🎢 Ohio’s Forgotten Amusement Parks: Rust, Ruins & Really Weird History

Welcome to the strange, sweet, slightly eerie world of Ohio’s forgotten amusement parks — where roller coasters once roared, saltwater taffy melted in the sun, and ghosts (probably) still ride the Tilt-a-Whirl.

From Geauga Lake to Idora Park, these are the places that shaped our childhoods, terrified us with mechanical laughter, and then… quietly vanished.

Here are some of our local-ish favorites that rose and fell like flowers out of season…

If you’re from Northeast Ohio and you like abandoned places or accidentally summoning spirits on the internet, you’ve probably heard of Chippewa Lake Park. It operated from 1878 to 1978, which means it was literally open during the Rutherford B. Hayes administration (history flex).

It was beloved for its wooden roller coaster, ballroom, and lakeside views—but after closing, it sat for decades as an overgrown skeleton of itself. Rides stood still. Nature crept in. Urban explorers crept in after that. It was both a time capsule and a nature documentary, until finally being cleared out in the 2020s for a redevelopment project. RIP to the creepiest Ferris wheel in Ohio.

If you grew up in Ohio and ever felt personally victimized by the slow disappearance of your favorite childhood places, Geauga Lake is probably at the top of your list.

It started as a little picnic ground in 1887 (it was near a train station which brought TONS of visitors) until it became an actual amusement park by the 1920s, then really popped off in the '90s with Six Flags taking over and building up what was briefly one of the biggest amusement parks in the country. It had roller coasters, live animal shows, and a literal killer whale, because apparently no one was regulating anything.

Then... it just kept getting sold, downsized, and abandoned. Cedar Fair shut it down in 2007, and the land has been slowly reclaimed by housing developments and the ghosts of your middle school field trip.

This one gets points for elegance. Euclid Beach Park (originally modeled after Coney Island) opened in 1895 and became known for its scenic lakefront views, saltwater taffy, and its ban on alcohol and—unfortunately—people of color. Yeah. It was a complicated place.

Despite its popularity, it closed in 1969 and was mostly demolished. But this one’s not totally gone: the Euclid Beach Park Pier was recently rebuilt, and you can still find remnants like the carved arch, the Flying Turns coaster car at the Western Reserve Historical Society, and vintage signage that locals refuse to let go of. The iconic arch is currently being relocated to preserve it.

Tiny but mighty, Myers Lake Park in Canton operated from the late 1800s until the 1970s and had one big brag: a ‘Laffin’ Lady named Beulah. Another creepy animatronic lady who laughed hysterically at the funhouse entrance. (Why were there so many of these?)

The park was known for its wholesome vibe—church groups, company picnics, and a lake you could actually swim in (allegedly). It was torn down in the ‘70s and turned into a nursing home complex, but locals still swear they hear phantom carousel music when the wind blows just right.

Now this one’s extra lost to history. Forest Park opened in the early 1900s and was gone by the 1950s, but while it was open, it boasted dance halls, boat rides, and the Midwestern dream of a “fun time without having to go all the way to Sandusky.”

There’s barely any trace of it now—just stories passed down and old photos found in basements. But ask your grandma in Dayton about it and watch her eyes light up like a tilt-a-whirl at dusk.

This one hits different. Idora Park wasn’t just an amusement park — it was Youngstown’s crown jewel. Nestled in Mill Creek Park, it opened in 1899 and flourished through the golden age of steel, when working-class families could take the streetcar from downtown for a full day of thrills on the cheap.

Its biggest claim to fame? The Wildcat roller coaster — a towering wooden beast that was legendary in its day. There was also a beautiful carousel, a massive dance pavilion, and all the mid-century charm you could pack into 26 acres.

Their ballroom hosted huge acts from The Glenn Miller Orchestra to The Monkees, and the park was even honored by a stop on J.F.K.’s presidential campaign.

But then, in 1984, tragedy struck. A fire started in a concession stand and quickly spread, destroying the Wildcat and other rides. It was the final blow for a park that was already struggling, and Idora never reopened.

Today, the land is quiet, overgrown, and sacred in its own way. Locals still host reunions. They trade photos, memories, and stories of first kisses, lost sunglasses, and the summer everything changed.

There’s something magical about abandoned amusement parks. They’re decaying joy. Frozen laughter. The smell of popcorn and motor oil lingering in the air like a dream you almost remember.

Ohio doesn’t just have haunted houses—we have haunted happiness. And somehow, that makes it all the more beautiful….and spooky. 👻

💬 Have a memory of Geauga Lake, Idora Park, Chippewa, or any of these lost treasures? Reply to tell me about it and let’s cry together. Or laugh. Or plan a ghost-hunting road trip. (I’ll bring the snacks.)

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