My cousin Brad was recently telling me about a business conference he attended where Styx was the entertainment.  Few things can make you feel as old as hearing that a rock band that, back in the day, sold out arenas but now plays business conferences.

I may have never really been a huge Styx fan, but I did have their Paradise Theatre album that came out in 1981.  It was their only #1 album in the US, but it wasn’t the songs that stuck with me after all these years (everybody whisper now, Too Much Time on My Hands), it was the album cover.  According to Wikipedia, the album cover was “a fictional account of Chicago’s Paradise Theatre from its opening to closing (and eventual abandonment), used as a metaphor for American’s changing times from the late 1970s and into the 1980s.”

I don’t really recall any changing times when I was at 12 years old; in fact, things seemed pretty good back then.  The Village People had just made “Can’t Stop the Music,” theaters were also playing “Arthur,” “The Cannonball Run,” and “Porky’s.”  Jack, Chrissy & Janet had a great time sharing an apartment; Jennifer, Andy & Dr. Johnny Fever were blazing the airwaves; and, Ralph had just received a cool superhero suit from outer space.  Prince Charles was about to marry Lady Diana.  Q102 was playing Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration,” Hall & Oates’ “Kiss on My List” and Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl”…that actually seems like a tremendously fun and bright time to me.

No recollection of all these rundown, abandon, changing times the album represented; but, that didn’t stop the album’s artwork from really bothering me.  I remember flipping it from front to back, over and over again, comparing the pieces of the theater one by one, a wave of confusion and sorrow washing over me.

Those beautiful old cars, a stunning crowd of movie patrons decked out in glorious attire, the glistening marquee lights; I could almost feel the passion that went into the splendid detailing of the building.  The excitement of the night popped off the image.  Who wouldn’t want to have been a part of the amazing gala premiere?  A magical evening, drawn so exquisitely on the front cover.  Then there was the back of the album.  Broken windows, faded displays, chipped concrete, discarded trash and boarded up doors.  It actually made me want to cry.

Of course, I had no idea there had been a real Paradise Theatre that opened in 1928 and was closed in 1956 due to flaws in the design of the theater that surfaced when talking pictures replaced silent films – without the right acoustics, the venue couldn’t compete with other theaters.  But, even seeing it as fictional place on an album cover, I couldn’t help but be troubled by the fact that a movie theater so spectacular, opulent and dazzling could one day fall into such dilapidation and disarray before finally being completely forgotten.

The emotion I felt was more than sadness.   It was something that only years later I could describe as actually haunting me to my core.  Thinking about all the awe-inspiring events that must have taken place in that mythical theater:  The cheers of joy, applause, coming together of friends, special occasions, pure happiness.  Then knowing that in an instant, the magic could all be gone.

I have always had a strange fascination with deserted entertainment venues and this album cover might have been the first instance that brought it to light.  Putting all the pieces together, I am now clearly aware of why when driving on I-71 anytime between November and March, I have always been drawn to stare at Kings Island’s empty park, finding it utterly distressing (even though it’s only closed for the season).  Why I was compelled to visit the small gift shop sitting atop at Funtown Mountain in Kentucky, even though the rest of the park was shutdown.  Why I once spent way too many hours on a Friday night clicking from page to page on Pinterest of abandoned drive-ins.  Deserted houses, empty roadside stations, desolate subway tunnels or even ghost towns don’t bother me; but, when it comes to a place that once seemed to be a symbol of exciting, happy amusement, it really disturbs me.

The Chernobyl disaster is an extremely heartbreaking story, no doubt.  But, then to find out about the Pripyat amusement park (Ukraine) that was scheduled to open on May 1, 1986 – ugh!  The city was evacuated before the park opened.  What was once someone’s dream of bringing happiness to the world is now a lot of rusted, dilapidated, twisted structures and discarded amusement.  Viewing the shambled pictures, it kills me inside.  Almost like the fire of its bright existence has been extinguished, and now it sits, alone, not only forgotten by time, but everyone else, as well.

I’ll even delve into why this might bother me further.  My biggest phobia is Athazagoraphobia: the fear of being forgotten.  I am quite sure this part of my psyche plays into why these places disturb me so much.  When I think about all the best times of my life, part of me fears that one day the people that shared the amazing moments with me, won’t remember them or at least not remember them the way that I do.  I don’t mean they will completely forget me, but the memories won’t be as strong, positive or extraordinary.

Can one amazing moment in life really be turned into a mundane speck, until it is all but forgotten?  Can it fade into nothingness, like the theater, amusement center or theme park that once held laughs, smiles and so much excitement before disappearing virtually overnight?  I imagine it’s possible and that breaks my heart.

There is a positive way to end this haunting tale.  Well, at least it will make me feel better.

Six Flags New Orleans last operated on August 21, 2005, before Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans.  It was flooded for days, unable to reopen, suffering the same fate as Pripyat; decay, destruction and ruin.  However, in 2011, the park was able to be utilized for the filming of “Killer Joe” (Matthew McConaughey), “Stolen” (Nicolas Cage), “Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters,” “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes,” “Jurassic World,” and even “Deepwater Horizon” (they built an oil rig set in the parking lot).  So, as depressing as the fate of Six Flags New Orleans might have been, at least I can envision the way the forgotten park was able to bring life to some new moments of happiness (even if they are in celluloid).  And, just maybe, the sullen thoughts of a rundown, deserted fictional theater won’t trouble me as much anymore.  #50Weeksto50