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Seasonal residents found aid for ailments at the facility. But their nude sunbathing was shunned by locals as "sinful."
By SCOTT TAYLOR HARTZELL
© St. Petersburg Times, published July 5, 2000
ST. PETERSBURG -- From 1930 to 1961, vitality eclipsed modesty at the Municipal Solarium. Patrons with terminal conditions came seeking miracles. The press called the Solarium one of our nation's first centers for heliotherapy, the world's finest.
"It was kind of a curiosity," said resident Bill Mangold, 86. "People could get bare and go get their sunshine."
Harry Landsman, the Solarium Society president and its founder, made no attempt to conceal the truth: His customers, men and women, often basked in the nude.
"When a man is fighting to regain his health," Landsman said, he could wear tobacco leaves while sunbathing if he wished. Or nothing at all.
About 30,000 people gathered on Feb. 4, 1930, for the Solarium's dedication at the Million Dollar Pier. The first guest was I.W. Post of Brooklyn, N.Y.
Radio personality Lowell Thomas spoke, historian Ray Arsenault wrote, as did Mayor Arthur Thompson. The Solarium was Landsman's dream come true. As a retired general manager of a 200-city chain clothing company, Landsman hobbled here at about age 49 on two canes in 1928. "I walked like a man of 98 and talked like a frightened child of 10," he said.
The New York native sunbathed at a rundown, unsanitary building at The Pier. One year later, "we formed (the Solarium Society), and the men elected me president," Landsman said.
The society, who with "mahogany countenances" jokingly called themselves the Sunburn Club, pledged to improve the dilapidated structure. The council allocated $11,500 to Landsman to replace the building at 455 Second Ave. NE. Construction began in December 1929.
The stone, roofless Solarium resembled an Egyptian temple and bore the image of the sun god Ra. The floors were sand. Swiss-type chairs and benches provided relaxation. Admission, locker, soap, a towel and shower cost 35 cents.
Capacity was 500, and the Solarium averaged 400-600 guests daily in season. Bathers played cards, horseshoes, volleyball, did calisthenics, and sparred in a boxing ring. Dinner could be ordered in at the Solarium, which neighbored Spa Beach and the Spa Pool.
Sunshades and nurses saved patrons from overexposure: 15 minutes on the front, 15 minutes on the back. "More and more physicians are recommending the Solarium as a health haven for their patients," the Times wrote.
One patron had to be helped from a taxi into the building when she arrived, the Independent reported. By season's end, she was driving her own car.
Dr. Alexander Davis touted the Solarium in 1934: "To obtain the greatest benefit from health . . . sun baths taken scientifically are essential."
From 1933 to 1935 the Solarium served 305,418 guests, many with arthritis, pneumonia and other ailments. More lockers, heat radiators and better equipment were added in 1936 as heliotherapy's popularity grew.
In 1953, an $8,500 renovation created enclosed showers and rooms for service and massage. Ruth Huff-Saylor, 74, remembered the massages and "listening to all the characters there."
Two Solarium sections, each 724 feet by 245 feet, insured privacy for women and men. But once a wall blew down, and a woman embarrassed many by insisting on her regular nude session.
Sometimes "somebody scales the wall with a camera in hand," reported the Times. Planes often flew low for a bird's-eye view.
Police Chief R.H. Noel took to the air in the 1930s after receiving nudity complaints. "There are no cause for blushes," and no law prohibits aircraft from flying over the city, he said after landing.
While tourists supported the Solarium, most locals stayed away. "Many didn't want anything to do with something as sinful as nudity," Huff-Saylor said.
The Solarium closed in 1961, four years after Landsman's death.
Building deterioration, controversy over nudity and new city recreational facilities caused the Solarium's demise, June Hurley Young, author of Florida's Pinellas Peninsula, said recently.
In 1963, the Solarium was razed by order of City Manager Lynn Andrews. "People were very sad," Huff-Saylor said. "They were brown as berries, and that was their place to go."
-- Please forward comments or story ideas to Scott at hartzel@gate.net.