Lakeside Amusement Park

— by Murph

Growing up in the 1960s, I always thought the Haneys must be rich because Mary Ann Haney had a playhouse in her backyard that matched her house and one year the Haneys took Mary Ann, myself and one other friend to both Elitch’s and Lakeside for her birthday. Elitch’s has moved off of 38th and Tennyson, but Lakeside is still up at 46th and Sheridan and looks pretty much the way it looked back then. There were lots of rides, but the one thing I absolutely loved was the Fun House.

Outside the Fun House, there was a cackling woman and when you entered the Fun House, whiskey barrels bumped up against you, knocking you left and right, and just as you got past them, there was a roller floor to throw you off balance. It took some concentration to get through the entrance; you could fall down! Inside the funhouse were huge slides that you’d climb up to the top of and slide down, but the coolest ride was the spinning wooden disk. It must have had a thousand coats of wax or varnish on it.

It was a huge wooden disk on the floor and it changed speeds, so sooner or later it threw you off. There was nothing to hold onto when you rode on the disk, and when it threw you off you would slide across the floor around it. Even when I was eight, I thought this seemed kind of dangerous, which made it even cooler. I tried to master the disk all that day and every year I got to go to the Fun House, but never prevailed. Eventually they closed the Fun House because of liability concerns.

The Disk in the Lakeside Fun House

The Disk in the Lakeside Fun House, circa 1940. Photo by Harry Rhoads, courtesy DPL Western History and Genealogy Department.

Inside the Fun House at Lakeside

Inside the Fun House at Lakeside. Photo courtesy DPL Western History and Genealogy Department.

In 1948, modernist architect Richard Crowther moved to Denver. Crowther gained international fame for his cutting-edge passive solar energy designs. His own home on Madison Street included a solar heated swimming pool, and the warmth from the pool also heated his home. Crowther also built several energy efficient homes in Denver.

As soon as Crowther came to Denver, Lakeside contacted him to jazz up the park in the Art Deco style and he built new ticket booths and renovated the Lakeside Ballroom. Another great Crowther addition to the Denver landscape was the Cooper Theater on Colorado Boulevard. The Denver Cooper was one of three designed by Crowther. The other two were in Omaha and Minneapolis. Crowther’s theaters were designed to highlight the new Cinerama technology with their spacious, sleek-lined design, cushioned seats and curving risers.

The Cooper Theater on Colorado Boulevard

The Cooper Theater on Colorado Boulevard (from a 1964 postcard)

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Fun and Games at DIA

By Julie Byerlein
info@travelkarma.org

I’ve been through Denver International Airport hundreds of times, and it’s without a doubt the best airport to travel through. During a holiday season of full flights and weather delays, if you have to be stuck, I can’t think of any other airport where I would rather be. What follows are the top 10 things I love about DIA.

I travel for business, a lot, and the trip starts when I park:

1) Josie:
There’s plenty of onsite long-term lots and some good drivers. If you are lucky you’ll get on Josie’s shuttle bus. She runs it with great pride and is really helpful; she explains the dropoff and access points well. I captured a pic of her in a Santa hat in mid December.

2) The Peeps:
I’ve gotten to know some of the gate agents—special shout out to Clark at United—and the great skycap team at Frontier; cold mornings yet warm attitudes. The Red Carpet Club, the Level 6 United check-in staff and the flight attendants I’ve gotten to know personally are all great.

3) Security:
Some of what I like is functional; there’s fast security (even with a large crowd), with plenty of space and tables to unpack your stuff, unload your laptop, shoes, and cosmetics. The security at DIA is so speedy that I often see gaps in the xray queue. I’ve written letters to the TSA to offer congrats on such an efficient operation – other airports should copy some of Denver’s best practices. Denver also benefits from another 20 feet after the screening machine to avoid a bottleneck situation. Oh, and don’t forget to admire those cute new TSA outfits.

4) Best unexpected art:
The building was built with art in mind; the commissioned works were integrated into the original floor plans, so it really fits nicely. The murals, sculptures, installations, and fossils in the floors all work together and in unexpected ways. I discover something new on each trip and am grateful for that. In fact, there is a beautiful new mini catalog (about 5” square) available at the concourse help desk that is, it can serve as a guide on your next DEN journey. I took a picture of the help desk signing it!

There are also temporary art shows to fill your time on the way to your plane. For instance, “Colorado: See the New West Like a Local” is up through January of 2009 on the bridge to Concourse A. This exhibit is accessible while you wait to pick up folks, since it is before security.

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Chuck’s Do-Nuts: Two Perspectives

Cliff Whitehouse:

Sometimes, you want the glass window painted “Chuck’s Donuts,” the spring-slammed screen door, the poorly-drawn dinosaur on the smoke-yellowed walls, the curled Polaroids, the cathedral-high ceiling and time-tortured floor, veterans astride rusty barstools, the unseen Chinese baker and his unseen recipe… the psychic struggles of AA contestants bleeding through from the meeting next door, the throwback-bad coffee from the never-washed pot, the carcasses of printed news strewn across the burned and scarred linoleum tables, dads and daughters staring into the display, pointing their choices, the gregarious Downs man (always glazed raised) and his mom (always jelly-filled), the high-octane circus-barker owner, the wall-eyed cashier who lived in a haunted house… the percussion of the cash register, the small talk and mumblings about politics, injustice, weasels in Washington, the senseless violence of the front page… the friend with a cicada practical joke, the plastic letters on the plastic board—sign and prices unchanged in forty years… the membership of stepping into the kitchen, past the WWII-vintage dough machine with the arm-ripping kneaders, navigating the stacks of trays, the sacks of flour, the cool grease to access the primitive toilet… trading low cholesterol to be part of the family…

Sometimes, you just want a donut.

Chuck’s, requiescat in pace.

Daniel Weinshenker:

Everybody has a thing.
For some people it’s a bar.
For others it’s church.
Me and Cliffy, we had Chuck’s.
We’d go on stray mornings over the past five years or so – ever since I moved into the neighborhood. No reason why. Just to do it, I guess. I’d show up, sit on a stool, fiddle with the newspaper and point to an applesauce special. Chuck, who the place was not named after, would set it on the counter on a piece of tissue paper. Cliff would show up and start eating mine, which was ok…because I’d like to think I’m ok with sharing.
Besides, I don’t even like donuts. They’re disgusting, really.

I’ll get fat on ‘em, but Cliff hasn’t been able to put on a pound since he got a nasty case of amoebic dysentery at Hooters. But I’d show up anyway, and Cliff would bring his own coffee in because the coffee there was awful, and we’d sit and talk…to each other, to the guy with down syndrome and his grandmother, sometimes to Chuck behind the counter. We were frequents, and we had a card to prove it – though we never redeemed it.

We went through apple fritters and Cliffy starting his woodshop, raised glazed and me quitting my dumb job, old fashioneds and the intricacies of how to catch woodpeckers.

And now we don’t.

Chuck’s closed a couple years back – a casualty of the war on I-25, though some have flung around rumors of krispy kreme world domination, health code violations and back taxes. Can’t say we were surprised.

I thought I wouldn’t miss it, but I do of course. Not the donuts, but the thing.

So, if you see two guys wandering the streets with a chewed up Frisbee, nice-fitting pants and a sense of longing…don’t be afraid…it’s just me and Cliffy looking for a place to be, a new thing, a place to redeem our card. Anywhere will do.

Chuck\'s Do-Nuts was located at 614 E. Kentucky in West Washington Park from 1948 to 2003.

Chuck's Do-Nuts was located at 614 E. Kentucky in Washington Park from 1948 to 2003.

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diving in denver

by Jeffrey Haber
Doctor, Diver, Sometime Santa

I moved to Denver from New York looking for a change of scenery. Little did I know that this would involve swimming with fish – sharks and barracudas – while dressed in a Santa suit.

I have always been fascinated by the stories of other people and the narratives that make up their worlds. In my work as a clinical psychologist spending time engaged in these stories with other people is how I spend my professional life. I consider it an honor to be a guest in the world of my clients.

With my nonworking time I am a guest in another world. It is also a privilege to be a scuba diver entering the underwater world inhabited by a remarkable variety of critters large and small. I volunteer at the Downtown Aquarium on Fridays and have the opportunity to feed the fish, scrub the rock, siphon the gravel and do a show for the guests.

In the underwater world we are truly visitors and remarkably clumsy compared to the wildlife we see. I am an avid traveler and have taken scuba diving trips all over the world. When people ask “where do you go to dive in Denver” divers answer “the airport”. But I have a chance to dive in the city at the aquarium. I am a lucky man.

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Visiting the Forney

by Jill Hadley Hooper
hadleyhooper.com

I’m a Denver native. And by Denver, I mean Denver; my family rarely ventured west and into the mountains. They were dangerous places full of bad weather, sharp turns and the antisocial. We were plains folk. We liked to be able to see people coming.

Denver in the 60’s and 70’s was a small but growing city and it had its perks. My parents took full advantage of the many museums, parks and libraries. Sundays were spent, not in church, but at the library downtown or classes at the art museum, natural history museum or the Forney.

The Forney Museum in the 1980s

The Forney Museum in the 1980s

I was in REI last week, it’s a beautiful building. And these days it’s so clean which is very different from it’s previous incarnations. It was born as the Tramway Power House, built in 1901 to house the boilers and engines to generate the electricity for the Denver Trolley system.

When the trolley system went caput in the 1950’s the Forney Museum moved in. The Forney was (and is) a transportation museum. It’s a collection of cars, horse drawn carriages, trolleys, train cars, motorcycles and bicycles, anything that will get you from A to B. It’s a Colorado museum soup to nuts: the collection originated with Mr. Forney, who started modestly with his own cars and eventually traded tools for unused and unloved vehicles until he found himself with a collection that needed housing. It’s first stop was the then *new and glamorous* Cinderella City for two years before settling in Platte and 15th.

This was a grand and dusty place to visit. The building dwarfed the vehicles. Inside the place offered independence from parents; a kid could wander alone up and down the cars, it seemed to go on forever. In the yard there were train cars you could climb on and cars you could sit in. The weeds were knee high. The place had the feeling of being an underdog. I bought a conductors cap when I was seven and wore it for a year.

By my teens I had become immersed in the suburbs and school and downtown was lost to me. All these places that had been second homes fell away in favor of Houlihan’s, Skate City, and parks filled with kegs and kids. I left for college in 1982 and returned to Denver in ‘87.

In 1989 I moved into the Highlands and the Forney became my neighbor. I also worked as a waitress at My Brother’s Bar, a close companion to the Tramway Building for over 100 years. I became reacquainted with the museum. My newly minted art school sensibilities—so observant and superior—were numbed by visits to the Forney. It was so earnest, so beautiful, and without irony. You couldn’t take a bad photograph in there. There were pigeons roosting that came and went through the high broken windows, and dusty paths of light that created a cathedral effect. It felt like yours too, a still hidden gem no one had claimed. Best of all, in my absence they had added a wax figure diorama of Alfred Packer.

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