It was a time when you could go to the Washington Square Mall, and on a postage stamp section of the parking lot, would see a firefighter’s practice tower of a building with blue tubes coming out of the top (Oh, how I wished I could slide down a tube like that from my bedroom on the second floor, to the first floor of our house). You could shed your pastel clothes for Jantzen swimwear and slide down structures that were put together with less painstaking detail than a hamster tube maze (more on that later). And lets not forget that this was a time when waterslide safety was in it infancy stage. In other words, the only rule was no running on the cement. You did, and you fell hard. Notice that that rule has nothing do to with slides.

From what I remember, the locker rooms were situated before the ticket booth in a hallway. And not only that, but both were in the path of patrons who were exiting the tubes and walking to the stairway back up. In essence, there was no starting point. Just jump on the moving carousel. Couple that with that fact that generic hand stamps were their only form of security, and that you would have to repeatedly get your hand re-stamped at the booth because it would smear. It didn’t take us very long to figure out that this would be advantageous for us. Never put the locker rooms before the ticket booth; never mix hand stamps with water.

Before we would even leave the house, we would take one of my sister’s Disney, or Strawberry Shortcake, or whatever stamps and mark the backs of our hands. After we arrived, we would go straight into the locker rooms, change, get wet from the showers, and then purposely smear our stamps. Next, we would jump in the Congo Line, stick out our hands to be re-stamped, and we were “in.”

I don’t remember how many flights were in the tower staircase; but my shins remember me running, slipping, and falling on those cement steps many times. I remember the top of the tower being dark, lit only by what seemed to be the underwater lights at the start of the tubes. There was usually a lifeguard at the top whose responsibility was to make sure that only four kids went down the tube at once and not five. If it was slow, I don’t think they even had a lifeguard up there. That’s when you could take a running start and dive into the tube. Remember when you could go headfirst down a water slide? And if the conditions were just right—maybe nighttime or cold outside—the opening of the hydro tube was full of steam. Kids would disappear into the tube leaving only echoes of laughter and screaming. It was magical…or maybe it was just chlorine gas that filled the tubes.

There was nothing extraordinary about the tubes, other than they were enclosed and leveler was not used to link them together. An enclosed tube meant one thing: take more risks. It not like you are going to fall out. Back in my Junior High days, I perfected risk-taking one summer at the non-enclosed waterslides in Walla Walla, Washington. You know, back when waterslide safety was in its embryonic stage. Before they had rules, crossing your arms over your chest, rubber mats, foam helmets, or whatever they use today; it was all about wet skin on wet fiberglass. And the least amount of surface area meant speed.

You would cross your ankles and ride on one heel and your shoulder blades. Your hands would go palms down under your rear to prevent any resistance from the fabric of your shorts. Right before you slid down a dip, you would thrust outward and get great air. Of course it hurt when you landed, but you got great air. And if a foot or leg happened to clear the outer lip of the slide, that was even better. Later on around in 1999 I tried to use my skills on the Toboggan Racer at Blizzard Beach in Disneyworld. I somehow got the least amount surface area even though I was given a Toboggan Racer issued racing mat. I caught some air and the next thing I heard were whistles being blown from lifeguards in every direction. They had a “how did he do that” look on their faces. Those lifeguards, who weren’t even in kindergarten at the time, just got a taste of 1985 water sliding.

In the enclosed tubes, you could spin in any direction; stop and cause a log jam; or go as fast as you could to get air and ricochet off the ceiling of the tube. But with a limited number of hydro tubes, there were only so many things we could think of to entertain ourselves. Before there were elaborate resorts like Atlantis, the Washington Square Hydro Tubes had their clear blue slides slithering overhead through its glorified snack shack; as patrons ate, had birthday parities, and played video games below. The seed was planted; it was not going away. Never mix clear blue slides going through a restaurant with suburbia kids with nothing better to do.

Skin. Misaligned fiberglass segments. Boney angles like elbows, wrists and knees are what get scraped; not round padded areas, right? I made many passes over the restaurant, feeling every crease and edge to reassure myself. I’d hate myself if I didn’t do it. It was time. I started my decent. I couldn’t even enjoy the first part of the slide because of either giddiness or nervousness. I started to slow myself down. As I approached the restaurant, I sat up, pull down my shorts, and pound my fists on the floor of the slide, hoping to get everyone’s attention audibly. God, I hope they all looked up. I almost choked with laughter. That was probably the fastest any of them saw a moon raise and set overhead. At this point, I don’t remember if I had an exit plan or if I needed to come up with one in the next 10 seconds. Either way, I did, and it worked…many time over.

When one reaches the end of the tubes, you are deposited into a small deep pool churning with vortexes upon vortexes. You can either lie flat and skim across the pool or let the current pull you under. An injury I saw many times—and experienced myself—was getting the back of your head smacked on the last few inches of the edge of the tube. Due to body positioning, vortexes, or both, something would yank your head back and knock you silly. I wonder if anyone got knocked out, and due to the churning water, could not see them at the bottom of the pool. And that was my exit strategy. Not the getting knocked out part, rather the churning water part.

After disrupting family lives from above, I came in for a landing and let the current pull me under. I swam vigorously against the crosscurrent through sliding lanes, dodging bodies as they came crashing in like cannon balls. Once I reached the side, I sat there underwater for a moment as more bodies were deposited into the pool. I came up for air and acted like just arrived. I wanted, so badly, to look back at the people in the restaurant through the windows and see the expressions on their faces—mothers agape, kids giggling—but I couldn’t. If I did, then they would know that’s the kid who did it. And I was the one who did it…over and over. Loud noise, moon, swim crosscurrent, and do it again. No one suspected.

We were nearing the end of our day, and I was full of self-worth and accomplishment. But further back in the recesses of my mind was another idea, and I was running out of time. The risk was greater personally, physically, and publically. No time for practice runs; we gotta go. I started my decent. As I approach the section of slide that was like home to me now, I did all the same rituals, except I was face down. I winced the for the next two to three seconds—which felt like two to three minutes—hoping nothing would get shredded on the uneven grooves. No laughter; no giddiness. I made it through in one piece. I again waited in the pool and emerged moments later. I felt like I got away with another bank heist. That was the last time the tubes or I saw each other.

I wonder where that section of hydro tube is now. In the desert, in a waterslide graveyard? Being reused as a kiddy slide in some second rate water park in Illinois? Or a piece of some overpriced abstract art?

C’mon, let’s go across the freeway to Virage Racing!

Oh, and those giant Rose’s doughnuts were something out of this world! Another great loss to the Washington Square experience.

In later years, I did get to visit the amazing and incredibly expensive Wild Waves in Federal Way, Washington. They had fantastic waterslides (not completely enclosed). They’re closed for most of the year of course. Lots to do and many happy memories of this place. I’d like to go back someday.

Good news for waterslide lovers: A park is being built in McMinnville at Evergreen Museum that will include waterslides and a wave pool AND it will be open year-round. Currently scheduled to open next year. Check it out at www.waymarking.com.

Too right Mike, the 80’s were so much fun! Following decades are much too moody. Thanks for specifying where the tubes were in Washington Square. I can still picture them, but couldn’t remember where in the mall they were located.

Ahhh…… and if someone has a picture.. THAT would be even better!!!

Ldub97229

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