Battling the Zephyr

Before there was Six Flags and before there were gravity defying roller coasters that stood you up on your head, there was Ponchartrain Beach. Located on the waterfront in New Orleans, Ponchartrain Beach was responsible for generations of family centered amusement rides and attractions. It originally opened in 1928, and its biggest and main attraction was the Zephyr—the thousand-foot roller coaster that taunted me at the age of six.

Ok, maybe it wasn’t a thousand feet tall, but it seemed like it to me. I used to stare at its intimidating frame as I watched car after car of screaming teenagers ascend into the darkness. I have reason to believe that my father and grandfather were once young teenagers gliding along those rails in the Louisiana moonlight. I unfortunately had not inherited their bravery or mastery of the Zephyr. It was a monster that I seemed to have a love/hate relationship with. On the one hand it was the thing nightmares were made of–wheels clacking, boards creaking with each turn. Its old wooden frame was in desperate need of paint and maintenance and even at a young age I could sense the danger that lurked around every bend. On the other hand, the shiny metal cars beckoned me to be brave, and more than once I stood in line determined to see it through. Car after car of sticky, sweaty teenagers laughed and whooped as they exited–no one ever seemed disappointed. Still, as I neared the entrance gates, the ratcheting of the roller coaster cars as they began their routine ascent would send me reeling in panic.

Every time we went to Ponchartrain Beach it was the same thing, a desperate dance between a not so brave 6 year old and a not so young roller coaster that had seen its prime. As the years progressed, the longing intensified. Then one night in 1983, I got word that Ponchartrain Beach was closing its doors and I made up my mind that I would join the ranks of the converted and ride the Zephyr.

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