The story behind Marriott’s Great America parks

As we digest the tragic news of yet another beloved playground closing for good, I thought I’d share the story behind the Marriott parks. Excerpting from my regional park history book, Imagineering an American Dreamscape, I’m going to post the Marriott chapter in a series of three articles here on the site. Tissues will be provided.

Masters of the Franchise

Perhaps the pinnacle of the Duell design era was revealed to the public when not one, but two nearly identical parks opened in 1976 over 2100 miles apart. The Marriott corporation, known for its worldwide hotel chain, wanted to diversify and get into the booming leisure and park business. Big companies think bigger than everyone else, and so it wasn’t just the two Great America parks. Marriott intended to develop yet another location between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. This was to be their flagship property, and the announcement on January 26, 1972 promised a $70 million, 850 acre complex that included a theme park, wildlife park, marine life park, hotel, and other entertainment options. The idea was to promote the “mini-vacation,” as Marriott put it. As they would soon discover, the real idea was actually finding a way to get it done. As was to be the fate of a similar Disney proposal in the mid-90s, the plan continuously ran afoul of powerful local residents who wanted no part of it. Challenges with local officials over water, sewage, and highway access dogged the project. Land was first purchased near Laurel, MD, then sold as they switched gears for a scaled-down property in Manassas, VA, then back to try again with an even smaller park of 65 acres near the first location at Guilford, MD. It would prove to be quite a ride for the company. 

First up was the 850 acre site in Howard County situated near Interstate 95 and Route 32, south of Columbia. Taking the exit from I-95, the old Guilford Methodist Church came into view, resting peacefully on one of those acres as it had for decades. And that’s pretty much it other than the tiny graveyard and lots of trees. Two rural communities, Guilford and Savage, had been quietly going about their business for a long time, but that was expected to change dramatically. The marine life park would feature trained whales, dolphins, seals, and the usual assortment of sea creatures in a 2400-seat theater. Visitors could wander around and even underneath massive aquariums to see various sea life up close. The 200 acre animal park took you on safari among hundreds of animals; two amphitheaters would host animal and bird shows. And then there was the theme park, divided into areas representing a place and time from America’s past. Concept art depicted a mighty sailing schooner docked in a Cape Cod New England harbor, a classic Midwestern county fair with rides, slides, and games, the Gold Rusher runaway mine train coaster in the Klondike, as well as a visit through the old Southwest, New Orleans, and the pre-Civil War South.

Reception to the plans was mixed, to say the least. Citizens on both sides banded together in a clash between the CCC (Concerned County Citizens) and the much more creatively named CHAMPS (Countians Happy About Marriott’s Park). It was the usual back and forth—economic growth and jobs versus a changing landscape that would alter their homes and communities forever. A research analyst for the Department of Economic and Community Development wrote a confidential memo blasting Economics Research Associates’ feasibility study performed on behalf of Marriott. ERA, of course, was Buzz Price’s outfit, which was busily engaged doing this sort of thing for nearly all of the regional parks at the time. But this individual found their study to be far too biased toward the company, not providing sufficient details on how things would impact the community and local government. The state of Virginia, developing its own response to Marriott’s proposal, ignored the memo and promised a favorable outcome for the project. Governor Mandel, enthusiastic over the potential growth in the area, also saw no issues that couldn’t be overcome.

But as the long months of 1972 wore on circumstances were beginning to shift. Marriott, among a flurry of politicking and PR, had offered to send local officials on a three-day, expenses-paid visit to other parks so they could see for themselves what this business was all about. Not interested. CCC kept up the pressure. Percolating from May onward, in late summer the Howard County planning board finally slammed the door shut in a 13-page report, declaring the project “completely inconsistent” with the county’s general plan and a “serious threat” to the county’s “physical and environmental amenities.”

Moving on, Marriott tried next for a 513-acre site off Interstate 66, near Manassas Battlefield. This time it was for a scaled-back, $35 million theme park that would cover about 80 acres. The thematic concepts were the same, such as the Longboat ride in the Cape Cod region and the Gold Rusher mine train. Entertainment offerings would be a multi-media presentation on Our American Heritage, a children’s cartoon character theater in the round, Dixieland band, barbershop quartet, and Mardi Gras parades. 250 full-time jobs were promised along with 1,500 seasonal positions; the park would be open approximately 140 days each year. Water and sewage questions loomed over the project, as did the request for a new interchange off I-66.

But after five months of effort, Marriott was awarded zoning and site plan approval from the Prince William County Board of Supervisors in April 1973. Nine months later everything changed—the county was rescinding their approval due to a “legal error.” Apparently there was a discrepancy with the exact number of days required for public notice of a proposal hearing. The issue? What exactly is meant by “two weeks notice”? It seemed logical at the time to consider this to mean two consecutive, five weekday periods. A recent Virginia attorney general opinion on a different matter defined it as two full seven-day weeks. On such trivia are great matters in life often determined, and this effectively killed Marriott’s second attempt in the region. The company would have to start completely over from scratch, and even though the county encouraged them to do so, they decided to look elsewhere.

“Elsewhere” was close to where they tried the first time in Howard County. Although other sites were suggested to the company, they had a pretty good idea of what they needed, and so they screwed up their courage and tried again at the place that showed them the door a few years prior. By now it was late into 1977, five years after the initial announcement. But the third time wasn’t the charm as they were soundly rejected by those same officials again on Oct 3 by a zoning board vote of 3 to 1. Stated concerns were “lack of safeguards” for community impact, water issues, traffic congestion, and so on.

January 1978 found them talking with officials in Anne Arundel County, and as late as March 1978 Marriott still held expectations for getting a park built somewhere in the region, fielding numerous offers from other municipalities interested in their business. But at some point it just wasn’t worth it, especially with potential construction costs now over $100 million. Meantime, throughout all of this drama, sites in Gurnee, IL and Santa Clara, CA had been acquired, planned, opened, and were already in their third season of operation. 

Next time we’ll look at the design behind the two parks and take a tour of what they were like that first year. Find out more about America’s regional theme parks at www.rivershorecreative.com.