Date: 2022-12-13
Time: 06:26:41 UTC
Title: Recent rides - a nostalgic and haunting look at Glen Echo Park
It's getting colder and I'm at work for longer, so I'm making lunch break bike
rides a habit. The sun sets so early now that it's not worth riding after 5 pm,
so I haven't been riding as much in Gaithersburg/North Potomac/Darnestown area
as I did in the summer and fall. The advantage of riding from work is that
there's a lot more destinations in a small area. To the west of Bethesda are
Potomac and Cabin John, to the south are Palisades and Friendship Heights, to
the east are Chevy Chase and Kensington, and to the north is none other than
world famous North Bethesda (Rockville). Fortunately there are bike routes in
all directions and trails to the north, east, and south, for this is far from a
bike friendly suburb. That said, this past Friday I got to see a place equal
parts stunning and melancholy - Glen Echo Park in the quaint riverside suburb
of Glen Echo, Maryland.
I had first heard of Glen Echo Park back in grade school when learning about
desegregation, as the amusement park's integration in 1960 was a landmark event
in the Washington, DC region and a key part of the civil rights movement
nationally. I didn't know much more history aside from that, but I would
quickly learn it in the park and after my ride. Getting there was certainly a
challenge but the busy, rough, twisty streets of Bethesda no longer fazed me
like they did when I lived on the south side of Bethesda prior to this March. I
averaged 10.4 mph over the 11.5 mile trip which began with zigzags down to a
major east-west, two-lane artery branching west from downtown Bethesda - Wilson
Lane, also known as Maryland 188. By the time I reached Wilson Lane from
Aberdeen Road, it had an access road on one side, so I took advantage of that I
glided past the (in)famous private Landon School. Crossing the deadly River
Road was a bit of challenge, but guided by the traffic light I continued
southwest to the river through the historically Jewish suburb of Bannockburn,
just beside the Potomac. Enjoying the warmth of the sun on the clear afternoon,
I was greeted by a forest and paved bike trail at the intersection with
MacArthur Boulevard.
Heading briefly west, I enjoyed the scenic Cabin John Aqueduct Bridge plus the
views of Cabin John and Clara Barton Parkways down below, but I didn't come
this time to see Cabin John. I turned around and headed back southeast along
the MacArthur Boulevard bike trail towards Glen Echo and immediately noticed
something peculiar to my right. First I saw the remnants of a trestle in the
trees. Then I saw the long grassy clearing following me along MacArthur, about
20 feet wide, buttressed on either side by trees and power lines. I didn't
realize it immediately, but this was none other than the former right of way of
the 20 Cabin John streetcar line run by Capital Transit. I had seen pictures of
the green Capital Transit PCC streetcars with the 20 Cabin John rollsign, but
this was the first time I'd seen the former streetcar line itself. Continuing
southeast I crossed one former streetcar trestle, now converted to a bike
trail, past the Clara Barton National Historic Site, and finally entered the
parking lot of Glen Echo Park.
I was just going to stop for a picture by the famous art deco entrance sign
with its neon letters and accents, reading Glen Echo Park in two lines, but the
place was too cool for just that. Beyond the streetcar track at the front
entrance lay an assortment of relics from the 1930s and signs that brought a
sense of longing and sadness at the same time. As I walked past the yurts I saw
the left over neon signs of the popcorn stand, arcade, candy corner, Crystal
Pool, and Cuddle Up ride, taking me back to a time before mine. The lone
operating ride, the carousel, was in the midst of it all, but I only briefly
looked inside. Somehow the pain of the place that coexisted with the amusements
came through strong, and it would leave me a sense of anxiety that whole
weekend.
After integration in 1960, the park steadily declined amidst suburbanization,
TV, and changes in recreational interests. Indeed in the later 1960s the park
once closed down early before buses could pick up patrons, leading to an
understandable sense of anger in black patrons so long kept from an amusement
park beloved by white Washington. The confusion around this closure led to a
riot in and around the park that perhaps would begin its demise. The park
closed in 1968 and the rides were either sold, or dismantled, in the case of
the Coaster Dip roller coaster. Somehow the grounds spoke of a magical regional
site let to rot the second it let in the historically disenfranchised, and they
left me saddened. The National Park Service would acquire the property in 1971
and still owns it today, turning it into a cultural center where you can learn
to dance, paint, take a picture, blow glass, turn pottery, and play music,
amongst other things, ironically meeting the original Chautauqua mission of the
site when it was built as a National Chautauqua Assembly in 1891.
The last portion of the journey down MacArthur Blvd and back up the Capital
Crescent Trail was quiet and uneventful. I passed the Sycamore Store of Glen
Echo I had once seen before when I lived in Bethesda. The first part, on the
other hand, simmered in my mind, boiling and bubbling into the next week.
