Body 0.3: The Third Great Saltair
They placed it about a mile west of where the original once stood. It was built from a salvaged Air Force aircraft hangar. It was also built of shared cultural memories so thick they worked like an invisible architecture. The Saltair, with all its history and stories, had an archetypal thrum so dense the new investors were able to haul it up off the salt and tack it in place to the corners of a recycled military building with some Moorish cupolas. Like great golden Hershey Kisses. The hangar’s criss-crossing wooden rafters snared the ghosts of the old Saltair like a web. Strangely, it worked. Even with a different location and with not-so-opulent architecture, the new building absorbed a measure of the past mystique. And then, several months after the re-opening, in 1981, the lake moved again and swallowed the new Saltair, drowning it in four feet of brine so the roof stood out like a boxy oasis, a Moorish Costco jutting up next to a neighboring island threaded with half-submerged water slides. A couple years later the waters drained, and then receded, and took their ultimately indifferent party elsewhere. Still, though, the longing for the past glory is just enough that the Saltair endures.
Originally posted on the NOW-ID Blog. Read it there.