When America Held Hands:
Remembering Hands Across America Along Lake Road on Ohio’s North Coast

I had a friend who lived on Lake Road in Avon Lake, Ohio, at the time the entire country attempted to join hands and create an unbroken, continuous human chain across the entire country.

It was called Hands Across America. And we had front-row lawn chairs to witness history happening right in front of us. But there weren’t enough people to close the gap, so we were recruited to join in the fun.

The gap still couldn’t be closed. Would we be the only hole in the human chain not connecting?

Not on our watch.

My friend had an actual Big Boy statue from a Big Boy restaurant in his front yard; a story for another time.

With the help of others, we were able to move that monstrosity to the road and finally closed the gap. I never saw a photo of this. I imagine it looked like the AI photo I created to accompany my nostalgic reflection about this monumental event in this addition to Vacationland: Echoes of Ohio’s Nostalgic Past by the “Blogs by Rocco,” where I revisit some of Ohio’s favorite memories of events and destinations.

There are moments in history that are remembered not because they changed the world overnight, but because, for a brief moment, they changed us.

If you were around in the spring of 1986, you probably remember one of those moments.

On Memorial Day weekend, millions of Americans stepped out of their homes in the cities, suburbs, small towns, and rural expanses with one simple purpose: to hold hands across America.

It was an ambitious effort to raise money and awareness for hunger and homelessness while attempting to create a continuous human chain stretching from New York to California. For fifteen unforgettable minutes on May 25, 1986, strangers became friends, and the country seemed just a little bit smaller.

Today, looking back forty years, it’s easy to smile at the innocence of it all. There were no smartphones announcing where to stand. No social media hashtags documenting every handshake. No drones capturing overhead video. Just newspapers, local volunteers, radio stations, maps folded across kitchen tables, and an optimism that seemed perfectly at home in the mid-1980s.

Millions of people gathered believing that if enough people cared, America could literally link itself together.

In Northeast Ohio, that dream passed right through my community on Lake Road (U.S. Route 6) through Avon Lake. For a few minutes, one of Ohio’s most familiar roads became something entirely different—not a route to somewhere else, but a destination itself. If you stood there that afternoon, you probably don’t remember exactly who held your hands. But you’ll never forget looking into each other’s eyes and smiling as a breeze drifted in off Lake Erie.

There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about the experience.

Along Lake Road in Avon Lake, nobody was trying to go viral. Nobody was capturing content for tomorrow’s feed. There was no need to prove you had been there because the memory itself became the souvenir.

Nationally, the line wasn’t perfect. Gaps appeared across parts of the country, particularly in rural areas of the Southwest, and organizers ultimately acknowledged that the coast-to-coast chain existed more in spirit than in uninterrupted reality.

The 1980s were full of shared national experiences. We watched the same television shows. We listened to the same Top 40 countdowns. We crowded around our TVs for Live Aid, celebrated the release of “We Are the World,” and, one Sunday afternoon, stepped outside together because we believed America was capable of something beautiful, and simply held hands.

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 By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun

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A Place in Our Minds Where Summer Never Really Ended 

Some places don’t simply entertain us.

They become part of our family’s story.

For generations of Cincinnati families, summer didn’t officially begin when school let out. It began with a drive, or better yet, a boat ride to Coney Island.

Long before smartphones, streaming services and endless digital distractions, the banks of the Ohio River echoed with the click of roller coasters climbing their first hills, the cheerful melodies of the carousel and the delighted squeals of children racing toward what seemed like the biggest swimming pool in the world. Parents unfolded lawn chairs. Teenagers laughed with friends beneath shady trees. Grandparents smiled as another generation discovered the same simple joys they had experienced decades earlier.

For well over a century, Coney Island wasn’t simply an amusement park.

It was a summertime tradition.

Its story began in 1886 when a former apple orchard along the Ohio River was transformed into Ohio Grove: The Coney Island of the West. What started as a peaceful picnic destination soon blossomed into one of the Midwest’s favorite amusement parks, drawing visitors by foot, streetcar (the first was horse-drawn in 1859), automobile and even steamboat.

In fact, for many Cincinnati families, the adventure began long before they reached the front gate.

Thousands arrived aboard the elegant Island Queen, the beloved excursion steamboat that cruised the Ohio River carrying eager passengers to Coney Island. Children leaned over the railings, watching the shoreline grow closer while parents soaked in the river breeze. As the park slowly came into view, anticipation grew with every passing minute. For many visitors, riding the Island Queen wasn’t simply transportation; it was part of the experience itself, creating memories that lasted just as long as the day spent inside the park.

Once through the gates, there was something for everyone.

Wooden roller coasters thundered overhead. The Ferris wheel lifted riders high above the river. Midways buzzed with games, laughter and the aroma of fresh popcorn and cotton candy. Moonlite Gardens welcomed dancers beneath the stars while families wandered from ride to ride, making memories they didn’t yet realize would last a lifetime.

Then came the attraction that would forever define Coney Island.

In 1925, the park unveiled Sunlite Pool, a swimming pool unlike anything most Americans had ever seen. Covering more than four acres, it was celebrated as the world’s largest recirculating swimming pool. Its towering diving platforms, enormous waterslides and crystal-clear water became the centerpiece of countless family vacations, birthday celebrations and carefree summer afternoons. For many Ohioans, learning to swim at Sunlite Pool became a rite of passage.

Like every great destination, however, Coney Island adapted with the times.

Repeated flooding along the Ohio River and limited room to expand led park owners to make a difficult decision. In 1969, the amusement park was sold, and many of its rides and much of its spirit found a new home when Kings Island opened in nearby Mason in 1972.

Many assumed that would be the end of Coney Island.

It wasn’t.

Sunlite Pool remained, eventually joined once again by family rides and attractions. While Kings Island became synonymous with towering roller coasters and record-breaking thrills, Coney Island embraced a different identity. It became the place where families gathered for a slower, simpler summer day. There was comfort in its familiarity. Parents introduced children to the same pool where they had once splashed as kids themselves.

Eventually, though, even cherished traditions evolve.

After the 2019 season, Coney Island permanently retired its amusement rides as attendance increasingly centered around Sunlite Pool and its water attractions. The park shifted its focus entirely to aquatic fun, allowing one final generation to create memories around the famous pool.

Then, in 2023, another chapter quietly came to a close.

Following its annual Nights of Lights holiday event, Coney Island permanently closed after the property was purchased by Music & Event Management Inc. (MEMI), an affiliate of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra. Sunlite Pool closed with it, ending nearly a century of laughter, swimming lessons, family reunions and treasured summer traditions along the Ohio River.

The story of the property isn’t over.

Plans call for the site to become the new Farmer Music Center, a state-of-the-art entertainment campus adjacent to Riverbend Music Center. A new generation will gather there for concerts and special events, creating memories of their own while standing on ground that has welcomed families for nearly 140 years.

Still, ask almost anyone who grew up around Cincinnati about Coney Island, and chances are their eyes brighten before they begin telling a story.

Maybe it was conquering the high dive for the very first time.

Maybe it was sharing cotton candy while waiting in line for a favorite ride.

Maybe it was dancing at Moonlite Gardens, waving from the Island Queen, or spending an entire afternoon in the cool blue waters of Sunlite Pool.

The details may differ.

The feeling never does.

Places like Coney Island remind us that destinations don’t disappear when the gates close. They simply move from maps into memories, where every visitor becomes part of the story. And as long as those stories are told, Vacationland lives on.

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 By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun

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Ohio’s “Bottomless” Wonder

When I was a little kid in the 1970s, living in Northern Ohio, we’d take those weekend family getaways known as one-tank trips. Our favorite local TV man, Neil Zurcher, spotlighted such novelty attractions as The Blue Hole in Castalia, Ohio.

My dad would always become the pitchman for wherever our adventure led.

I still hear his voice, “Today, we’re going to see a pool of water that has no bottom! It just winds all the way through the Earth to the other side.”

“Really, Dad? That’s so cool!”

“Yes, really.”

We now refer to these times as the good old days. Ohio attractions were much simpler, and tall tales weren’t ruined by a phone in your hand. We just took the tour guide’s word on good faith. And in turn, we spread the tale by word-of-mouth.

So, we cozied up to the railing and gazed at this mysterious and unforgettable water hole in all its simplicity and wonder. The grounds were relaxed and beautiful. Memory recalls this natural wonder in vivid detail.

The circling visitors leaned in, pointing and squinting, trying to see the bottom.

“I can’t see it, Dad.”

“You’re not looking hard enough.”

The peculiar body of water was supposedly fed by an underground stream. It stayed a constant 48 degrees year-round, so it was said to never freeze.

I laugh now at how mesmerized the crowds seemed, falling still and silent, just staring into the abyss.

There were no rides, shows, or anything, really. Yet it drew over 100,000 people each summer to see it. And its legend grew. Some thought it had healing qualities. Perhaps it did. After all, Meditation was on the uprise in the U.S. in the 1960s and 1970s. What better place to still the mind than peering into the Blue Hole?

Remaining unchanged as the times and tourism marched into the future, the Blue Hole closed as an attraction in the 1990s. It’s still there, but now it’s on private property, unavailable to the public.

Later that summer in 1979, one of my uncles asked Dad about it.

“It’s hard to explain… You just have to see it.”

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 By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun

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Where Summer Once Crashed Like Waves

Southwest Ohio once had tasty waves, palm trees, sand volleyball courts, and The Beach!

The Beach Waterpark, just north of Cincinnati, opened in the mid-1980s like a mirage off I-71 amidst the trees and cornfields. Travelers on the highway had a close-up view of people plunging straight down from a massive, tall water slide that many claimed their bodies left the slide’s surface and fell momentarily in mid air before smoothly reconnecting in time for the surge into the pool.

The stream of traffic could also witness the giant wave machine in action as dozens of bodies surfed across the massive wave pool. Tucked behind these very visible sensations was a maze of waterslides and a lengthy lazy river for the more chill-mood summer vacationers.

Guests also enjoyed live music from Reggae bands and other artists across the musical spectrum.

It was a haven for the sound of flip-flops and laughter, the smell of sunscreen and pizza, sunglasses and towels among lounge chairs and Cabanas.

Then the tide turned!

King’s Island was just across the highway, and it too offered a waterpark expansion.

The drowning Beach finally went under in 2012. It was resuscitated a year later under new management. The waves and families rolled back to life. It thrived as a more economical summer pass compared to the behemoth Kings Island just around the corner. But when America closed in 2020, it, like many other venues, didn’t come back.

So, that magical vacationland fell silent and sun-bleached. It quickly took on an ominous vibe as its once colorful landscape decayed for all to see. The waves of Ohio’s seasons quietly eroded its allure.

But if you slow down, you may still hear an echo of the splash of summer fun at The Beach in Southwest Ohio rise with a strange mix of nostalgia and disbelief.

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Welcome to Vacationland: Echoes of Ohio’s Nostalgic Destinations by Rocco

Welcome to Chippewa Lake Park
For One Last Ride

For years, the ruins of a place once filled with screaming laughter were hidden among the trees and weeds along the shores of Chippewa Lake just outside Medina, Ohio.

Once upon a time, I gained permission to access, explore, and film it on one of the coldest days in Northeast Ohio’s history. My retired father volunteered to carry the tripod. I think he just wanted to get out, no matter how cold it was. A county authority chaperoned us through the old turnstiles. And a local historian explained sites along the way, such as the concrete hill where a fire took the ballroom where the big bands like Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman played. It was ironic that the only thing left here, besides the concrete beneath our feet, was a fire hydrant. Go figure.

Until 2010, the debris of a rotting wooden roller coaster called The Big Dipper was still partially standing, visible among the rubble and vines before it was finally removed. I’m sure this was largely a decision to deter the growing number of urban explorers from trespassing without permission.

Still, various old rides reached up, rusted and broken, from the weeds forming a bit of a jungle, strangling the past. Yet it left a glimpse of the park’s heyday. It was all quite fascinating to rummage around. The Tumble Bug ride still looked salvageable. We followed the tracks of the kiddie train until they disappeared at the water’s edge, where the beachgoers used to bask in the summer sun, a stone’s skip from the boat ride.

I scooped snow into a cup on what looked like an old vending cart and joked to my crew, “Snow cone, anyone?”

The day was one of the coldest I can remember, but there was no wind, and that made all the difference. So, we continued our adventure.

The most bizarre sight was a Ferris wheel still stretching into the sky minus its gondolas. What made the sight particularly unusual was the rather large tree that had grown straight through the middle of it, as if to bring time to a halt. The scene was ominous. It’s because of this vibe that the abandoned park was used in the filming of a horror movie called Closed for the Season.

The resulting video was one of the most-watched I ever produced, receiving hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube in a series I used to feature called Lost in Ohio. But it was so long ago—I’ve been the OhioTraveler for nearly 25 years—that I decided to delete the Lost in Ohio videos. I didn’t want the old audio and video technology to represent my current capabilities. If you remember old YouTube videos, you’ll understand the decision. 😉

Chippewa Lake Park dazzled crowds for a century from 1878 to 1978, closing on its centennial season. Like most regional amusement parks, it declined in attendance due to the rise of super amusement parks like Cedar Point.

Several decades after the last ticket was sold, and the skeletal remains tangled with nature’s revenge, the Medina County Park District acquired the abandoned grounds. They plan to turn the nearly 100-acre area into a public park and nature preserve with an ADA-accessible trail, a picnic shelter, seating areas, and restrooms.

The rusted remains of the Ferris wheel will be preserved as a static historical display.

The Chippewa Lake Historical Society also plans to convert an old house on the site into a museum showcasing artifacts from the former amusement park. Currently, the Historical Society museum displays an old park sign. When I filmed there, the connection between past and present was sealed as I went straight from seeing the sign in a museum to the park entrance, where the cracked concrete remains stretched upward toward the missing grand entrance sign that once welcomed visitors.

When it was time to conclude our visit and seek warmth, my dad shared that he remembered visiting Chippewa Lake Park as a kid, and that his dad, a welder, was invited to bring his family to a company outing there for free. They probably didn’t know he had nine children. lol

I took one last look around and tried to imagine my dad’s mind reminiscing of the smell of roasted peanuts, echoes of laughter and screeching thrill rides, and soft breeze coming off the lake, as he stared at an overgrown field of grass and steel, ready to rise for a third act.

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Welcome to Vacationland: Echoes of Ohio’s Nostalgic Destinations by Rocco

SeaWorld of Ohio
A Splash From The Past

It was the late 1970s, and Dad came home in his pickup truck from his job as a tool-and-die worker. After he washed up and took a seat at the supper table, he just looked at my mom, my sister, and me with a big grin on his face.

We didn’t have air conditioning yet, but I remember the cool breeze from the windows on three sides of this back room off the kitchen that we called the dinette. We didn’t have a formal dining room. We were an old-school, blue-collar, working-class family.

Mom knew something was different about Dad. She’d ask what’s going on with suspicion. My sister and I joined in questioning his growing smile.

“What—What—What…” grew the chorus.

Then he pulled something out of his shirt breast pocket and waved tickets in the air.

“We’re going to SeaWorld!”

Understand, this was a big treat for a family like ours back in the day.

My sister and I jumped from our chairs and screamed with delight, running around the table like our pants were on fire.

Looking back at the nostalgia of living near Cleveland, it really was a special time. Imagine, SeaWorld was once in nearby Aurora, Ohio. It was only the second SeaWorld to be created. The first was in San Diego, California. Yes, SeaWorld was brought to the Midwest before it opened in Orlando, Florida. It ran for 30 years, from 1970 to 2000. Over one million people entered the turnstiles in its first 100 days!

The thrill of that day at Ohio’s ocean featured Shamu, the killer whale, who let someone ride him. Then, a lady was selected from the crowd and stood before the enormous tank of water where Shamu had been airborne just minutes earlier, soaking the first several rows of people when he thundered back down into the water. To our delight and the woman’s fright, he popped up to give her a kiss.

The magic just kept coming. The dolphin show, sea lions, penguins, and one of my favorites, the seals. The cute little black fellas scampered about in a hilarious comedy show.

Nostalgia is often a romanticized recollection of a special time and place, but grimmer realities would taint the story of SeaWorld in general, and other factors would make its survival in Ohio more challenging.

Regardless, SeaWorld Ohio filled a generation with wonderful memories while it lasted. It’s hard to believe it was ever here.

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Welcome to Vacationland: Echoes of Ohio’s Nostalgic Destinations by Rocco

Euclid Beach Park
Echoes of Laughter

Euclid Beach Park is such an iconic Ohio memory, echoing laughter and thrills along the Lake Erie shore on the eastern edge of Cleveland. Its heyday spanned approximately 70 years until its closing in 1969; quite a run!

Grab some popcorn and join the stroll down memory lane.

Families didn’t need deep pockets or long-distance travel plans for entertainment during the first half of the 20^th Century. With a Great Lake backdrop, there was magic and freedom in the breeze. Only a streetcar ride away, there were rides like The Thriller and the Racing Coaster (Derby Racer), which pumped adrenaline. A favorite recalled by many was the Flying Turns—a unique bobsled-style ride in which cars traveled wooden channels.

Memories of the Grand Carousel, Dodgems (bumper cars), Rocket Ships, and the beloved Dippy Whip also dazzled the summer crowds. And then, of course, there was the midway, buzzing with games, music, and food stands. Perhaps most legendary was Laughing Sal, a life-size, papier-mâché figure with red hair, freckles, and a gap-toothed smile. Her booming cackle and jerky movements terrified those trying to navigate the creepy Surprise House funhouse.

But America grew away from the enchanting local stomping grounds of such regional vacationland escapes, which were affordable community magnets. When local parks like Euclid Beach and its West Side competitor Puritas Springs folded, many rides were moved to up-and-coming parks like Cedar Point. The Big Dipper (Turnpike) was rooted at Euclid Beach. Still, it became more associated with Geauga Lake, which eventually lost the wider regional tug-of-war with Cedar Point and will undoubtedly be covered in a future excerpt of OhioTraveler.com’s Vacationland: Echoes of Ohio’s Nostalgic Destinations.

You can’t visit Euclid Beach Park anymore, but if you know someone old enough, you can live it in their eyes when they light up and tell you about their coming-of-age days there.

“I was a Puritas Springs gal, but my best friend Jan and I went to Euclid Beach Park once as teenagers and met a couple of guys. After coasters, cotton candy, and lots of laughs, a boy named Truck cruised me home on his Harley. I’ll never forget the lake breeze running through my hair and the lights from the park in the rearview mirror. Those were whimsical times.” –Kathleen LaRoque

Nearly 100 years later, you can still see relics of the old park in our modern world. The Euclid Beach rocket car is one such find. Initially, the Rocket Ships Ride debuted at the park in the 1930s. It featured three shiny silver rocket ships attached to cables that whipped them in circles high in the air. Today, you may see the rocket ships turned passenger vehicles on the streets of Cleveland.

Gone are the simple, carefree places that served as the community’s entertainment hub. Yet, the exhilaration echoes generations later if you know where to listen.

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By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide To Fun 

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