Farewell, Six Flags America: A Love Letter to the DMV’s Theme Park
After 50 years, we celebrate the memories and moments that made the park special.
They say you never really love something until it’s gone.
Usually, that phrase gets tossed around about people, whether it be relationships or friendships we take for granted until they disappear. I never expected those words to hit me over a theme park.
Back in May, it was announced that Six Flags America and Hurricane Harbor would close at the end of the season. When I read the headline, I couldn’t believe it. Well, maybe I could. After last year’s merger with Cedar Fair, it made sense that Kings Dominion, the “grander” park in the region, would take priority. The quality of Six Flags had slipped in recent years, and even I hadn’t visited since 2019 after leaving for college.
Still, I thought Six Flags America would always just… be there.
Six Flags America wasn’t just any park. It was the central DMV area’s only true amusement destination.
Originally opened in 1971 as a drive-through safari called The Wildlife Preserve, the park evolved through several identities — Wild Country, Wild World and Adventure World — before officially becoming Six Flags America in 1999. This year, signs went up celebrating its 50th anniversary, a milestone fans expected to celebrate, not mourn.
The official announcement from Six Flags Entertainment in May revealed what locals never wanted to hear. The park and its waterpark, Hurricane Harbor, would close at the end of the 2025 season. The 500-acre property will be marketed for redevelopment, part of what the company called its “portfolio optimization program.” In simpler terms…the land is worth more than the memories.
“We’ve determined that Six Flags America and Hurricane Harbor are not a strategic fit with the company’s long-term growth plan,” CEO Richard A. Zimmerman said in the announcement, filled with corporate language that could never soften the loss of a hometown landmark.
As regular visitor Leticia told me, “Six Flags was a staple for PG County — from hosting local families to math competitions and school marching band battles. It was a place PG kids always looked forward to visiting, and my family especially loved the water park.”
For more than five decades, 13710 Central Ave in Bowie, Maryland, was where generations of DMV made special memories.
Growing up, Six Flags America was a staple. There’s VHS footage of me, probably three years old, running around Looney Tunes Movie Town, riding the baby swings and drop tower. The Great Chase was my first ever rollercoaster. I rode it with my dad and was…very scared.
I went on countless field trips in middle school and high school. I witnessed…several fights. I saw Disney Channel stars in concert, from early stars like Mitchell Musso, Aly & AJ and Raven-Symoné, to later breakouts, like Jordan Fisher.
My friends and I ran for our lives from clowns with chainsaws during Fright Fest, I floated down the lazy river on Sundays with my mom, grandma and cousins, and got stuck in the parking lot for hours after Fourth of July fireworks.
Even the parking lot had its own magic. I always loved seeing Superman: Ride of Steel and the drop tower in motion before even entering the park. Those tiny glimpses of coaster track and screaming riders would set the tone for the day.
The park was only twenty minutes away, so every summer Six Flags America became my second home. Getting a season pass was the highlight of my year. Sometimes I’d go every single day, just because I could.
I wasn’t alone in having my childhood shaped by the park.
KP remembered weekends at Adventure World in the late ’90s, racing to new rides with his mom. “Every weekend was a trip down to the water park,” he told me. “Cal Ripken was on TV promoting his new bucket thingy and all I wanted to do was get splashed by it.”
He grew up with the park as it changed names and added coasters, including Roar, Joker’s Jinx, Superman, Two-Face and Batwing. “I was excited to finally feel ‘like an adult’ and ride the big kids rides,” he said. His stories spanned decades, from sneaking in weekday trips with his mom to loading his car with friends in high school to visit 3 to 4 times a month.
“My dear park,” he said, “you will be missed. So many memories I have of you and how you made an impact on my first coaster experience. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it through, but I’m hoping something changes in the nick of time to keep you around. ‘Thank you for choosing Six Flags America, your capital of thrill.’”
In hindsight, maybe the writing was on the wall. The park’s quality had slipped in recent years, with headlines about fights and security issues often overshadowing the rare new ride or attraction.
One morning, I watched a kid digging in the dirt near the front gate before proudly showing his mom what he’d found… a box cutter. Not exactly the kind of souvenir you want from a theme park, but it said a lot about the state of safety at the park.
As of this season, Six Flags America had even implemented a weekend curfew for guests under 18. It was a far cry from the pseudo-sense of independence I felt going with my middle school friends on random Saturdays. We really thought we had a little world of our own, though freedom simply meant running from ride to ride with ten dollars and no parents in sight.
Even in high school, I remember being surprised the day Justin Bieber randomly pulled up to Hurricane Harbor. It was all over the news, and I couldn’t believe it… mostly because, by that point, the park didn’t feel like the kind of place a celebrity would go. I’d been there nearly every day that summer, and most of the time it felt half-empty, like a niche adventure spot that only locals appreciated. Of course, the one day I didn’t go, Bieber did.
Over the years, corporate investment dwindled, and the park started to show its age. But even with its flaws, people never stopped showing up. The love for Six Flags America never really faded, it just aged alongside the people who grew up there.
One Last Memory
On the final day of Six Flags America’s operation, people came from all over to say goodbye.
By 9 a.m., the parking lot was already filling up with people enthusiastically waiting for the gates to open.
One group propped up a banner on their trunk that read “One Last Visit Tailgate.” Another group waved a sign that said “PG County, please save the park!”
When the gates opened, there was this instant sense of camaraderie. A woman in front of me turned around, amazed, and said, “So many people here know each other!”
Enthusiasts had flown in from across the country, some for the first time, ready to document every last second. One of the employees came out to our cheering crowd before park opening to thank us all for being there and for showing up on the final day.
The weather was perfect. Sunny, and not too hot or too cold, and the park truly felt alive again, like it had one last spark left in it.
As I walked through Looney Tunes Movie Town, I passed my first roller coaster, the old play area and the spots I used to run around as a kid. Seeing the drained river rapids and riding the train past an abandoned Whistlestop Park hit me harder than I expected. I was happy to be there, but there was a heaviness to it all. An uncomfortable feeling where you know something you love is about to end.
Two of the most beloved rides, the historic Wild One and Superman: Ride of Steel, had extended queues for the majority of the day.
The Wild One, one of America’s oldest wooden coasters, has been thrilling riders since 1917. It is recognized by American Coaster Enthusiasts as an ACE Roller Coaster Landmark.
Jerry told me he’s been going to Six Flags America since it was called Wild World. “I practically grew up there, going every summer with my family and friends,” he said. “I can remember the year The Wild One opened in 1986. I remember my dad and my brothers being so excited about it. My dad loved wooden coasters and this was one of the biggest of its time. That meant, I had to ride it too - and ride it I did.”
He’s braved the Wild One “hundreds of times,” sometimes over and over again in the front row with his hands in the air. “I still remember the smell of the greased tracks and chain,” he said. “I ran to it every time I went, even in my adult years. I will forever miss that coaster and I’m so sad it’s likely to get the wrecking ball. After 108 years of life, it deserves a better send-off than it’s getting.”
The 208-foot-tall Superman coaster carried its own legacy. “My best friend and I always liked roller coasters but were never in love,” Alexis said. “Long story short, we got season passes to SFA rode Superman.. fell IN LOVE with coasters. We now travel and and plan trips just for dollar coasters.”
“I’m sure we would have found our love for coasters one day but Superman was truly the start of it all,” she said.
For some, Superman wasn’t just a ride, it was a special part of the park’s skyline. Stacy told me she “loved the sunsets behind Superman and Batwing,” a reminder that sometimes the best memories come from simply standing still and taking it all in.
Throughout the day, I did just that. I took things slow and stopped to watch coasters climb their final lifts before dropping. I listened to the screams and laughter echo from above for the final times.
The employees were in great spirits, most seemingly dedicated to giving us all one last good day.
“Working with the entertainment team here has been a dream,” said James, who spent years in the park’s entertainment department, working on shows like The Awakening and Dead Man’s Party. “Looking back on what we’ve created over the years, is so incredible yet bittersweet at this moment.”
He remembered one Fourth Fest, when he and a coworker had a wild idea: to project an American flag animation across Main Street. “We got the permission needed, and my coworker and I found ourselves on top of the main street bathrooms with an extension cord, old laptop, projector, and a dream,” he explained. “To me, it was just projection mapping. But people stopped, took photos, posted to socials, it was one of the first times I really felt like I had directly improved the experience.”
I stopped to watch the park’s final performance of Steam Heist, a live stunt show that had drawn a packed and enthusiastic crowd. The cast seemed to be having the time of their lives, breaking character and laughing mid-scene.
At the end, one of the stunt performers, teared up and spoke from his heart, telling the crowd, “Times and places come and go, but adventures like these are forever.”
I couldn’t think of a better sendoff.
As the sun began to set, I made my way to one final ride, The Flying Carousel. It was the ride twelve-year-old me had once been so proud to conquer. I’ve never been much of a thrill ride person, so it felt right to end there. The second the swings lifted off the ground, I felt weightless, and almost teared up. With the cool breeze and the view of pieces of the park’s skyline, I felt like my younger self again.
Superman broke down near the end of the night, its final train evacuated off the lift hill. It was almost a metaphoric way for the park to go out the way it had always lived – imperfect, yet loved anyway.
I left just before dark, but I heard the lines stayed long well past closing. Nobody wanted to leave.
When the park gates finally prepared to close, attendees said the speakers played a variety of farewell songs, including, “End of the Road,” “Bye Bye Bye” and “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye.”
Walking around a filled park on its final day, I kept hearing variations of the same thing.
“If this many people showed up all season, maybe it wouldn’t be closing.”
It really is funny how sometimes we only rush to show love at the end. Maybe it’s human nature to assume there’s always another season, another summer, another chance.
I’ve had to learn how to let go of places that shaped me. The school bells have stopped. My childhood home was gentrified. My childhood boy band broke up. And now, my childhood theme park is being demolished.
Maybe my sadness is just nostalgia, another goodbye to a piece of my youth I wasn’t ready to lose. For others, the park’s closure marks the end of a community landmark and a special place for family and friends to hang out for decades. Something that was always there… until suddenly it wasn’t.
But in the end, maybe you never really lose the places that shaped you. They just stay alive in the stories we keep telling. For Six Flags America, I’ll always cherish and share the memories, and we can hope whatever the land becomes next will be a good place to make new ones.
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