The history of parks here in the south is exciting and often a bit of a surprise. I realize times have changed, and the parks I loved as a child are sometimes the centers of controversy, but this article is not about that. Life wasn’t always easy, but I am choosing the memories that remind me of gentler times.
I remember in the early 1950s, visiting Grant Park in Atlanta, Georgia, and Forsyth Park in Savannah. It was a treat to go to these beautiful parks, especially on Sunday afternoons when lots of people were still dressed in their Sunday finest, with some ladies wearing hats and gloves in that sweltering heat.
More and more, I appreciate the way things were when I was young. Thank goodness, my childhood preceded social media, phones with video capabilities, and cable TV with zillions of channels (most of which, I’m sure, are shopping channels).
I played outside as often as possible, sometimes until bedtime. I loved being outdoors and thoroughly enjoyed what nature provided, except for snakes. Try not to judge me. I appreciate the “good” that some snakes do. I’ve chased them from my yard, studied them in school, and even held a rather large one, ONCE (that’s a story for another day). But I just can’t warm up to those cold-natured creatures!
When one of my grandsons was very young, he thought I was the oldest human alive, especially when I shared how different things were when I was a small child. He once asked me if “water” had been invented when I was a little girl. The answer was, and still is, “yes.” And yes, we also had television, but only a few channels were available when I lived in Atlanta and Savannah. So, hopscotch, jacks, skipping rope, and hide-n-seek were great pastimes at home. But, visiting a local park was always an extra special treat.
As told by devoted deep-south locals, Forsyth Park in Savannah has always been steeped in mystery and history. In 1840 or thereabout, William Brown Hodgson donated the original ten acres of land, and in the 1851 expansion, the park was named for the Governor of Georgia at that time, John Forsyth. The beautiful iconic fountain that represents Savannah to me and so many others was manufactured by the iron foundry, Janes, Beebe & Company in Bronx County, New York, and installed in 1858. The design was inspired by the fountains at Place de la Concorde in Paris.
If you take a “ghost” tour of Savannah, you may be apprised of the so-called fact that many spirits still haunt the beautiful old houses that border the park-like city squares in the historic district. The tour guides will attempt to frighten you with ghost stories associated with the people buried in mass graves during the 1920 yellow fever epidemic. And it is true; there are mass graves of the victims of that epidemic buried in Colonial Park cemetery. But when the ghost tour guide says some ghosts have been seen around the fountain because there is a mass grave beneath, I don’t know if it’s true or not. I lived less than a city block from Forsyth Park when I was young and never saw one ghost! But as we took evening strolls on those bumpy brick sidewalks dimly lit by the old gas lights, I sure did look for them.
Grant Park in Atlanta was named for Lemuel P. Grant, called the “Father of Atlanta.” He was a civil engineer and an agent with the Georgia railroads. As a matter of fact, he played a crucial role in bringing railroads to Atlanta. It is not clear if he gifted or if he traded the land now known as Grant Park and the Oakland Cemetery between 1853 and 1883. I’m told the first zoo in Atlanta was opened a few years later, in 1889.
In the early 1950’s I remember my dad taking me to ride in a row boat on the small lake in Grant Park. We walked around the lake to see the bears in cave-like enclosures. No matter how high the temperature rose, it seemed to be 10 degrees cooler in front of those bear caves. At some point, the beautiful lake was drained, and a zoo took part of its place.
In the 1960s, my Dad and I enjoyed visiting Willie B, Atlanta’s famous gorilla. In 1961, a baby western lowland gorilla was added to the zoo. He was named for Atlanta’s Mayor William B. Hartsfield, but everyone called him Willie B. My dad loved all of the animals, but they didn’t always feel the same. He was surprised when a lama spat on him. But the most embarrassing memory was when the zookeepers had to escort my dad outside the building where the giant gorilla lived. Willie B had become so agitated that he repeatedly climbed up high, jumped on his tire swing and threw himself against the bars adjacent to where Dad was standing. Maybe it was a gesture of friendship, as dad thought, but I don’t think so.
A feline exhibit was built up on a hill. The lions’ new habitat was open and very different from the old cages that imprisoned them earlier. It looked like to me they could easily jump the chasm that separated them from their admirers. I don’t think the large cats ever escaped the Atlanta Zoo, except in my nightmares.
Exhibits dedicated to reptiles, including my not-so-favorite, snakes, were added to the zoo. I have to admit there was a concern whenever I entered the reptile house or snake house. More often than not, the employees seemed to be looking for an escapee. They didn’t admit it verbally, but when they were crawling around on the floor, looking in all directions and hovering over an empty glass enclosure, they didn’t have to. I don’t remember lingering in that part of the zoo very long.
Times have definitely changed. I’ve traded summer picnics in the park with fried chicken, potato salad and sweet tea for simple tomato sandwiches in my air-conditioned kitchen; and swing sets that propelled me almost to the moon for a slow glider in the shade. But, when I close my eyes, I’m young again with wonderful memories of times spent in the beautiful parks in Atlanta and Savannah.
