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Woodcut of Woodward’s Gardens, ca. 1885. —Author’s collection

Chapter 2

Amusement Parks

WOODWARD’S GARDENS

A visitor to the Mission District of San Francisco sees an impoverished, rundown, somewhat intimidating section of the city. A local recognizes a neighborhood with heart, undergoing rejuvenation. I find the landmarks of my childhood and recall how it looked nearly fifty years ago. What no one sees is evidence of the magic that existed here just over a hundred years ago when Robert Woodward opened his gardens to the public.

Robert B. Woodward earned his fortune in 1849 with sweat and foresight, not in the gold fields of California but by opening a grocery store just off San Francisco’s waterfront. Like many a successful businessman, he knew when to say “enough” as the trend changed from a need for staples to a need for services. Woodward started investing his wealth in the burgeoning new economy. Seeing the demand for rooms and meals for those in transit as well as for the more permanent residents, he opened the What Cheer House on Sacramento Street, a hotel and club for men only, which sold good food ala carte and only non-alcoholic beverages. The hotel provided clean and safe accommodations at low prices, an unbeatable combination. The What Cheer House multiplied Woodward’s wealth.

In 1857, Woodward retrieved his family from Providence, Rhode Island. He purchased a four-acre tract of land once belonging to General John C. Fremont, located in the Mission District in the heart of the city. That district encompasses the original Spanish town of Yerba Buena, home to Mission Dolores originated by Father Junipero Serra. Like many a successful city investor, Woodward build a mansion for his family, but unlike most, he enclosed the spacious grounds and planted magnificent gardens.

The front gateway to Woodward’s Gardens. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

The former grocer traveled to Europe in 1861 on an extravagant buying trip that spanned a year and a half. Plants, animals, and artifacts of all types were shipped back to California by the crate loads. During that trip, he developed a taste for art and sponsored an aspiring painter, Virgil Williams, to study in Florence, Italy, and to copy the masterpieces, a common practice of the times. Woodward displayed the results and his other purchases in his home and then in the What Cheer House, soon filling a library and small museum there with attractions from around the world. Copies of famous sculptures and busts soon followed the paintings. When display space became an issue, Woodward built a gallery and conservatory on his estate grounds to display his treasures. He longed for public and private museums and galleries in San Francisco to rival those of the East Coast and he set an example for others to follow.

Robert Woodward’s Gardens just before he went public—1866. —Library of Congress

The gardens of his estate soon became Woodward’s obsession, and much of the profit from his investments went into them. He opened his estate in November of 1864 to friends and acquaintances with an appreciation for art and elegance. Word spread and requests for visits increased. People stood outside his gates on Sundays hoping to get a glimpse of the glory inside. It took little convincing to encourage him to open his gates to the public. Cooley Altrocchi relates in The Spectacular San Franciscans, “One day at the Sunday dinner table Mr. Woodward exclaimed, ‘Did you ever see such a crowd of gapers and gazers? I might as well let the public have the run of the grounds.’ To which one of his daughters responded, ‘Well, why don’t you, Father?’ The philanthropist pondered this for a moment, and then said, ‘Well, that’s a thumping good idea. I think I will.’”

By opening his estate to the public, Woodward was ending his private life in San Francisco. After moving his family to his Oak Knoll farm in the Napa Valley, he prepared Woodward’s Gardens for the masses. The Gardens encompassed four city blocks bounded by Mission, Thirteenth, Valencia, and Fifteenth streets. The main entrance stood at the intersection of Mission and Fourteenth streets. Woodward quickly realized he needed more attractions, so he set off for Europe, bringing back hundreds of crates full of the fine, the fascinating, and the odd. He befriended “thousands of skippers and sailor men from the Seven Seas” and they brought him curios from every port. “Beasts, birds, fish, fossils, antique relics, peculiar animal deformities, in great variety, confront the visitor at every turn, affording the student ample opportunity to increase his knowledge, and at the same time, interesting and instructing to a degree, the most superficial observer,” stated B. E. Lloyd in his 1876 book, Lights and Shades of San Francisco.

The Main Gate to Woodward’s Gardens. Many a kid slipped through thanks to an intentional lax policy. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

Woodward expanded his gateway, topping it with a pair of carved grizzlies and a matched set of statues of the goddess California, the namesake of the state. Kids clamored at the gate even if they didn’t have the price of admission. Woodward made it easy for them to slip inside the park. The park included shows, museums, an aquarium, an extensive zoo, and curiosities from around the world, including freaks of natures. Park attractions also included an amphitheater, a dance hall, multiple restaurants, and a theater. Woodward became the “Barnum of the West.” A patron saw it all at Woodward’s. However, while one newspaper review touted Woodward’s fine beer garden and a pitifully uninformed woman wrote back to her church headquarters (copied in a local newspaper editorial) that beer and whiskey were served more commonly than water, no alcohol was served there. Like the What Cheer House, Woodward’s Gardens catered to teetotalers.

Looking northeast from Robert Woodward’s house. —Author’s collection

REMEMBRANCE OF WOODWARD’S GARDENS

We moved, mother and family, out to Twelfth Street about the time Woodward’s Gardens became popular. This place was really a cultural center of attractions, brought together and maintained by the Woodward brothers, themselves gentlemen of refinement. Its trees, shrubs, flowers and mosses were selected and so attractively arranged as to please the most critical patrons and engage the most casual eyes. The comfort of the animals was made evident to visitors, and a small gallery of art provided for the relaxation of visitors.

It was in this gallery I first saw a replica of the Naples bronze bust of Dante. I have never forgotten its effect upon me as I stood alone there, held by its austere dignity in the half gloom where it was pedestaled—what humility I felt, yet what strange reflections it stirred.

—Michael Doyle

Though today’s residents of the city view that area of the Mission as flat and uninteresting terrain, visitors to that same area in 1866 described a rugged and untamed portion of the city. Crags, mounds, hills, caves, depressions, bogs, and streams made up the base that Woodward carved to create his park. With an eye toward nature, Woodward’s Gardens included a conservatory overflowing with exotic trees, plants, and flowers. The sweet aroma, coupled with the warm humid air, created a sense of the tropics. The conservatory had one of the finest collections of ferns in the Western Hemisphere. A small lake hosted all forms of waterbirds at one end in a placid setting of water lilies and cattails. A water park complete with boats and chutes, a skiff ride down a fast moving flume, dominated the other side of the main park. A second lake hosted seals and sea lions, providing an opportunity to observe these animals in a natural setting. Streams and torrents wound through the entire garden area. A stroll in the Deer Park provided scenes that included small tame deer from China and Japan. Walking paths dotted with benches meandered through sculptured gardens and connected the various attractions. Ostriches and goats wandered loose on the grounds. A tunnel ran under Fourteenth Street to provide access to a zoo from the Gardens.

Camels were a novelty in 1880—to ride one was worth writing home about. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

Woodward’s boasted the most complete zoo on the West Coast. A grand enclosure contained the large herbivores such as camels, zebra, buffalo, deer, llama, and kangaroos. A long row of cages held various panthers (mountain lions), jaguars, foxes, and small animals both from North America and around the world. Aviaries housed birds from diverse corners of the globe. Bear pits contained grizzlies and black bears. Families clamored for the opportunity to view creatures they would never otherwise see. Walter J. Thompson, reporter for the Chronicle wrote:

Near by was the bear pit, into which ‘Fat’ Brown toppled one day to the consternation and positive embarrassment of the bears, who did not recover their nerve until ‘Fat’ was fished out with a long pole with hook attached. Across the way was the Happy Family, where, by standing too near the bars, Sister Susy lost her hat and back hair to a simian hoodlum of the family, the members of which showed anything but agreeable manners at feeding time.

Ad for Adams animal acts at Woodward’s Gardens. —Author’s collection

The zoo area also included an outdoor pavilion where acrobats from Japan and fire-eaters from Delhi performed for the crowds. Shows of every sort entertained the patrons, including bear wrestling, chariot races, comedy performances, Gilbert and Sullivan plays, and beauty contests thinly disguised as dance reviews. Walter Morosco’s Royal Russian Circus wowed the crowds with trapeze acts, acrobatic feats, and tumbling. Heavily painted and feathered Warm Springs Indians, victorious veterans of the Modoc War of 1872, provided examples of tribal dances and music that put fear into young and faint hearts.

Staged battles like the Celebrated Sword Contest between Duncan C. Ross and Sergeant Owen Davies in Woodward’s Gardens lent an air of excitement to the day. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

The aquarium opened in 1873, with sixteen tanks that held from three hundred to a thousand gallons of salt or fresh water apiece and, for the first time ever, fish and crustaceans survived in saltwater tanks over an extended period. Sea and freshwater fauna and flora were on display, fascinating all viewers. Illumination came from above the tanks lined up on both sides of a forty-foot hall. Animals normally hidden below the waves displayed themselves to the stares of those who had never seen them in their natural state. Crabs, lobsters, and other crustaceans were of particular interest, busily foraging, while making aggressive gestures at each other as they crossed paths. Trout flashed their colors as sport fishermen dreamed of the ultimate catch. Sharks, cod, and perch cruised around the tanks while flounders and rays disguised themselves in the sand. Octopi amazed the throngs with their fluid antics and intelligent eyes. A fish-hatching machine, an early version of a hatchery, created a sensation among park-goers. The aquarium reigned as the most popular exhibit.

Woodward’s old home near the entrance became the “Museum of Miscellanies.” Gigantic mastodon tusks some ten thousand years old framed the entrance. Mineral samples, fossils, and zoological specimens made up the collection. The mineral display included crystals, volcanic stones, precious and semiprecious gems, and at one point in time, the largest gold nugget ever found. Viewing the nugget cost twenty-five cents extra. Woodward originally paid $25,000 for the nugget that several years later yielded only $23,000 in twenty-dollar gold pieces when smelted and coined. Of course, he made up the difference in the viewing fees charged. The zoological specimens included taxidermy and skins of every sort of animal and bird, as well as fossilized wood, fish, and creatures described as serpents. A rotating panorama displayed stuffed animals in their natural settings. Mischievous children liked to sneak onto one of the panoramas as it rotated away, only to be displayed on that section’s next appearance posed with a tiger or bear.

A plush gallery housed Woodward’s art collection, a quiet, restful interlude from the excitement of the museum next door. San Francisco’s newfound appreciation for art made this a popular stopover. Culture follows money and the city’s newfound wealth demanded worldwide status as a center of art and genteel living.

Still, curiosity dominated culture and Woodward searched long and hard for curiosities. He presented Chang from China, an eight-foot-tall giant who paraded the grounds dressed as a mandarin. Patrons lined up beside Chang to compare their height. Woodward hired Admiral Dot, a twenty-five-inch midget said to be smaller than Tom Thumb, who claimed P. T. Barnum had offered him a salary of $12,000 a year to join his circus.

On January 19, 1873, twelve thousand people attended Woodward’s Gardens to witness the ascension of Gus Buislay and a small boy in a balloon. Hot air balloons drew large crowds after their successful use in the Civil War. In the corner by the carbarn stood a windmill that Buislay often bumped as he soared aloft, hanging on to his big hot-air balloon. Buislay’s brother Joseph died in a trapeze accident in the city the next year. The Buislays were a noted French family of gymnasts and trapeze artists who toured the U.S. and Mexico. Buislay descendants remain in Mexico.

Gus Buislay’s balloon often bumped the windmill when ascending. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public History

General Ulysses S. Grant visited Woodward’s Gardens in September of 1879. The former president’s tour of the world neared completion and San Franciscans eagerly awaited his arrival from Japan. The wearing of top hats or “tiles” presented too dear an opportunity when he and others gathered for a speech in front of the bear enclosure. San Francisco’s rambunctious boys pelted them with large (and rather hard) bouquets of flowers tossed by practiced arms and soon all hats including Grant’s were in the bear pit. Not to be outdone, a “pretty buxom girl suddenly broke from the ranks, and, throwing her arms about his neck, made him the victim of an unconditional surrender to an osculatory caress, the smack of which could be heard over in the camel paddock.” All was quickly forgiven and the General shook the young hands of all those in a long receiving line and signed hundreds of autographs.

The trained bears did their share of tricks but were still wild enough to entertain the crowds. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

The death of Robert Woodward in late 1879 sounded the death knell for Woodward’s Gardens. Wood-ward’s sons took over its management but the Gardens slowly declined, lacking Woodward’s enthusiasm and showmanship, and finally closed in 1894. Auctions liquidated all the artifacts and animals with much of the statuary, taxidermy, and oddities going to Adolph Sutro’s Baths and Museum. Developers graded the land flat and sold it in tracts to provide homes for the working class of San Francisco. It punctuated the end of the century and signaled the end of an era for San Francisco.

Rear view of Robert B. Woodward’s Gardens. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

All that remains as a reminder that Woodward’s Gardens existed is a recently opened bistro on the corner of Mission and Thirteenth streets called Woodward’s Gardens and a small brass commemoration plaque mounted on side of the old state armory at the corner of Mission and Fourteenth streets facing the site where Woodward’s towering gates once stood.

THE CHUTES ON HAIGHT STREET

Captain Paul Boyton created his Shoot-the-Chutes water ride for the 1893 World’s Columbia Exposition (World’s Fair). Proving a major success in Chicago, Boyton decided to capitalize on it but didn’t want to build or manage rides all over the country. Instead, he sold nonexclusive rights to the name and the ride’s design.

Charles Ackerman, a San Francisco railway lawyer, purchased the rights to build the ride in a park on Haight Street between Cole and Clayton streets near the panhandle of Golden Gate Park. The Chutes opened in San Francisco on November 2, 1895 with a single food concession stand and the namesake Shoot-the-Chutes ride. Flat-bottomed boats charged uncontrollably down a 350-foot water flume that rose seventy feet above the water. They hit the pond at speeds up to sixty miles per hour and shot to the end where they were collected back at the platform. Loading up with new passengers, they again began the ride up the inclined track to the platform at top of the ride. There was the occasional mishap when a gondola flipped and deposited the riders in the pond—but then, that was all a part of the fun.

Entry cost a dime for adults; a nickel for kids. The park, located on the city’s transit line near Golden Gate Park, “just a short walk from the Children’s Playground,” offered easy access as well as a replacement for the Midway of the 1894 California Midwinter Exposition at the park. The Chutes began adding more rides and attractions by the following summer. Tintypes pictorializing a visit using a Chutes backdrop & gondola were offered by Jones & Kennett who also worked two locations near Ocean Beach.

The Camera Obscura stood at the top of the ride, housed in a Japanese-style structure. The device used a giant convex lens focused on a mirror to provide a telescopic panoramic view of the area around the Chutes reflected in the mirror. Just as the boat passengers reached the top, they entered the dark building and were mesmerized by the view reflected on the mirror. With their attention fixed on the mirror, they plunged without notice to the pond below. The Camera Obscura at the Cliff House is a good example of this ancient technology that dates back to 5^th century China.

Chutes on Haight Street looking east, ca. 1895. —Courtesy of The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley

The Scenic Railway, evidently drawing a separate charge from the Shoot-the-Chutes ride, offered a comparably adventuresome attraction. A roller coaster in all but name, it made dips and climbs that surpassed anything in the East, per the park’s brochure. The ride circled the perimeter of the grounds, nearly a mile in length. It included an upper and lower track, with only one train allowed on that track at any one time, and a system of lights, signals, and brakes prevented any chance of collision when traversing between the two tracks. Six riders per car made the journey, terminating in an 800-foot tunnel, featuring an electrically lighted scenic diorama of foreign lands on its walls. The brochure stressed the safety of the ride and that set the theme for the park.

Many amusement parks and midways were thinly disguised operations intended to titillate and fleece the public. Not so at the Chutes—it focused on clean family fun to the point of segregating any alcohol served, so women and children could take refreshment without being exposed to drinking. Adjoining the Refreshment Pavilion, the Chutes Café offered ice cream sodas and other refreshments, with no liquor served. The Chutes and its owners maintained a positive moral image during their entire history in the city.

The park also added a miniature railway with a track gauge of only nine inches. Built for the park at half the scale of eastern parks, the six-foot locomotive and tender pulled ten cars, each seating two people. The locomotive was named “Little Hercules,” due to its pulling strength.

Chutes also included an English-built merry-go-round, “The Galloping Horses” and a classic American merry-go-round completed the additions for that summer. A building called “The Bewildering London Door Maze” challenged visitors to find their way from entrance to exit, no easy task. If one became hopelessly lost, there were attendants available to guide the lost one out. The shooting gallery offered the opportunity to display one’s skills with a .22 rifle. Reports from the rifle shots sounded throughout the park and beyond.

The Chutes Zoo opened in 1896 and included animals from all climes, claiming more than its fair share of carnivores. The zoo’s top-liner, Wallace the Lion, drew the crowds. Wallace was touted as the largest, fiercest lion in America. Other zoos offered as high as $5,000 to purchase him. Part of his attraction came from the fact that he had proved untamable, though many a lion-tamer had tried. Other animals available for viewing included a South American jaguar, the Black Bear Brigade, a pair of Indian leopards, kangaroos, wallabies, a brigade of cinnamon bears, and a small pride of lions. The hyena proved a major disappointment; the melancholy beast never laughed. The Congo family, three orangutans, Joe, Sally, and Baby Johanna Congo, joined the fray late, around 1900. The trio aped a human family when seated at the table, with Joe smoking his pipe and Sally sipping tea while Baby Johanna tossed the dishes or played with her doll.

The Darwinian Temple housed a great array of monkeys including Capuchin, Rhesus, Saponins, Spider, Pigtail, and Dog-face, many available to touch and feed by hand. Glass cases encircling the interior of the structure contained reptiles from around the world.

The Chutes Museum displayed a sad lot. It included all of the zoo animals that died in captivity—stuffed! Rajah, the Bengal tiger, largest of his species, constituted one of the feature attractions of the museum. The brochure, Chutes and Its Myriad Attractions, 1901, stated:

“Here may be seen the three-thousand dollar, long-tailed and longmaned horse, “Beauty.” This animal, in life, was one of the chief attractions of the zoo; in death, he is a permanent object of interest, not alone to those who knew him in the zoo, but to those who now see him for the first time. A more beautiful animal never lived.… Also the immense alligator “Jess,” over fourteen feet in length, can here be seen, along with numerous other animals of all descriptions that, for too short a period, constituted a part of the live animal collection in the chutes zoo.”

The Chutes Theatre opened on June 27, 1897, and claimed to be the largest vaudeville house west of Chicago. Operated year-round, day and night, the auditorium measured 100 feet wide by 130 feet long with seating for 2,000 on the lower floor and another 1,000 in the gallery. The theatre sponsored amateur nights, local performers and vaudeville acts, animal acts, and acrobatic performances, as well as audience-participation events like Cake Walk Night, where those skilled in the art of dancing the cake walk competed for prizes (See ‘Scuse me while I Cakewalk at http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ug03/lucas/cake.html). By 1899, the Chutes began booking name acts like Little Egypt with her “Hoochy Kootchy” act. They also demonstrated Edison’s chromatograph. Both shows drew large crowds.

Its rides, theatre, attractions, and restaurant kept the park lively until midnight. Outdoor electric illumination, as well as an illuminated electric fountain, lit up the park at night. An electric tower, similar to the one built for the Midwinter Fair, marked the park’s location for those in the surrounding areas. The beacon could be seen for miles.

THE CHUTES AT TENTH AND FULTON

By the turn of the century, the park had outgrown its limited space. The value of the land had appreciated markedly, and was now worth more than the proceeds from the park. San Francisco housing was marching westward and land speculators wanted the property to build the homes clamored for by a growing upper-middle class. Owners Charles Ackerman closed the park on March 16, 1902, tore it down, and rebuilt the amusement mall on leased property located on Fulton Street between Tenth and Eleventh avenues, opening again on May 1, 1902. The new park took advantage of the open spaces in the sand dunes of the Richmond district, expanding its offerings. All of the attractions from the old park found their way to the new site except for the zoo. The restaurant and café still operated in the same manner, with adult beverages kept segregated from the ladies and kids. The park also sported a “sign of the times”—a free “commodious automobile and buggy shed, with an entrance on Tenth Avenue.”

Shoot-the-Chutes again took top billing with riders encouraged to look for the Farallon Islands beyond the Golden Gate and even Honolulu, Japan and China from the top of the ride. The new Scenic Railway on its elevated track passed painted tableau-style pictures of remote places including the Alps, Venice, the Blue Grotto of Capri, the Rock Caves of Ellora, India, Egypt, Dixieland and California.

The Chutes on Fulton boasted the first movie house in the city. Named Gillo’s Artesto, it offered silent film shorts like Jim Corbett training for an upcoming bout. The audience would watch anything.

Moving pictures—the concept boggled the mind. Then, so did the Mystic Mirror Maze, a house of mirrors guaranteed to put at least one bump on your forehead. If that wasn’t enough, Cabaret De Le Mort displayed historic instruments of torture and death.

The Circle Swing created another opportunity for thrills. Basket cars, suspended by cables from a large tower wheel, were spun out by centrifugal force as the wheel turned. The faster the spin, the higher and faster the baskets spun around the tower.

The rowdy new Chutes Pavilion Theater still claimed to be the biggest west of Chicago. Situated on purchased property on the east side of Tenth Avenue, it occupied the south-east corner of Tenth and C (later named Cabrillo) Streets. A great barn-like structure one hundred feet wide by 155 feet long, the theatre seated 2,200 on the main floor and 1,800 in the gallery. Access was via a tunnel under Tenth Avenue or by a bridge over it to the block where it stood on the east side of the grounds. Hosting some of the best shows in the business, the theater ran an ongoing series of acts, performers, and plays. “Shooting the Chutes,” a musical comedy featuring the comedian team of Harkwood and Leonzo, played in late September 1905. Al Jolson played the Chutes Theatre in 1907 in celebration of the city’s reconstruction.

Entrance to the Chutes at Fulton and Tenth streets. —Courtesy of The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley

The park remained open daily until April 18, 1906. That morning the ground shook and pieces of the park shook themselves apart. San Francisco’s Great Earthquake managed to shut the doors at the Chutes for a few weeks, but it bounced back quickly. The city needed time to lick its wounds and the park offered a respite from the rebuilding of the city. The Orpheum’s Theatre group leased the Chutes’ theatre, bringing large, entertainment-starved crowds out to Tenth Avenue. Their first production opened on May 20, 1906, just a bit more than a month after the cataclysmic event with vaudeville acts and a short movie reel. The Orpheum rebuilt in the Fillmore Theatre district eight months later but their tenure at the Chutes proved lucrative for the Ackerman family.

Shooting the Chutes at the Fulton Street park. — Author’s collection

The Chutes announced the construction of a roller skating rink on October 21, 1906, to be open before the Christmas holidays. Located on the northeast corner of Fulton and Tenth, it boasted a double floor, intended to soften the noise of the rollers on hardwood. Delayed by heavy rains, by the time it opened on February 9, 1907, the crowds were migrating to the new entertainment district on Fillmore Street. Coney Island Park opened on Fillmore on November 23, 1907, offering direct competition.

Charles Ackerman died the next month, leaving Chutes management to his son Irving, a young Yale-trained lawyer. Irving bought out the Fulton lease and sold it all off. He then purchased the Coney Island Park lease and building, constructing his New Chutes on the block bounded by Fillmore, Turk, Webster and Eddy streets.

The Circle Swing Flying Machine at the Chutes. —Courtesy of The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley

THE FILLMORE STREET CHUTES

The Fillmore Chutes opened on July 14, 1909, lacking both a theatre and a zoo. The Coney Island building had shops on the ground floor and apartments on the second and third floors. The opening in the center of this facade led to the lot behind it. Ackerman knew how to run an amusement park and rebuilt the Chutes, bringing the miniature railroad and the Scenic Railway roller coaster from Fulton and adding a carousel. The new Hades ride offered a chance to descend into a dark house of horrors and the Devil’s Slide pitched the riders from the heights to the depths of Hell; actually, just the bottom of the ride. He also presented a Flea Circus in the Bug House. In early December, 1909 a zoo, purchased from Victoria, BC made its debut.

View of the Chutes on Fulton from Golden Gate Park. —John Freeman Collection

Abe Lipman offered while-you-wait postcard photos with a number of backdrops—perhaps sitting behind the wheel of a horseless carriage with multiple backdrops available. Lipman had joined the Chutes in May 1908 when on Fulton. The Photographic Gallery shared its space with the Penny Arcade, where a guest could have a fortune told, hear music on any number of player instruments or view moving-picture exhibitions, all for a penny each.

Chutes on Fulton—new rides included the Devil’s Slide and Hades. —Author’s collection

A new steel and concrete theater was constructed, opening on New Years Eve 1909. In August, 1910, Irving took a chance on a performer from New York who had been black-balled by Flo Ziegfeld. Sophie Tucker was unknown outside of New York, but when she did her one week run at the Chutes Theatre during August 7-13, 1910, she brought down the house. In her ghost-written, sometimes less than accurate, autobiography, Some of These Days, she tells of hanging around town, visiting the Barbary Coast joints, where the hot jazz and new dance steps were the craze. Ackerman gave her another week in September and she packed the house every night. Sophie’s confidence was re-ignited and she returned to the East Coast, full of new vitality and new rhythms and dance steps she’d learned in the clubs on Pacific Avenue.

Closed for the winter of 1910-1911, the Chutes on Fillmore again underwent a remodeling, reopening on Memorial Day weekend, 1911. The May 26 San Francisco Chronicle, stated:

“The grounds of the Chutes, which has been closed for some months, were thrown open for the summer season yesterday. The water chutes has been taken down altogether, but the tower, from which the boats used to glide, still stands and is utilized as a point of observation. The lake has been filled up and that part of the park which it formerly occupied has been transformed into a beautiful lawn and garden.”

At the end of that weekend just after closing at one in the morning on May 29, 1911, a fire started in a faulty water heater in the barber shop and quickly spread. The fire jumped to the roof, spreading to other structures. It destroyed the entire park with the exception of the newly built concrete vaudeville theater. The Fillmore Chutes was gone. San Francisco would not see another permanent amusement park until the unrelated Chutes at the Beach officially opened on October 31, 1921.

The Fillmore site, opened in 1909, lacked the space of the Fulton site but drew large crowds due to its location. —John Freeman collection

PLAYLAND AT THE BEACH

Playland at the Beach—San Francisco’s last amusement park—entranced three generations. Mention it to a San Franciscan over 50 and you’ll get a glazed-over look and a story. “The slides in the fun house—my stomach always dropped over the second hump.” “The Missus and I used to dance at Topsy’s on Saturday Nights. Half a chicken for four bits and that slide to the dance floor.” “Didja hear about the sailor who stood up on the Big Dipper? His head was cut off by a brace and it fell into a lady’s lap in a car below.” It was the source of dreams, tales, and urban legends though the 1945 story of the sailor, Edward Tobiaski of Chicago, whose head was crushed by a beam, proved to be correct.

Chutes at the Beach was later renamed Playland at the Beach. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

Playland didn’t begin as a planned amusement park. Seal Rocks and the far-off Farallon Islands attracted visitors, as did the Seal Rock House hotel and the Cliff House. Ocean Beach was “The Beach,” just as San Francisco is “The City.” A few independent concessions sprung up at the end of the trolley line at Ocean Beach. Arthur Looff, whose roots were in Coney Island, New York, ran the now famous merry-go-round, the Hippodrome. John Freidle operated a shooting gallery and a baseball knock down game called Babyland. Knock down a baby, win a prize. The two formed a partnership. Freidle had the money and Looff, whose father built the Hippodrome, the expertise. A dance hall and theater were quick to spring up.

There were ten rides by late 1921, including the Shoot-the-Chutes water ride. That main attraction inspired “The Chutes at the Beach” as the name for the park. In 1922, the famous Big Dipper was born, with its cars traveling its 3,000 feet of track in one minute, seven seconds. The drops were phenomenal, including the long drop, claimed to be eighty feet. That roller coaster ran until 1955, when new safety regulations forced its replacement by a tamer German-built wooden coaster, the Alpine Racer, a Wild Mouse type of ride. The Chutes at the Beach continued to grow.

The Whitney brothers, George and Leo, took over the park in 1929 and renamed the park Playland at the Beach. George had been an early concessionaire and in 1926 became the manager of the park. Ownership of most of Playland was still held by the various concessions, including the Friedle brothers.

Playland’s Shooting Galley. It hadda be rigged! The real question was, “Who would win, the skunk or the bobcat?” —Author’s collection

Playland at the Beach grew to nearly one hundred concessions. It soon featured such attractions as the Midway, the Bug House (Fun House), restaurants, and eateries of every type. The Sideshow sported the usual exhibitionists and short acts. It has been claimed that the sideshow was the first to present Major Mite, Clarence Chesterfield Harden, who went on to be a headliner for the Barnum and Bailey Circus. “The Eden of Wonder Museum” was an attraction similar to a modern-day wax museum. The hand-carved figures were not made of wax but a special resin mix. George Whitney took special pride in the scene of “The Last Supper.”

The Roller Coaster at Chutes at the Beach, later renamed Playland. —Author’s collection

The Whitney Brothers’ version of Topsy’s Roost opened on June 29, 1929 in the Ocean Beach Pavilion Building, and was another of the adult attractions at Playland. A fried chicken house and dance hall, it served fun as the main entree. In spite of Prohibition, Topsy’s was the place to be, accommodating up to one thousand guests at a time. The building housed a large dance floor and tiers of lofts, called roosts. Fried chicken, hot biscuits and waffle fried potatoes served in the roosts were eaten by hand, without utensils. Dancers rode slides from the roosts to the dance floor. Music by Red Lockwood and his Musical Roosters, and later by Ellis Kimball kept the house swinging. A menu from the late-’40s (see following page) illustrates the flavor of an evening at Topsy’s Roost.

Charles Coryell on the Fun House Turntable with a group of children from his neighborhood at Playland at the Beach. If you sat dead-center, you could stay on until someone nudged you off. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

The year 1929 brought the Great Depression and Playland took it hard. The Whitney brothers began buying up the concessions as they folded. By 1942, the Whitney brothers owned it all, over a million square feet of amusement park. The park survived the Depression under the Whitney brothers’ guidance and flourished during World War II and the Post War Era. San Francisco was both an Army and Navy town and became a tourist stop for a country looking for fun after a hard couple of decades. The Beach was on everyone’s agenda and Topsy’s swung at night.

Playland at the Beach with owner George Whitney showing a life-sized reproduction of Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Lord’s Last Supper” to Harold A. Meyer. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

Menu back for Topsy’s Roost restaurant at Playland at the Beach. Folks sat in roosting boxes and used the slides to get to the dance floor. —Author’s collection

During the 1950s, Playland assaulted the senses. Activity and lights were everywhere. It sparkled with scenic vistas of every sort: rides flashing by, colorfully lighted exhibits, couples walking arm-in-arm, and flocks of girls and guys stealing glances. Machine vibrations rumbled up through your soles and the rides put your guts in your throat. The smells, oh the smells of fried chicken, cotton candy, fudge, grilled onions, popcorn, taffy, steamed dogs, tamales, and caramel overwhelmed any sense of propriety in diet. The aromas preceded the snap of the skin of a succulent sausage with mustard and onions or the spicy bite of a Bull Pupp enchilada. Later, you consumed an It’s-It ice-cream sandwich from The “It” Stand; two big oatmeal cookies surrounding a scoop of vanilla ice cream, all dipped in chocolate.

Playland had its own sounds, sounds still heard in the memories of those who loved it. Laffing Sal’s incessant belly laugh overrode the roar of the wooden coaster and its attendant screams. Bells rang and the steam calliope of the merry-go-round competed with the slamming of the bumper cars. Barkers cajoled and the shooting gallery put out staccatos of .22-calibre pops. Beyond that, laughter carried the main beat. People were having fun.

The sixties were not kind to Playland. Better parks emerged in the Southland and people traveled farther for entertainment. A seedy element crept into the park—gangs and predators. Families drifted away from it. Yet, it still held such charm. Dennis Haughey worked at Playland during those years. In a personal correspondence, he wrote the following about his years at Playland at the Beach:

Playland was an excellent place to work for extra money from a second job, or in my case, a source of primary income while attending college. My first day of work was a warm day in the summer of 1966. I started on the Alpine Racer. It was also the day that Sutro Baths burned down. Over the next three years, I moved from there to the Tilt-A-Whirl and then on to the rest of the amusements. Eventually I could operate all the rides and finally, become a “break man,” a position coveted because the variety of tasks helped prevent the boredom of the many slow, foggy hours when there were few customers. It was an ideal job with minimal demands, a constantly changing cast of characters, and great location. While growing up, I had spent many happy hours there, filled with fond memories. It was great to be a part of making new special moments for others. I had seen the Midway in much better days, and it was sad to see the inevitable slide toward doom, much like the Big Slide in the Fun House, powerless to stop, yet realizing that I should enjoy the ride. So that is what I did. Things were in a progressive state of deterioration. The crowds dwindled, except on those rare warm, sunny days, when people sought relief from the inland heat at Ocean Beach. Such conditions existed on a pair of Sundays in 1967 and 1968, and exploded into rioting. I knew that the end was very near when some of the rides and concessions were brought in by West Coast Shows and their cast of “Carneys.” I left in the summer of 1969, returning for the auction in 1971, where an attempt to sell the Merry-Go-Round, piece by piece, was narrowly avoided. It has returned in whole again to Yerba Buena Center, but the fabulous organ tended by an old man named Dave is no more. He would sit there all day Saturday and Sunday, listening for anything amiss because it was like a child to him. That organ and the strains of Laffing Sal combined for an unforgettable cacophony of sound, the signature melody of Playland.

Laffing Sal spent her whole career laughing at the guest passing by Playland’s Fun House. It was impossible to pass by her without a grin or a snicker. Sal moved to the Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk, starting a new career while still holding court at the Musee Mechanique on Pier 45 in San Francisco and at Playland-Not-at-the-Beach in El Cerrito. Multiple Laffing Sals ensured continued laughs at the Fun House. —David Johnson Collection of San Francisco Photography

A picture of better days. The Merry-Go-Round closed September 4 1972, after fifty-eight years of operations. The animals were hand carved by Charles I. D. Loof sixty-five years ago. —David Johnson Collection of San Francisco Photography

Each ride had something about it that made it unique and certain operational techniques could bring out the best of them. One could make certain cars spin faster for those we wished to give a special ride to, or slower for those who presented a less than friendly attitude, particularly on rides like the Tilt-A-Whirl, Octopus, and Heyday. Sometimes, we would put an extra thrill into a dark ride like Limbo with a tap on the shoulder of a rider in the darkness. The Fun House used six people on a busy day, but there was only one good station. That was operating the air jet, in a seat above the Joy Wheel. From this perch, one could run the Barrel, the Joy Wheel, and use the many levers that would release a blast of air. We remained on the alert for a man wearing a hat or better yet, a woman wearing a skirt. After negotiating the maze of mirrors and revolving obstacles, customers would relax once they made it into the main floor. That is where the first set of jets were. There were others spread around the building. The worst station was at the bottom of the slide, checking to make sure that no one went up with shoes on. The odor could be unbearable on a warm day. Then, there were all those wide-eyed kids on the Merry-Go-Round, clutching the reins while the lights whirled around. They would often get that longer ride when customers were few.

The “Limbo” monster ride at Playland. September 4, 1972. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

When working the Dodger bumper cars, we would use the special “mechanic’s car” that went twice as fast as all the others. That one was used to patrol the floor. After a day of that I would have to control the urge to “hit” another car on the Great Highway while on my way home in my little Fiat, which was not much bigger than a bumper car.

Playland still exists in that best of places, the memory. I took with me a special memento of my days on the midway. I met my wife Mari there. Thirty-plus years later, we are still together on that wild ride called life. What a thrill ride!

—Dennis Haughey, June 2000

Dennis’ recollections echo the sentiments of many a San Franciscan. Playland’s time was over. George Whitney died in 1958, and the Whitney family sold their interest in the park in 1964. In 1971, the new owners sold Playland to developer Jeremy Ets-Hokin for $66,000,000 . Playland at the Beach operated for the last time on September 4, 1972. Ets-Hokin tore it down shortly afterward and it was replaced 17 years later with high-priced condominiums and apartments with million-dollar beachfront views.

The Fun House at Playland at the Beach. Laffing Sal is in the lower window. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library

Playland at the Beach: The Early Years by James R. Smith (Craven Street Books, 2010)

San Francisco’s Playland at the Beach: The Early Years by James R. Smith (Craven Street Books, Fresno, 2010) offers an in-depth look at the first 25-plus years of Playland at the Beach, soon to be followed by San Francisco’s Playland at the Beach: The Golden Years chronicling the park until 1972. Both books are lavishly illustrated with photographs never before published.

HERB CAEN’S VIEW ON PLAYLAND

The late Herb Caen, San Francisco’s most beloved columnist, said it best on that last day.

Old Playland. I suppose only those who knew it in the glory days will really miss it and part of the glory disappeared when the scary, rickety roller coaster, the Big Dipper, was torn down in the late 1950s, for what is an amusement park without a roller coaster? After a show or on a weekend, we’d ride the Dipper in clouds of shrieks, losing our breath on the first dizzying descent and never finding it again till the end, when it was “Let’s go again!” There was the slide that took you into Topsy’s Roost to dance to Ellis Kimball, the milk bottles that wouldn’t fall even when you hit them, Skee Ball (delightful game) and the prizes you gave your girl just in return for her admiring gaze.

Goodbye to all that, to part of our youth, and like that youth, we expected Playland to last forever. It is an odd, sad feeling to have outlived it.

—San Francisco Chronicle, September 4, 1972.