Once upon a time Williamsburg, Virginia was a sleepy little place. It had been that way since 1780 when then-governor Thomas Jefferson packed up the state government and hauled it away to Richmond. Things became so laid back the locals even forgot to hold an election. Then came the Colonial Williamsburg restoration project, which stepped things up quite a bit and put their little town back on the map. Things would change yet again when Anheuser-Busch formally announced on September 17, 1969 that the company had acquired nearly 4000 acres in James City County for a state-of-the-art brewery, large-scale residential planned community, and a “Busch Gardens type” recreational attraction. No further details were provided at the time.

Interestingly, most of the land was purchased from the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, which saw Busch as a good neighbor and just the ticket for “clean industry” development of the region. Carlisle Humelsine, president of the Foundation, made great efforts to explain to the community why they were so supportive of the venture. Along with a much-needed increased tax base for public services, Busch would bring an orderly, harmonious development by working closely with the Foundation, as opposed to a piecemeal, helter-skelter encroachment of the beautiful landscape over time. The sales agree‐ ment required Busch to coordinate design plans with the Foundation, instituting a three-person review board comprised of nationally recognized experts, and in fact an early example of this involved the proposed brewery facility. Paying homage to the local heritage, Busch’s architects had imagined colonial-style structures with appropriate brickwork motifs. But the Foundation said no, being opposed to any “pseudo-colonial style in commercial buildings.” Busch also agreed to allow scenic easements along the James River and for a planned stretch of “country road” through their property that would eventually connect Colonial Williamsburg with Carter’s Grove, a working 18th century plantation made financially possible from the sale of land to Busch.

One plot of land Busch needed in order to organize everything into a neat, contiguous package was not controlled by Colonial Williamsburg, but by the Federal government. Camp Wallace was an army facility located in the southern region of the planned sites for the park and residential areas. It just so happened that Busch, previously looking at property in Newport News before deciding on Williamsburg, had optioned 193 acres adjoining Fort Eustis. So they offered the Feds a good deal—we’ll take Camp Wallace and you can have our chunk of land directly adjoining your facility. The swap served everybody’s interests and all parties walked away happy.

In January 1970 Busch announced that the gardens component of the overall project would open in 1973. The brewery was already under construction, and no specific theme for the recreational area was mentioned. “It is quite likely” said Richard J. Bender, vice president for corporate affairs, “the gardens will be animal-oriented. Our strong point is how to display and handle animals.” Later in June the project planners met with local officials just to introduce themselves and get to know everybody they’d be working with over the next several years.

By 1972 it was clear that the opening date wouldn’t happen until 1975. A year’s delay seems to have come from a change in master planners for the entire property, with the company rejecting the first consultant and hiring Sasaki, Dawson, and Demay Associates of Watertown, MA. The pause also came from Busch taking a hard, second look after the debacle of their Houston Gardens, which had just closed in the middle of all this after only two seasons. But so far the Los Angeles property hadn’t yet tanked, and Tampa was off the charts, falling only to Walt Disney World in 1971 as the state’s most popular tourist attraction.

Pushing forward, the company announced in January 1973 that they indeed planned to “open a Busch Garden adjoining its Williamsburg brewery.” Though there was as yet no description or name for the recreation area, they promised it would not be a colonial theme so as not to conflict with Colonial Williamsburg. April brought the news that construction on the gardens would begin immediately with a $30 million budget. But still no theme or name; local sources rumored that the project would feature several foreign villages representing countries where most American immigrants hailed from. And it seemed pretty clear that animals of some type would be involved, possibly North American to match the theme of the Asian, African, and tropical settings of the other Busch parks. At some point in 1973 a physical model of the plans was built in St. Louis, but that wasn’t made available to the public.

An interesting historical aside to all of this involved Busch funding an archaeological team to investigate 17th and 18th century plantation sites at the Kingsmill residential area. Working over on park property, a college student discovered a brass and steel saber made for grenadiers in the French Army in 1767. Most likely it was lost during the Revolutionary War, but it could have been from a Confederate soldier in 1863, since that army often suffered from a lack of modern arms. The region, of course, has seen numerous battles from multiple wars, so there are undoubtedly countless treasures and remembrances yet to be unearthed.

Finally in May came the details everyone was looking for. For $5 guests would be able to visit villages from England, France, and Germany. The overall theme would be “America’s pre-colonial heritage,” and in order to complement Colonial Williamsburg, architecture and details would be styled to represent each country from around the 16th century. Promised attractions included a river cruise, an English castle with drawbridge, a French Canadian trapper’s village, toyland, fairytale land, an outdoor theater for the now-standard exotic bird shows, and a field for the Clydesdales. A monorail would whisk guests over for a tour of the brewery. Also planned in addition to the Kingsmill residential area were several hotels, including an immediate joint project with Marriott, and a campground. Clearly park developers understood the concept of a resort destination by this time.

Also evident was the idea that this “garden” would not be merely a hospitality center. The Virginia property was planned as a major theme park from the beginning. But what that was to be exactly was unclear to the company early on, as can be seen by examining an evolving string of logos for the upcoming park. First was the standard Anheuser-Busch Eagle prominently perched over “Busch Gardens” with Williamsburg, Tampa, and Los Angeles underneath (Houston was apparently dead at this point). This connected the new project with the company’s brand and entertainment lineup. Further thinking, however, led to the idea that maybe this park, being much bigger and most likely quite different from the others, deserved its own identity. So the other location names were dropped and a different font style was adopted. As a medieval theme began to emerge, the “Friendly Eagle” didn’t quite say the right thing, so out that went. At this point the formal name was “Busch Gardens at Williamsburg: The Old Country.” Park plans continued to distance the project from the other Busch properties, so gradually emphasis was placed on the theme of the park. The name was flipped to “The Old Country” in a large, modern typeface with “Busch Gardens, Williamsburg, VA” in much smaller print below. Bill Francisco, marketing manager at the time, pointed out there was no medieval “e” in “Old,” a deliberate decision to indicate the park was a modern interpretation of old Europe.

As with any major development there were hiccups along the way. Busch sent a request to the state legislature to revise regulations allowing them to sell Busch-branded merchandise in the shops. But then Virginia beer wholesalers got their barrels in a twist over the idea of being thrown into the “novelties” business. They lost, for whatever difference it made in the end, and you could happily buy a Bud shirt or Michelob something-or-other in the park. James City supervisors attempted a cash grab by threatening a 1% admissions tax on park tickets. An avalanche of corporate lobbying and personal letters from August Busch himself squelched that.

The very month of opening—May 1975—local officials were preparing their review in order to issue a certificate of occupancy for the new park. They discovered that Busch had not filed numerous building permits for various structures and rides. It caught everyone by surprise, with Busch’s marketing manager Bill Francisco exclaiming it to be something “we flat overlooked!” Some of this was certainly due to the urgency and chaos of building a major park like this, but the company also said they weren’t aware permits were required for certain items such as large rides, railroad bridges, and small buildings. Everyone agreed it was simply a matter of having so many people involved with changing lines of communication during the course of construction, but the county stood their ground. File the paperwork or you won’t open. And then you’ll have to tear that stuff down. Busch filed. Quickly.

Opening day was delayed due to weather interfering with construction, so they missed the original April 15 deadline. A preview for employees’ and construction workers’ families was held Sunday, May 4, just to work out the kinks and get things in gear. Saturday, May 10 was the big day, and the Busch Friendly Eagle welcomed the official first family through the gate. John and Betty Rose from Bel Air, MD and their two children received passports to the park. But before they could run on to see what was in store, one of the kids took a few moments to outdance the demonstrative Friendly Eagle. You can’t buy better promotional material.

The big marketing push leading up to opening day was that you could visit Europe for only $6.50. Few Americans had been there, and the idea was that this was just about as good as the real thing. “Introducing Europe. On this side of the Atlantic.” Park your car in the French, German, or Hastings lots, then hop on an English double-decker bus for the brief trip to the ticket booths to begin the journey across Europe. Once through, the pathway led up the hill, through the entrance turnstiles, and into Banbury Cross. Here...

“It’s as if time had stood still. You see cobbled streets. Old-world shops. Castle courtyards. There’s even a replica of Shakespeare’s famous Globe Theatre. The year is 1603. London. And you are there.”

The as-close-as-we-wanna-get reproduction of the real Globe housed one of the three major live shows in the park. Next door was an actual branch of the United Virginia Bank of Williamsburg, just in case you forgot to stock up on cash before leaving home. Brave the “brooding moors” and make your way to Heatherdowns, Scottish home of the Clydesdales. Visit their stables and take photos while they relaxed in the pasture. Then hop on board the standard-gauge Prussian or English-styled steam train at Tweedside Station for a trip around the park with beautiful trestles and views of the wildlife. If you completed the round trip without disembarking at New France, hop off and head across the bridge toward Hastings, passing through the castle gate and...

“into the land of parapets, canopies and bright flags flying in the breezes. This is the scene for knights of old, princesses in flowing gowns, tournaments and kings’ rewards. Styled after late Medieval Scotland, Hastings is the mood that legends are made of.”

This was the “land of fast-paced adventure” with carnival games, a fun house, and The Catapult, an indoor scrambler ride with unexpected run-ins with knights of old. The Reynolds Aluminum Theatre presented the Sid and Marty Crofft show Camelot Revue. Hastings was where you could catch the Eagle One, an ultramodern, completely automated monorail from Westinghouse that cruised silently over to the brewery for a tour and free samples.

Continuing counter-clockwise we reach Aquitaine, where “You’ll feel like an American in Paris. At the turn of the century.” The open- air market of street vendors, sidewalk artists, and cafes set the mood before strolling over to enjoy the famous Anheuser-Busch Bird Circus at the La Jolie Plume outdoor amphitheater. Afterwards get away from all the hustle and bustle with a relaxing car ride through the French forest in a not-so-fast replica Le Mans antique race car.

Up the path and into the woods, we’ve crossed the Atlantic and find ourselves in New France. Everything was frontier here, with a trapper’s outpost, bluegrass music, and pioneer artisans at work on various crafts. The park’s premiere thrill ride, which wasn’t quite ready for opening day, was an Arrow-designed water flume. Le Scoot was an original for sure, with a spectacular drop after nearly getting sliced to bits by a seven foot buzz saw. After drying off, head over to the park's final section:

“Welcome to a simpler, lustier era: Germany of the 19th century. The hub of the hamlet is the Willkommenhaus. Stop in and enjoy gemütlichkeit while oompah bands and folk dancers entertain... There’s a thrilling German steel roller coaster. And a fleet of river-boats to carry you across a 60-acre waterway...And it’s all nestled in a centuries-old forest where more than 500 head of wildlife roam free. Come soon. Everyone should visit a once-upon-a-time place. At least once.”

The park’s designers, PGAV, took full advantage of the 300-acre natural landscape, full of ravines, hills, and beautiful trees, plants, and flowers. And of course there was plenty of wildlife, some cleverly contained within fenced habitats, others just local creatures making their way in life. The guest brochure emphasized this, pointing out the various types of trees, animals, and so on to be discovered while also entreating guests to help preserve the environment and keep it clean.

The varied elevations and dense forests provided a natural, free way to apply Disney’s practice of avoiding visual intrusion between lands. The idea is to not see anything from another section in the park, which would destroy the illusion of where you’re supposed to be at the moment. Busch was selling the idea that you were visiting countries in Europe at a different point in time, and the park’s layout made this possible in a way few others could take advantage of. There was no way a regional park could have accomplished the same immersive feeling if built in an industrial center...such as, say, down‐town next to a Los Angeles brewery.

The geography brought its challenges, of course. It’s much easier to build a park on a flat lot, and helping guests get around takes on a higher urgency. Attractions such as the train and sky ride gondolas were not only fun rides, but essential modes of transportation to ensure visitors had an enjoyable experience.

Another highlight of this park was the crafting of period-authentic items by skilled artisans. Sure, you could buy the standard cheap stuff, but there was a richness and added kinetic energy with such live demonstrations immersed among authentically-detailed architecture and settings. Buildings were trimmed with rough stone, wood, brick, and even small touches like ceramic chimney tops. No plywood cutouts and drywall here. They acknowledged that many guests wouldn’t even notice, but the belief was that it made a difference and contributed to the park being “a very special place.” August Busch himself spent time walking around the park taking notes of things he wanted to see, insisting on making things better and with quality. He “got it”—just like Walt. It does indeed make a difference when you go the extra mile. Or dollar.

Whether they “got it” or not, people came in droves and packed the park that first season. By fall Busch already had plans for Oktoberfest, their Germany expansion for 1976. Italy would come four years later. Like the runaway success of Kings Dominion, opening just the week before, Busch Gardens seemed to validate the theory that even during financial recessions people want entertainment and viewed the parks as a reasonably priced option for their families. Buzz Price from Economics Research Associates backs this concept up—with lots of data, of course.

The Virginia project was a significant departure from previous Busch properties due to its conception as a resort destination with a planned series of hotels and campground. This idea wasn’t new, having been pioneered by Disney in Florida and several of the regionals such as Astroworld, Opryland, and Kings Island. But for the first time Busch had plenty of land to play with, just like what Walt had dreamed with his Florida Project. The park would not be butted up against the brewery; that facility was out of sight down the road. The park was set off from the outside world, buried in the trees and countryside. And a majority of the development was the upper-scale Kingsmill residential community, beautifully situated away from all of this (mostly). Such a large, comprehensive design from the get-go is extremely rare and expensive, and it was a bold investment decision by the company.

Of course there were naysayers. As we have seen, there are always pros and cons to such a large-scale intrusion into people’s neighbor‐hoods and cities. A couple local residents, outraged at the notion of a beer manufacturer running such a place, called for a boycott that first year because of the rowdy, drunken atmosphere Busch was bringing to the area. Others fired back, pointing out the family-friendly atmosphere of the park and how wonderful the place was. The question was posed: “Mr. Moore, have you actually visited Busch Gardens or met Mr. Busch?” Of course not.

And then there was the self-appointed culturally elite, such as the good Edwin Wilson in “These Groans are from Shakespeare”:

“...I’m afraid if we opened Shakespeare’s grave this summer we would find not just that he had turned over, but that he was spinning wildly, a conclusion based on seeing an entertainment at the new Busch Garden amusement park...The Busch version (of the Globe Theatre), which The Old Country brochure calls an ‘authentic replica of Bard’s famous Globe Theater’ is twice too big and seats fewer people; it has a roof, no seats on the side tiers, and movie seats where people used to stand. The distortions of the building are nothing, however, compared to the show itself: a 30-minute fable about a group of actors who cannot put on Romeo and Juliet because the actress playing Juliet is ill...Shakespeare himself would have difficulty plumbing the paradoxes of this production...Perhaps the saddest commentary of all is that we have been so bombarded with amplified sound and become so accustomed to the mechanical reproduction of the human voice that many in the audience may not realize that the actors on stage are not speaking their own words (apparently the show was all lip-synced).”

Mr. Wilson’s worry was that too many people who have not actually seen Shakespeare will be damaged for life by believing this is it. There’s no telling whether this gentleman ever returned to the park to try again, but odds are slim.

The same thing was happening up the road at Kings Dominion, as so eloquently put by one of the long-time locals who lived half a mile from the park:

"This used to be a pleasant, provincial sort of county," said Katherine Myers, whose home in Hanover was built in 1703. "All of a sudden— ta-dah—we're catapulted into the 20th century. This is the place where (Kentucky Derby winners) Riva Ridge and Secretariat were foaled. They're sort of local heroes to us. We all felt that sort of thing was a whole lot neater than living near an amusement park...It's like modern day carpetbagging. They figure, 'those suckers, they need the money.’ It's what they did to the South 100 years ago and it's no more attractive now than it was then.”

Apparently Ms. Myers just couldn’t stand the loud elephants, the “fat ladies” screaming on the roller coaster, and of course that “herd of buffalo”...tourists staring down at her from the Eiffel Tower. Bruce English of the Hanover County Citizens' Federation agreed. What he saw was a “hasty, ill-conceived adventure in development that has raised taxes, thrown the county's sewage treatment plans into chaos, plagued the park's neighbors and threatened local thoroughbreds with nervous breakdowns.” Certainly a total fiasco.

To be sure, the sewage plan was controversial in that the local government rejected Taft’s offer to build their own plant, deciding instead to install their own, anticipating enormous growth in the area after the park opened. That didn’t happen, and the plant operated at one-fourth capacity at an annual deficit of $50,000.

Sewage, water, taxes, traffic, visual intrusion, tourists...all of these are legitimate concerns when something such as an amusement park comes to town. There are no clear answers and somebody is certainly going to lose in the end.