God, Rush Limbaugh and Life

Some of you have heard me discuss the many jobs I’ve held in my life. Like when I was a garbage man and business was always picking up!
But the happiest job I ever had was when I worked at a magical kingdom. No, not the magical kingdom, but one of its competitors, West View Park, located outside Pittsburgh, Pa. West View Park had around thirty major rides including two big wooden roller coasters, The Racing Whippet and The Dips (originally built in 1910 and often called The Big Dips).

I had the best of all possible jobs at the park. I came in before the park opened and cleaned the arcade – home to dozens of pinball and electronic machines, the photo booth and more. After the park opened, I was a substitute ride operator. As a result, I learned how to operate nearly every ride in the park. My boss there was the assistant general manager, Skip Morrow. His parents must have had a sense of humor because his given name was Thomas O. Morrow.
That’s right: T. O. Morrow.
The third.
He was a towering figure of a man at 6'6", and just one nickname wouldn’t do for a man of that stature. Those of us who worked closely with him often referred to him affectionately as God. Once when a coworker got married, Skip had somehow ascertained their secret honeymoon location and sent the unsuspecting couple a congratulatory telegram. He asked the Western Union agent if the telegram could be signed, "God and the Disciples, can we do that?" The agent replied, "Of course, as long as you don’t want me to send Him the bill."

At that time Pittsburgh was the home of a top-40 radio station: KQV radio. Two of its top jocks were Jim Quinn and Jeff Christie. They both went on to become major conservative radio talk show hosts. You all may know Jeff Christie better as Rush Limbaugh. Really.
Also back in those days, there seemed to be a newfound fascination with the Guinness Book of Records, so KQV sent a lesser known DJ (whose name I have completely forgotten) to try to set a record riding on The Dips.

Now it happened that he was getting ready to start riding just before the park opened. At that exact time I was walking past the Dips after moving my car from the midway to the parking lot. (How many times have you wanted to drive on the midway?) The train on The Dips was a set of four two-seat cars fastened together. In order to streamline the record-setting attempt, the automatic unlocking of the car that the DJ was riding in was disabled so the staff would not have to manually lock the car on each trip from the platform. This would have left an unused seat for the entire attempt.

I saw my chance and took it. I climbed into the unused seat behind the DJ, told one of the other employees to tell Skip that I would be taking off the rest of the day and began my own record setting quest. We got in maybe a half-dozen or more rides before the park opened. We coasted through the tunnel at the end of the platform, jerked up the chain drive to the top of the first hill, hurtled down the 60 foot drop, experienced the high G-force on the bend where (on each trip) it looked as if you might hurtle onto Highway 19, and rattled back to the station where the workers slowed us down a bit before letting us through to do it again.

Once the park opened, the train came to a stop on each trip to let passengers off and load a new set on. At several times during the day, a light drizzle broke out. During those times, no other passengers were allowed on board for safety reasons. We two kept riding - up the hills, around the bend and rocketing back to the platform in those kidney-pounding cars; never quite coming to a full stop. Because of the rain, I’m pretty sure that no train had ever made as many trips in one day on The Dips as we did on that day. After about 100 laps, and luckily, on one of the trips without other passengers, the DJ lost his lunch. I innocently asked if he wanted to stop and get off. He realized that I would then hold the record for most consecutive rides on The Dips and politely declined. We didn’t have any rules laid out for rest stops and he was determined to outlast me. After another bout of rain, where we just kept riding, the skies cleared and the pace slowed. Neither of us was willing to get off and let the other win. The laps kept accumulating: 150, 200, 225. On one of the stops in the early evening, another employee brought me some food and drink. I had a hot dog and a large beer while continuing to ride.

240 laps.

250 laps.

260 laps.

The beer simply had to come out. At 262 laps, my bladder couldn’t take it any more and I scrambled out. When the train returned, I climbed back in and accompanied the DJ to his record setting 275th consecutive lap on a roller coaster without getting off.

Not many of us have ridden 50 miles or so by roller coaster in one day and I’ll never forget it. That day turned out to be a lot like life, itself: thrilling highs, sudden lows, an occasional overwhelming urge to just get out, the realization that you can’t always be first, and sometimes, sometimes, you just end up right back where you started.