In the early 1960s, a new form of entertainment opened all across the country, and Memphis wasn’t immune to this crazy fad. Called “trampoline pits,” these were essentially big rubber trampolines stretched over rectangular holes in the ground. You paid a quarter (I seem to recall) and bounced and bounced for 10 minutes or so.
They were usually low-rent affairs, set up outside abandoned gas stations and drive-ins. At first, the trampolines were mounted on steel frames above the ground, but to avoid disasters the owners eventually placed the mats over shallow holes surrounded by sand, just like in the pictures here — so somebody wouldn’t bounce off the things and break their necks, you see. And that’s why they were called trampoline PITS.
Still, there were casualties. Kids would hop and leap and tumble and suddenly bounce off the side of the mat and land smack on their little heads. Schools across this great land were filled with poor little children, their faces battered black and blue, their heads swathed in thick bandages, groaning in agony as they shuffled down the hallway, dragging their broken legs behind them. You’d see them and think “Another senseless trampoline tragedy.”