The Church of Shiny Objects: Old Chicago Memories

It seems most every generation has an amusement park from their childhood that is no longer in existence today.

For my father, that park was Riverview in Chicago, which lasted an incredible 63 years before finally closing in 1967. But for me—and countless other suburban Chicago kids who grew up in the 1970s—it was Old Chicago, a park based in Bolingbrook, roughly 30 minutes (by car) from my home in Lisle.

An unusual mix of retail shops and traditional amusement rides, OC was a huge, square-shaped structure right off I-55, with the park in the middle and surrounded by a shopping mall with fashions, books, mini-golf, toys, pretty much everything basic malls offer today.

Not a bad idea, marketing-wise.

However, OC was sadly not destined to last, suddenly folding in 1980 due to high debts, and a management company that didn’t see the point in going forward. This is not to say that OC was unpopular; anything but. Every time I went to the park (usually for a birthday) it was bustling with kids and parents racing to keep up with them. Plus, OC had the benefit of being fully indoors, which made it a natural kid haven from Chicago winters.

Yet I can only guess the park’s management could not pull in enough revenue and chain stores to keep everything rolling.

Today the only physical evidence that OC ever existed is a street sign, which still lists the frontage road that lead into the park. Today the same area once occupied by OC—to the best of my knowledge—is used for retail car storage beside a truck stop where hookers help the long miles melt away (at $20 a pop) for so many lonesome haulers.

The rest of what OC was now only exists as scattered souvenirs, and the memories of kids who played there, speaking of which, here’s one of mine:

Remember that scene from “A Christmas Story” wherein Ralphie soberly learns the secret radio message relayed from Little Orphan Annie (and decipherable only by those with decoder pins) is just a “crummy commercial”?

Well, I learned a similar boyhood lesson on truth-in-advertising at OC, when in the late 70s, the park began a TV campaign billing a mysterious new ride dubbed The Monster of The Midway.

The reason why “The Monster” was so mysterious is that the ride was hidden in a huge, circular enclosure, and none of us chilluns knew what was inside. However, those brave enough to check it out were promised a free t-shirt which (I believe) read “I Survived The Monster of The Midway.”

That was enough for me.

As anyone who knows me can attest to, I’ll do just about anything for a free tee. I am that much of a consumer whore.

Well, long story short, after I talked my dad into going on the Monster with me one weekend, I finally peeked into the ride’s enclosure to discover it was, in fact, a Scrambler. Yes, the same basic ride native to countless state fairs and traveling carnivals: a goddamn, run-of-the-mill Scrambler, albeit here with flashing lights, sound effects, and smoke machines added for dramatic effect.