I Remember Saltair

A hand-colored postcard of Saltair, circa 1900

I remember as a young boy growing up in Salt Lake City taking the train out to Saltair for a day of fun in the sun. The scene was surreal. The main attraction was a carnival-like boardwalk with carneys, booths and rides very much like a state fair.  Looming ominously over everything was a giant, wooden rollercoaster.  Swaying in the wind, extending out over the lake, this notorious deathtrap of metal and wood was definitely old school. In fact, it was eventually judged to be a threat to public safety and closed down.

As kids, we were entertained with delicious stories about how, from time to time, passenger cars actually flew off this high-speed ride, crashing into the lake and of course decapitating many innocent patrons.  Saltair did offer a legitimate beach, complete with sunbathers lounging beneath beach umbrellas or bobbing serenely in the lukewarm, still, gray waters. The saline level is so high in this lake that it is actually impossible for a swimmer to sink. But we didn’t go there to swim or even for the death-defying roller coaster. The real fun was in exploring the deserted, decaying pavilion. With its exotic, onion shaped towers and ornately carved windows this dark, mysterious structure looked like something out of Doctor Zhivago. The interior space was dim and huge, the only illumination coming from shafts of natural light that poured in from high ceiling windows that rimmed the towering domed ceilings. Flooding lake water had caused the dance floor to buckle so that slabs of concrete protruded up in haphazard angles like a frozen river of jagged ice beginning to fracture and float away.

--Roger

A view of Antelope Island from Saltair

Roger took me on a little road trip today to see the famous Saltair resort.  The building is now used as a concert hall and the amusement park is long gone.

Saltair was originally owned jointly by the Mormon Church and the railroad, both of whom could see the advantage to keeping Salt Lake City weekenders and their money close to home and to attracting god-fearing vacationers from miles around.  The resort offered swimming, concert performances, the world’s largest dance floor and a chance for closely supervised mingling with friends.  Like the Disneyland of its day, Saltair was considered to be wholesome “family” entertainment, supervised by the church, while other lakeshore resorts were reported to be "spiritually bleak."  (That probably means you could buy a cup of coffee or a glass of wine at the other places.)

Saltair, as it looks today

The Saltair pavilion has burned and been rebuilt about once every decade and, with each incarnation, its grandiosity is somewhat reduced.  The lake itself has always been a problem, with receding and flooding water either leaving the resort high and dry and smelling like the stinky salt flats or flooding the building.

Throughout Saltair’s history, new investors have come along every few years thinking they might be able to make the resort viable where others had failed.  The building you see in the bottom photo was constructed in 1981 out of a salvaged aircraft hangar and located a mile west of the original.  Startling as Saltair is when you drive up to it, appearing to rise up out of nowhere, it is just a ghost of its former self.

Salt Lake City.  Interesting, and strange.

--Candi

P.S.  When cross-examined about his childhood experiences, Roger had to admit he never actually knew anyone that was beheaded or thrown into the lake from the roller coaster.