for every kid, but it was for me.

I loved reading the dates and names of the rides. It brought back so many memories. Many of the "new" rides have come and gone, and I suppose in another fifty years, many of the existing rides they have now will also be retired. It's the way of things. I'm glad Lagoon put up the poster. It'll be interesting to see if they put up another one years from now, If so, perhaps a grown man will stop and think about how exited he was for "The Spider" or "Wicked" or "Samurai" or "Cannibal" to open.

I hope so...it's a good feeling.

Good-Bye...To A Prince Of A Man

I saw a post from a family member a day or so ago; that's when I found out. And even though it wasn't unexpected, it's still a shock when the news is confirmed. You can link to the Salt Lake Tribune article: HERE.

I first met Peter Freed when I was sixteen years old, but his influence affected my life for years. We moved to Farmington in 1970 and soon, we were going to Lagoon almost daily in the summer, every day, except Sunday, that is. My family bought a pool pass--it was around $35 for the whole family for the whole summer.

And we went every day, every year, for years.

When I was sixteen I was hired as a groundkeeper and we cleaned the park--a great job for a teenager because we had to clock-in at 4am. You save money when you have to go to bed around 9pm in the summer. It wasn't until I began working in the entertainment department that I really appreciated Peter.

Lagoon's an interesting place and when you work there off-and-on since 1982, you see trends, you see behind the scenes. Most patrons go to Lagoon for the rides. The games, and food are bonuses. But, for a chosen few, it was the park's entertainment that drew them, especially the locals. They would go to every "Music USA" performance, or Countryside, or to see the Lagoon All-Star Band. And from what I understand, Peter played a huge part in the creation of those shows. Because of his influence, entertainment is a central part of the park to this day.

Peter was a quiet man, a reserved person. He was not loud or bombastic. He watched the patrons from his little office window near the park's entrance, and he came to see as many shows as he could, always from the back, always allowing others the better seats, the better views. You could tell he loved the shows, loved watching people enjoy themselves.

I'm sure there are amazing stories of the man before he and his brothers took a risk on an amusement park in a small Utah town. And, I'm sure if I heard about them and the part he played in the military and in other business dealings, I'm sure I'd learn of the same quiet man, someone who seemed to always want others to Have Fun.

Peter was one of the good guys, and I'm glad I knew him.

Living In A Small(ish) Town...

There's a tree-lined street that runs north and south in our town, one of several tree-lined streets, actually. The trees on Main Street are sycamores. They grow tall. They're strong...like surviving hurricane-strength winds strong. We know this, because we have had several hurricane-strength windstorms blow through over the years...

And the trees still stand.

This afternoon I attended a memorial service for a friend, someone who grew up in the same small town with tree-lined streets. We both rode bikes on the uneven sidewalks (many buckling because the roots of those sycamores forced them up...). We played in the parks. We picked up candy at the Farmington A/G. We swam at the Lagoon pool.

So much has changed in the almost fifty years since we began grade school in our small town. It's no longer all that small, ever since the dairy and other farms on the west side of town have been converted to homes and a first-class shopping center. 

We're even getting a state liquor store.

But, the area of town, the main and side streets that existed back in 1970 and before, they still remain. Many of the old homes--including pioneer-era homes--are still there. They're a testament to people wanting to live here, people wanting to stay.

There's a lot of insanity in the world today. We are inundated with crap news on a twenty-four hour loop. And even though I came form a gathering where friends and family said "good-bye" to a much-loved man, driving down the main street of a town where I grew up, where friends and I ran and biked and hiked all over, it reminded me of the good that once existed. And as long as the seemingly ever-lasting sycamores stand like sentinels against the wind, I believe much of that good has never left, but is fighting to be seen in a world of confusion.

Living in a small town, or a town that still feels small...well, it's something special.

I Sure Do Miss That Band...

Just south of the old Opera House, Lagoon has put up several pictures showing the park through the century. And except for the fact they removed a photo of some very handsome--and young--Wild West Shoot-Out stuntmen, I love checking out the pictures. Everything from 1970 forward is very familiar to me. I think I spent more time at Lagoon growing up as a kid than I did at home.

Since everything has to change, many things I see in those pictures I miss--none more than the Lagoon Show Band.

I snapped a picture of the band on the wall of photos. I even recognized several of the band members. I played trumpet, then baritone in jr. high school, and even though I never continued, I knew many of the band members at Davis High. Since it was the closest high school to Lagoon, many of the musicians came from Davis. 

Boy--I miss that band!

They were fantastic!

Even though they were wacky and fun and crazy and goofy, they were above all very talented musicians. I had many friends from Woods Cross High School in the band and they had a great music program beginning in their jr. high schools.

I did a quick Duck Duck Go search to see if I could find any old pictures of the band. I found something better--an 8 1/2 minute video from the old KSL Dimension 5 program. You can see the entire video by clicking: HERE. If you remember the Lagoon Show Band, I highly recommend you click on the link and check it out. It's great. You might even see musicians you know. Also, you get to see glimpses of what Lagoon looked like in 1980.

I've worked at Lagoon for the past five seasons. I think it would be difficult--and extremely expensive--to bring back the band, but if they did, I know I'd be happy.

Remembering "The Ravine From Hell"...Good Times

If we had all the technological gadgets growing up that the kids have nowadays, you'd better believe I'd be posting pictures and videos every winter from "The Ravine from Hell." It was a sledding run that we used from when I was in elementary school all the way to my college years.

It was that good.

Earlier this week I went hiking above my house and the hill that once was is no more, partially, because there's a house bordering on the ravine, and secondly (and more importantly...) the person who bought the hill spent a small fortune setting up rock retaining walls, forever erasing the ravine.

When our family decided to develop the end of the road for building lots, it doomed our sledding hill. But in its day, it was beautiful. We would spend hours on the hill. Plastic sleds were good, but the best way to descend was atop a huge inner tube. My dad used to get them from Hill Air Force Base where he worked. After he passed away, we had to scrounge for tubes and we'd spend hours repairing them with bicycle tube repair patches--had to keep those thing inflated.

And the hike to the top of the ravine was brutal. It took so long, mostly because we traveled so far. It's hard to see, but that black circle is roughly where we'd end up (that small object in the circle is my car...). I'm no expert, but we'd like several hundred feet up the mountain each time.

After each snow storm, we'd go build the berms to keep us on the track. If we got going too fast, we'd fly off the top and head into non-track areas. There were several rocks, but the biggest thing to avoid was a power pole. In all my years, I can't remember if me or any of my friends ever ran into the thing. It most likely happened, but as with much of childhood, I seem to only recall the good times.

Looking back, it was a very dangerous sledding hill, but I don't remember our parents ever complaining or stopping us. We'd rid that hill for hours on the weekends, and even after school, if the storm was big enough.

Like much of my childhood, the physical markers where we played--sledding runs, empty fields, even back yards--are gone. With those same gadgets that would have captured the fun, kids now use them for personal entertainment. It's too bad--it's hard to beat a a sledding run called "The Ravine from Hell."

Good times.

 

The Driveway That I Love, But Others...Not So Much

We moved into our house back in 2003, so everything's over fifteen years old. Including the driveway. We hired our friend Travis to pour and form our driveway and I thought he did a fantastic job. It's not the longest driveway, but it does take a while to shovel after a heavy snow.

Like most things, the driveway is showing its age after a decade and a half. There's some sections that dip, and some have risen slightly over the years, but taking everything into consideration, it's in pretty good shape. I've heard from some that the driveway has problems and a new one would be nice, but for me, well...I love our driveway.

Truly.

Even with all its imperfections.

From the pictures you can see the home where I grew up. It's the house on the left in the one picture and the house directly at the top of the driveway in the other. The reason I love our driveway is because of the driveway at the house where I grew up. It was less a driveway than it was a cheese grater for snow shovels.

It took a few years for my childhood home to be built. Eventually the asphalt driveway was poured and it served our family well for many years, but eventually, that driveway began to deteriorate and we weren't able to fix it as it fell apart. It made for some difficult snow shoveling experiences growing up. We went through SO many shovels.

And now when the snow will inevitably fall again, I will grab one of our shovels--one we've had for many winters--and go to town. And I'll be smiling as the shovel (mostly...) glides across the (mostly...) even driveway.

I love our driveway, mostly, because I know what it's like to know worse.

The Street Where I Grew Up...

The other day, as I took the dog out for a walk, I looked south down the street on which I live, and a flood of memories rushed at me. On this street I grew up. On this street I played. On this street I changed. On this street I lived.

It's a little strange living through the evolution of a simple street. When my father and mother brought their three young adopted children, this road looked very different, the most obvious change--the pavement. When we first moved, the road was dirt. I'm not exactly sure when the first blacktop was put down, but I remember running on it, playing tennis on it, learning to ride a bike on it, learning to drive on it.

This year I turn fifty-three years old. We first moved when I was five. I lived on this street until I was eighteen so that's thirteen years. I moved back at twenty-one and left again around twenty-five years old--four more years. I moved away, graduated from college, got married, lived in several cities in several apartments, but in 1997 my small family moved back to the dead-ended street on the hill.

We've been here ever since.

Thirty-eight years total.

We now live on the other side of the street, where the house numbers are not even, but odd. The street no longer ends where the mountain begins. In building our house, we put a cul-de-sac turn around and added access to several other homes. Things have definitely changed on our little street.

The other night I looked down the road to where the small tributary meets the larger road that takes us to all points outward. This little street where I grew up served--and continues to serve--as a starting-off point, a place to begin so many journeys. And, coming back, it always brings me home.

Before The Internet...There Were...Mountains

It's interesting living next door to where I grew up, watching my children grow and develop decades after I did...I'm reminded of my childhood almost every day. And what did we do as kids?

We hiked the mountain.

I've written about where we live before. I've written about the mountain on which we live. Tonight, just before dusk, I grabbed my cameras and headed up the hill. Soon, we're going to get some neighbors. I hiked up to one of the lots and looked around.

I remember my childhood, but when I remember it, I don't think I remember it quite the way it happened. For instance, I remember hiking on the hill, alone, with friends, or with my dog. I remember spending a lot of time on that hill, but in reality, I know I spent a lot more time in front of a TV set. I watched a lot of TV as a kid.

My mind wandered as I did. Thinking of the time I spent watching TV made me think about what kids do nowadays. Kids (and myself as well...) are on the internet. When my kids were younger they went up the hill from time to time, but not anymore. Do I wish they spent more time outdoors. Sure, but also they're preparing for the world in which they'll live. 

But what of the mountains? It occurred to me on my descent that the mountains were there for me, even when I didn't need them. They existed long before I--or anyone else--ever got here, and they'll be here long after we're all gone. And even though the lighting wasn't ideal for panoramic shots, tonight it was beautiful up there. I walked where I used to run, saw sights I used to--and still do--take fore granted. To me, the rocks, the sagebrush, the views meant something different, something deeper. 

Maybe I'm growing up after all.

The Old Penny Arcade...Not The Same As It Once Was

"You know," I said to a couple of people the last couple of days. "I used to go in that building every day growing up."

And it was true.

Growing up in Farmington on the edge of the Lagoon Amusement Park, the place was like an endless adventure for me and my friends. Sure, we had our usual summer routines. We got up, probably watched The Price is Right (Good ol' Bob Barker...), then we'd don our swimming suits, roll up a towel, throw it under our arm and hop on our bikes to the, now-extinct, East Gate. From there we'd park the bikes and head straight to the pool.

I'm sure I've written about the pool before. I can't tell you just how fantastic that huge body of water was for us kids. I've never seen anything like it and I feel that even though replacing the forever-old pool with a shiny new water park was a good financial decision, the place has never been the same since.

And what to a gaggle of pre-teens (and teens...) do after a fun morning and afternoon at the pool?

We headed down tho the Penny Arcade. 

The building's famous. It was once a dance floor where some of the biggest names in all of entertainment played. I suppose the proliferation of TV and concert halls--not to mention, Rock & Roll--people just stopped dancing the way they once did.

By the time me and my friends arrived on the scene, the dance hall was now an arcade. If I showed a kid today a picture of the way it looked decades ago, they wouldn't believe it was an arcade. Heck--I wonder if kids nowadays even know what an arcade is or was. Back then the place was lined on all three walls with pinball machines. I suppose they're still around, but I haven't seen one in a long time. Once video games became the thing, the arcade was one of the only places you could actually play quality games. We used to go around checking for free pinball games, or games where novice video game players did not realize they had an extra credit on the game. That was payday for us.

Now, the building houses different attractions. There's games where you can earn tickets. Those tickets can get you prizes. Though there's bells and whistles, lights and inviting sounds, just like the million-gallon swimming pool, it's just not the same.

I know things change, but looking inside the cavernous space, I remember the way it once was and in an instant, decades are erased. Those were good days.

National Siblings Day...2016 Edition

Back in 2003 my mother assembled some family photo albums. They turned out to be much more than a collection of photos. My mom also gathered family histories, stories, and basically, memories for us to have going forward. Three and one half years later she passed away. I'm so thankful for that book.

And since it's National Siblings Day (at least, according to social media...), I dragged out the big book and took a few pictures of the three of us. I blogged about National Siblings Day one year ago--you can check it out in the archives--and at that time I mentioned that the three of us were not genetically put together as a family. Since we're all adopted children, decisions and coincidences resulted in us being siblings.

For me, I couldn't be happier. I am truly blessed.

One page of that big book was a collage of pictures showing us as we grew. That top picture, the one where we're dressed in our Sunday best, that one blows me away. When I see that picture, I see my older brother's oldest son, my second son, and my sister's daughter--it's uncanny (and a little bit spooky...). 

I celebrate all the photos, all the well-wishes from my friends, neighbors, and family members that I've seen today. And in that spirit I present the three of us. We're all that's left of the Taylor Five. We've had good times and bad, fun times and sad. And whatever happens, when April 10th rolls around next year, I'll still have a brother and a sister that I love very much.

Eric Wood...A Very Good Man

I saw a post on Facebook last night and reading through the post, I noticed I was too late to attend the funeral (his obituary can be found: HERE). A person I've known since I was four years old passed away last week. 

You hear it all the time when someone dies. "I just saw him a few days ago." So it happened with me and Eric. Two weeks ago in church I passed him in the hall and gave him "the nod" and he returned the gesture. I wasn't in too much of a hurry to stop and say, "hello." I could have done that.

When we moved to Farmington we quickly came to know all the families with kids our age. Eric was older than us, but his siblings weren't. When I worked summers at Lagoon Eric was there. Most of us were just punk teenagers and we'd take more than an occasional break if we could get away with it. But not Eric. He was honest in word and deed.

Last year my graduating class had its thirty-year reunion. Before we met, posts on social media were sent and in one, we were reminded of all our classmates who had passed. Among the names was Eric's sister who graduated with us. I missed the news of her death by years. But it hit just as hard.

These people in this family were so much a part of our town, or at least, the memories that have shaped my definition of what my town is, that losing them feels like a long-standing building, or a field where we used to play is forever gone. But no building or piece of property can ever mean as much as the people we love.

Many of my childhood friends have moved away, but I've stayed. There's a price to pay when we remain. The cost is that we must endure change and rely only on memories of how life used to be. That means, of course, watching the people who mean so much to us leave. Eric joins a growing list of friends, family and loved ones who are on the other side and I'm saddened by his passing. If you know Eric, you understand when I say that he was a very good man and he'll be missed.