28 |^5280 |^ MAY 2018
iStock (postcard); Karl Gehring/theDenver Postvia Getty Images (roller coaster); DenverPublic Library (historic Lakeside photograph); Photo illustration by Sean ParsonsESSAY
O
n Sheridan Boulevard, about a mile from the high-end boutiques and artisan
cofee roasters of Tennyson Street, sits a landmark that does not belong in the
trendy Berkeley neighborhood. Lakeside Amusement Park, which opens this
month for its 110th season, is still surrounded by its original white wooden
fence, chipped though it might be. A faded banner bearing the phrase “It’s
always fun time!” slumps over a massive hole in the pickets. he peeling walls
around the park’s defunct racetrack barely contain waist-high weeds and what’s rumored
to be a colony of feral cats. Every year, a few more bulbs go out on the once-dazzling
Tower of Jewels, the iconic 150-foot-tall yellow building that stands watch over Den-
ver’s western edges.
Although Lakeside continues to deteriorate, this ramshackle park was indeed the
jewel of northwest Denver years ago. When the 57-acre complex opened in 1908, it was a
pristine playground for Denver’s well-to-do—replete with a skating rink, a velvet coaster
(for gentler thrills), and a terrace full of dining tables with a panorama of shimmering
Lake Rhoda. hat Lakeside is long gone, as is the more working-class-friendly version
my 90-year-old grandmother remembers from the 1930s and ’40s. By the time I began
experiencing the sugar- and adrenaline-fueled high of Lakeside in the ’90s, it was already
well into its decline. here was no fun house, no rollicking speedway races, no trace of the
elegant El Patio Ballroom where my grandma’s aunt once brought her to have Coca-Colas
with musicians Perry Como and Ted Weems.
But it was that humbleness bordering on seediness that was the appeal of Lakeside
for me. Short lines allowed us to ride the rickety wooden Cyclone coaster scores of times
each visit; the bring-your-own-food policy meant home-cooked picnics; and, best of all,
my parents often let my two siblings and me roam the compact grounds unsupervised.
Climbing back into the family’s eggplant-colored minivan at the end of the day, we’d
compare bruises, lowering on our hipbones from the spinning Loop-O-Plane, and try
to keep down the soft-serve ice cream and cheap popcorn that had spoiled our dinners.
It was a child’s paradise.A long For The R ide
Lakeside Amusement Park doesn’t live up to its glory
days—but its (diminished) existence is still comforting.
Decades later, I’m
somehow soothed by
the fact that Lakeside
still exists—even as it
crumbles further each
year. My job as an edi-
tor dictates that I cover
shiny new restaurants
in shiny new neighbor-
hoods with recently
invented names. Along
the way, I sometimes
ind myself missing
the old Denver—the
city that didn’t have
traic jams on Sunday
afternoons. he city
my family called home
more than a century
before it landed on the
New York Times’ 2018
list of top travel destina-
tions. he city that not
too long ago counted
Lakeside as just one of
its many quirky attrac-
tions, instead of one of
the few remaining relics
of a simpler time.
My grandmother can
no longer ride the Cy-
clone, and at 28, even
my joints can hardly
handle its twists and
jerks. Yet we still make
an annual summer
pilgrimage to the park.
Instead of the vertigo-
inducing Tilt-A-Whirl
and rollicking roller
coasters, we’ll take a
calmer turn on the min-
iature railway, one of
the few rides Grandma
can still board. As
the train circles Lake
Rhoda, I know my
grandmother will la-
ment the decrepit state
of the Tower of Jewels.
I’m more sanguine: At
least we’ll still be able to
watch the sun set over
the Rockies, our views
unobstructed by the
cranes that dot the rest
of this changing city.
—CALLIE SUMLINIT WAS THAT
HUMBLENESS
BORDERING
ON SEEDINESS
THAT WAS
THE APPEAL
OF LAKESIDE
FOR ME.