for Topsy’s Roost restaurant at Playland at the Beach. Folks sat in roosting boxes and used the slides to get to the dance floor. —Author’s collection
During the 1950s, Playland assaulted the senses. Activity and lights were everywhere. It sparkled with scenic vistas of every sort: rides flashing by, colorfully lighted exhibits, couples walking arm-in-arm, and flocks of girls and guys stealing glances. Machine vibrations rumbled up through your soles and the rides put your guts in your throat. The smells, oh the smells of fried chicken, cotton candy, fudge, grilled onions, popcorn, taffy, steamed dogs, tamales, and caramel overwhelmed any sense of propriety in diet. The aromas preceded the snap of the skin of a succulent sausage with mustard and onions or the spicy bite of a Bull Pupp enchilada. Later, you consumed an It’s-It ice-cream sandwich from The “It” Stand; two big oatmeal cookies surrounding a scoop of vanilla ice cream, all dipped in chocolate.
Playland had its own sounds, sounds still heard in the memories of those who loved it. Laffing Sal’s incessant belly laugh overrode the roar of the wooden coaster and its attendant screams. Bells rang and the steam calliope of the merry-go-round competed with the slamming of the bumper cars. Barkers cajoled and the shooting gallery put out staccatos of .22-calibre pops. Beyond that, laughter carried the main beat. People were having fun.
The sixties were not kind to Playland. Better parks emerged in the Southland and people traveled farther for entertainment. A seedy element crept into the park—gangs and predators. Families drifted away from it. Yet, it still held such charm. Dennis Haughey worked at Playland during those years. In a personal correspondence, he wrote the following about his years at Playland at the Beach:
Playland was an excellent place to work for extra money from a second job, or in my case, a source of primary income while attending college. My first day of work was a warm day in the summer of 1966. I started on the Alpine Racer. It was also the day that Sutro Baths burned down. Over the next three years, I moved from there to the Tilt-A-Whirl and then on to the rest of the amusements. Eventually I could operate all the rides and finally, become a “break man,” a position coveted because the variety of tasks helped prevent the boredom of the many slow, foggy hours when there were few customers. It was an ideal job with minimal demands, a constantly changing cast of characters, and great location. While growing up, I had spent many happy hours there, filled with fond memories. It was great to be a part of making new special moments for others. I had seen the Midway in much better days, and it was sad to see the inevitable slide toward doom, much like the Big Slide in the Fun House, powerless to stop, yet realizing that I should enjoy the ride. So that is what I did. Things were in a progressive state of deterioration. The crowds dwindled, except on those rare warm, sunny days, when people sought relief from the inland heat at Ocean Beach. Such conditions existed on a pair of Sundays in 1967 and 1968, and exploded into rioting. I knew that the end was very near when some of the rides and concessions were brought in by West Coast Shows and their cast of “Carneys.” I left in the summer of 1969, returning for the auction in 1971, where an attempt to sell the Merry-Go-Round, piece by piece, was narrowly avoided. It has returned in whole again to Yerba Buena Center, but the fabulous organ tended by an old man named Dave is no more. He would sit there all day Saturday and Sunday, listening for anything amiss because it was like a child to him. That organ and the strains of Laffing Sal combined for an unforgettable cacophony of sound, the signature melody of Playland.
Laffing Sal spent her whole career laughing at the guest passing by Playland’s Fun House. It was impossible to pass by her without a grin or a snicker. Sal moved to the Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk, starting a new career while still holding court at the Musee Mechanique on Pier 45 in San Francisco and at Playland-Not-at-the-Beach in El Cerrito. Multiple Laffing Sals ensured continued laughs at the Fun House. —David Johnson Collection of San Francisco Photography
A picture of better days. The Merry-Go-Round closed September 4 1972, after fifty-eight years of operations. The animals were hand carved by Charles I. D. Loof sixty-five years ago. —David Johnson Collection of San Francisco Photography
Each ride had something about it that made it unique and certain operational techniques could bring out the best of them. One could make certain cars spin faster for those we wished to give a special ride to, or slower for those who presented a less than friendly attitude, particularly on rides like the Tilt-A-Whirl, Octopus, and Heyday. Sometimes, we would put an extra thrill into a dark ride like Limbo with a tap on the shoulder of a rider in the darkness. The Fun House used six people on a busy day, but there was only one good station. That was operating the air jet, in a seat above the Joy Wheel. From this perch, one could run the Barrel, the Joy Wheel, and use the many levers that would release a blast of air. We remained on the alert for a man wearing a hat or better yet, a woman wearing a skirt. After negotiating the maze of mirrors and revolving obstacles, customers would relax once they made it into the main floor. That is where the first set of jets were. There were others spread around the building. The worst station was at the bottom of the slide, checking to make sure that no one went up with shoes on. The odor could be unbearable on a warm day. Then, there were all those wide-eyed kids on the Merry-Go-Round, clutching the reins while the lights whirled around. They would often get that longer ride when customers were few.
The “Limbo” monster ride at Playland. September 4, 1972. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library
When working the Dodger bumper cars, we would use the special “mechanic’s car” that went twice as fast as all the others. That one was used to patrol the floor. After a day of that I would have to control the urge to “hit” another car on the Great Highway while on my way home in my little Fiat, which was not much bigger than a bumper car.
Playland still exists in that best of places, the memory. I took with me a special memento of my days on the midway. I met my wife Mari there. Thirty-plus years later, we are still together on that wild ride called life. What a thrill ride!
—Dennis Haughey, June 2000
Dennis’ recollections echo the sentiments of many a San Franciscan. Playland’s time was over. George Whitney died in 1958, and the Whitney family sold their interest in the park in 1964. In 1971, the new owners sold Playland to developer Jeremy Ets-Hokin for $66,000,000 . Playland at the Beach operated for the last time on September 4, 1972. Ets-Hokin tore it down shortly afterward and it was replaced 17 years later with high-priced condominiums and apartments with million-dollar beachfront views.
The Fun House at Playland at the Beach. Laffing Sal is in the lower window. —Photo courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library
Playland
