by Wesley Harris
Long before backyard pools, splash pads, and air-conditioned homes became commonplace, the swimming pool at Memorial Park was the place every Ruston youngster wanted to be on a hot summer afternoon.
For generations of Ruston residents, Memorial Park was more than a city park. It was where children learned to swim and families gathered for picnics or playground fun. The pool stood at the heart of the park as one of the city’s most beloved attractions—the perfect place to escape the relentless Louisiana heat on a sweltering summer afternoon.
Completed in 1931 for about $27,500, the pool represented a significant investment in public recreation during the depths of the Great Depression. With a capacity of nearly half a million gallons, it quickly became the centerpiece of summertime life in Ruston. Week after week, children crowded its deck for swimming lessons, teenagers gathered with friends, and families found an affordable way to spend long summer days together.
The pool complemented Memorial Park, itself a civic landmark dedicated as a memorial to those who gave their lives in war. Together, the park and pool transformed the area into Ruston’s primary recreation center, hosting picnics, ballgames, community celebrations, and creating treasured memories for generations.
Like virtually every public facility in the South during the 1930s, Ruston’s municipal swimming pool operated under the laws and customs of racial segregation. The pool served white residents only, while African Americans were excluded. It was not until 1966 that the City of Ruston opened a separate pool for black residents at what is now Duncan Park, at the corner of Vaughn Avenue and Arlington Street. The recreation complex there also included a small branch library, reflecting the era’s separate public facilities. By about 1970, Ruston’s public recreational facilities—including its parks, pools, and libraries—had been integrated, ending decades of officially segregated public services.
By the early 1940s, the pool had become known beyond Lincoln Parish.
In the fall of 1941, General George S. Patton’s famed 2nd Armored Division rolled into North Louisiana to participate in the Louisiana Maneuvers, one of the largest military training exercises in American history. While passing through Ruston, Patton’s soldiers welcomed the chance to cool off at the city pool in Memorial Park before returning to the field. For a brief time, one of Ruston’s favorite summertime destinations became a gathering place for soldiers preparing for a world at war.
That same year, the pool became the subject of an unusual lawsuit.
A nearby property owner sued the City of Ruston, claiming water discharged when the pool was drained had enlarged a natural drainage ditch and damaged his property. According to testimony, the city emptied the pool about once a week during the summer through a 14-inch outlet, releasing hundreds of thousands of gallons of water into the drainage system. City officials maintained they had received no previous complaints and argued the water simply followed an existing natural channel. The lawsuit revealed the engineering challenges associated with operating one of the city’s most popular attractions.
Despite occasional controversy, the city pool remained one of Ruston’s most cherished summertime destinations for decades. It was where generations of children learned to swim, earned Red Cross certificates, advanced through lifesaving classes, and eventually became lifeguards themselves.
Swimmers may remember two names synonymous with the pool. Coach L. J. “Hoss” Garrett, one of the most revered figures in local athletics, was a familiar sight seated on a bench just outside the bathhouse, where he supervised the pool’s lifeguards and managed the swimming program. Best known for his legendary coaching career and lasting influence on generations of Bearcat athletes, Garrett also helped make summer days at the pool both safe and enjoyable.
Another name fondly remembered is Nelda Johns, whose swimming lessons introduced generations of children to the water. Patient and encouraging, “Miss Nelda” taught hundreds—perhaps even thousands—of young Ruston residents the life-saving skill of swimming. Mrs. John’s lessons were free. In fact, there was hardly any charge for pool use—a two-week pass was $1. Only $5 was charged for a season pass for the summer.
Long after the pool closed, many adults could still trace their first strokes and newfound confidence in the water to lessons from Miss Nelda.
Overlooking the pool stood a small hexagonal building everyone simply called the “Round House.” Before Ruston built a formal recreation center, it served a variety of community purposes. Many remember taking ballet and tap lessons there from sisters Eloise and Glenda Matthews, while outside, children filled the playground’s merry-go-round, swings, slide, and other play equipment.
Ask longtime Ruston residents about the municipal pool, and they’ll likely remember far more than the water. They’ll recall stepping in the disinfectant foot bath before entering the bathhouse, climbing the towering high dive for the first time, racing down the slide, buying a peanut butter bar from the concession stand, stopping by Dairy Queen on the bicycle ride home, Coach Garrett watching from his bench, Miss Nelda’s swimming lessons, the Matthews sisters’ dance classes, and carefree afternoons with friends until the whistle signaled it was time to go home. Hours in the pool, plus the playground, and perhaps dance classes could fill a Saturday with pure joy
Eventually, time caught up with the aging structure. Years of use took their toll as the concrete foundation deteriorated and massive leaks developed. Cracks became increasingly difficult and expensive to repair, and maintaining the aging pool was no longer practical. The city eventually closed the facility, bringing an end to an era that had defined summers in Ruston for generations.
Today, the crystal clear water disappeared after the 2015 season. The property has been repurposed for a skateboard park where a new generation will gather.
The laughter that once echoed across Memorial Park survives in family photographs, newspaper stories, and the recollections of those who remember spending carefree summer days beside the cool blue water. Long before club and hotel pools, splash pads, and backyard swimming became commonplace, the pool at Memorial Park was where Ruston came together, where friendships were formed, and where generations of children learned one of life’s most important summertime skills.
Sometimes the most enduring landmarks are remembered not because they still stand, but because so many lives passed through them. The municipal pool gave Ruston far more than a place to swim. It gave generations of children their first swimming lesson, their first leap from a high dive, lifelong friendships, and memories that have outlasted the pool itself. For thousands who grew up here, Memorial Park wasn’t simply where they spent their summers—it was where they grew up.
