Don’t let Marion make
a loony tunes mistake
You’ve heard it a million times. Since 1937, it’s been the theme song for generations of “Looney Tunes” cartoons. But did you know, it also has lyrics?
Oh, the merry-go-round broke down,
As we went round and round.
Each time ’twould miss, we’d steal a kiss
While the merry-go-round went, “Um-pah-pah, um-pah-pah, um-pah, um-pah, um-pah-pah!”
Oh, the merry-go-round broke down.
It made the darnedest sound.
The lights went low; we both said, “Oh!”
And the merry-go-round went, “Um-pah-pah, um-pah-pah, um-pah, um-pah, um-pah-pah!”
Oh, what fun — a wonderful time,
Finding love for only a dime.
Oh, the merry-go-round broke down,
But you don’t see me frown.
Things turned out fine, and now she’s mine
‘Cause the merry-go-round went, “Um-pah-pah, um-pah-pah, um-pah, um-pah, um-pah-pah!”
Oh, the merry-go-round broke down.
Not only have generations grown up hearing the tune. In Marion, generations have grown up experiencing not so much stolen kisses as beloved memories of a Rube Goldberg-looking merry-go-round near the back of Central Park.
My mother, who would have turned 100 in May, rode it. So did I, as did my son when he visited Marion every Thanksgiving starting 45 years ago. So did his son and two daughters, who followed in the tradition.
To four generations, the nearly century-old behemoth of a merry-go-round, squeaking and squawking as riders pushed and pulled on its unique seat-supporting poles, was a quintessential part of Marion. It was part of what my family — and countless others — came back to experience year after year.
Communities often are defined by their iconic features — stalwart courthouses and historic schools, quaint brick streets, and yes, even merry-go-rounds that might have seen better days.
What’s loony tunes is if any of those iconic, quintessential elements of community identity are not maintained and, worse yet, demolished.
We must take city officials at their word that they are attempting to see whether the merry-go-round, now reposing as a pile of twisted metal at the city shops, can be restored to its original glory — glory that has merited inclusion of similar models in several outdoor museums across the country.
It initially seemed odd to think that restoration might begin with dismantling. We wouldn’t tear down the Courthouse or Hill School to restore them. But apparently the center support of the merry-go-round rusted out and collapsed this summer, leaving its seats on the ground. Removal wasn’t a prelude, as some have feared, to clearing space in Central Park for some other, more transitory sort of thing like a splash pad.
A few years back, the community caught city officials wanting to tear out the park’s large fountain, which needed repairs, and replace it with a splash pad. In true city fashion, officials immediately distanced themselves from the idea, saying everyone misunderstood a handout they had produced that said “imagine this” with a picture of the fountain “being replaced by this” with a picture of a splashpad.
If the insistence that Marion needs an environmentally unfriendly, health-threatening splashpad really was the motivation for removing the old merry-go-round, we’ll undoubtedly hear cries about how expensive it would be to repair it and how it isn’t safe by modern playground standards.
Truth is, it’s actually one of the safer designs for historical playground equipment. Marion is perhaps uniquely positioned by having a trusted local company that could execute restoration. And at a time in which Marion is seeking to create a downtown historic district that would include Central Park, it would be more than a bit loony tunes to turn our backs on one of its most cherished pieces of history.
So legendary and sufficiently safe is this model that a modern company manufactures and sells for just $7,000 an exact replica — which, of course, wouldn’t be as good as restoring the original.
Public statements about the merry-go-round indicate it was damaged during the most recent Chingawassa Days. No one knows whether that might be related to including it within an area in which beer was sold, but I can clearly testify that it was in need of lesser repair long before that.
Having visited the iconic wonder every year for virtually half its existence, I can report that its condition deteriorated annually from an apparent lack of maintenance. I don’t want to accuse anyone, but it’s almost as if someone wanted to let it break down so it could be torn down. If that were true, it would be the most loony tunes attitude of all.
Communities need to maintain, protect, and defend their cultural icons, and the 1926 Mitchell Whirl merry-go-round that has entertained generations in Marion’s Central Park clearly falls within that category.
Residents concerned about history and community identity need to rally around it lest overzealous groups of Johnny-come-lately movers and shakers try to say “Th-th-that’s all, folks!” to a key piece of Marion’s identity. If it’s just a matter of money, I can think of no better use for a tiny portion of the city’s burgeoning coffers and imagine that I and others would be more than willing to come together to help defray the cost.
— ERIC MEYER