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History's buffs: Naked isn't new
By JAMES HARPER © St. Petersburg Times, published October 25, 1998 People who fret over the future of Sunken Gardens, however, might be surprised to learn that public nudity was once officially sanctioned -- even encouraged -- in downtown St. Petersburg. The Municipal Solarium, behind the old Spa Pool on the approach to The Pier, was advertised throughout the country as "the world's largest and best-equipped facility for open-air sunbathing." This was before everyone knew about skin cancer, of course. Scientific sunbathing -- or "heliotherapy" -- was said to ease every ailment from arthritis to stuffy noses. Stories about the rejuvenation of winter visitors fit right into St. Petersburg's self-promoted image as a health resort: "The Sunshine City." And, as one newspaper said soon after the solarium opened: "The best benefits are to be obtained when the entire body is exposed." Men and women had separate quarters for sunbathing. The solarium consisted of two long, rectangular sandy areas, each surrounded by high concrete walls. After entering through the front doors (built to resemble an Egyptian sun temple), patrons received a ticket, a towel, a locker key and permission to loll about on "Swiss-type" benches as long as they liked. Attendants kept a close eye on newcomers to make sure they didn't overdo it. Steam-baths, massages, exercise classes and games of horseshoes and cards were also available. In the early days, the men's side even had a boxing ring. The solarium recorded more than 16,000 visitors during its first winter season in early 1930, according to the old Evening Independent. Each successive season, the solarium's popularity grew. But that doesn't mean there wasn't controversy. The first involved a Goodyear dirigible, the Reliance, which offered aerial tours of the city, including the downtown waterfront. In 1931, some solarium enthusiasts complained that the airship hovered too closely. They wanted a city ordinance adopted to protect the airspace over their naked bodies. Naturally, the police chief had to go up and take a look. Several days later, according to news accounts, the mayor had to go, too, along with the fire chief, the chairman of the city's civil service board and other assorted city officials. Not to worry, they said. From the air, you couldn't really see anything. The captain of the Reliance, offered his assurance that "the use of field glasses (over the solarium) would not be permitted." In 1936, the facility found itself on the front page again when Col. Harry Landsman, president of the Solarium Society and self-proclaimed "nudest of the nudes," proposed entering a float in the annual Festival of States parade. It's not clear whether the colonel was joking when he said the float would feature people not wearing clothes. But several downtown churches took no chances. They petitioned the parade committee "to protect the youth of the city from corrupting influences." Soon after, a nudist group from Lake Thonotosassa in Hillsborough County joined the fray. "An artistically decorated float with beautiful, near-nude young men and women would impress the spectators immensely and at the same time would yield an influx of thousands of sun worshipers," said Herman Shoshinsky of Tampa. The nude float apparently never happened -- but the solarium and parade received lots of free publicity. A bemused tolerance seems to have been most people's attitude toward whatever went on behind the high walls of the solarium. Several longtime St. Petersburg residents interviewed for this article said they remembered the solarium, but they never went there or knew anyone who did. Ted Dahlem, 67, remembers his older brother boasting about flying over the solarium when he took flying lessons at Albert Whitted Airport back in the 1940s. "But being nine years older than I," he said, "there's no telling how much he beefed that up to make it sound like something great." Neighborhood Times staff writer Jon Wilson remembers when he was 10 or 11 "slipping around the edges of that place, looking for a knothole or something. We never saw anything, I can say that. Much to our disappointment." Donna Benjamin, 70, remembers that her grandparents had a solarium in their back yard -- a sort of shed with an open roof, offering both sunshine and privacy. Her maternal grandfather, a dentist named Gamble, "was kind of a health nut," Benjamin said, and his wife took regular sunbaths to help with her asthma. The Vinoy Park Hotel offered several such units for sun worshipers who wanted more discretion than the municipal solarium provided. One remains on display there today behind the croquet court, courtesy of the St. Petersburg Museum of History. But the solarium didn't survive the 1960s. Although it continued to attract thousands of visitors each season, it was torn down in 1963, not long after a fire destroyed the pavilion that covered the Spa Pool next door. The pool remained open for a while, but the City Council ultimately decided to fill everything in and put a new pool in North Shore Park, almost a mile away. Some local historians have described this development as an effort to move the city's most prominent swimming pool farther from African-American neighborhoods during the early days of integration. But that, as they say, is a story for another day.
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T. PETERSBURG -- Sez here that one of the city's oldest tourist attractions is about to turn into a nudist day spa. Imagine!
