Spectacles: Under Nothin

In the age of Disneyland and Freedomland, could Texas be far behind? Yup. as a matter of fact. But now, on a 35-acre site halfway between Dallas and Fort Worth, a ten-gallon version of the modern, thematic amusement park has just opened to the public. The theme, of course, is TEXAS, mister, hubris spelled out in smoke signals; and the name of the place was originally Texas Under Six Flags. But that just would not do. "Texas," someone pointed out, "is under nothin'." So, as thousands of children and adults turned up to see what the new $10 million park was like, they entered beneath a sign that said: Six Flags Over Texas.

The new park is circumscribed by a narrow-gauge railway, crossed by a 350-yard "Astrolift," and subdivided topically into six sections: Spain, France, Mexico, Republic of Texas, the Confederacy, and the U.S., representing Texas history, its rise to freedom, and its eventual return to foreign domination. As in Anaheim and The Bronx, river boats are caught in rifle crossfire and nearly clobbered by beaver-felled trees, but Six Flags is no mere copy. Typically, the roofs of the train cars are titanic sombreros, a giant stuffed bull shaves past an overgrown matador, and landscapers have turned a Texas-sized swamp into "Xochimilco," the lake garden near Mexico City. Coming closer to home, an Indian chief holds storytelling sessions. No-good varmints hold up the bank, the post office, the train, the stagecoach ride; and the legendary Judge Roy Bean administers his rule of "Law West of the Pecos," calling for the noose and provoking jail breaks. When amidst such adventuring a kid gets lost, he is sent to the Johnson's Creek School, where he has to sit at a slant-top desk until his parents reclaim him.

Built by Dallas Real Estate Developer Angus Wynne Jr., Six Flags Over Texas will stay open six months of the year, and figures on drawing 2,000,000 people a season (last year Disneyland drew 49.9 million. Freedomland 1.5 million). In the first five days, 37,000 visitors stampeded the grounds. They toured the river in the French section with a Texas-twanging pilot ("Good evening, mess amiss"), heard a red, white and blue band play the "Six Flags Over Texas" march 30 times a day, saw four hoodlums arrested after spilling soda pop out of the windows of the aerial lift.

For all this, children pay $2.25, adults $2.75, all rides included. And since no self-respectin' Texan so much as pulls on a pair of boots unless they're air-conditioned, all the waiting areas for the Six Flags rides are bathed in curtains of cool air. Moreover, up in the native oak trees are 103 electric fans so powerful that if they were all dipped into the Gulf at the same time, they would drive Texas six feet into New Mexico.