On a warm July evening in 2017, the Fire Ball ride stood at the edge of the Ohio State Fair, illuminated in the boisterous, almost cartoonish manner typical of amusement rides. A week prior, eighteen-year-old Tyler Jarrell had enlisted in the Marines. He got into one of the gondolas. He was ejected from the ride a few minutes later when a gondola broke free in the middle of a swing. There were seven more injuries. Eventually, investigators discovered that the failure was caused by excessive internal corrosion that was missed by routine inspections.
That one unpleasant and well-publicized incident served as the impetus for what is arguably Ohio’s most significant safety law in a generation. In November 2019, Governor Mike DeWine signed House Bill 189, also referred to as Tyler’s Law. On paper, it looks like the kind of boring administrative bill that typically ends up in a statehouse newsletter’s back pages. In actuality, it completely changed the dynamic between Ohio fairs, the ride operators who pass through them, and the families who enter the gates with faith that someone has done their homework.
It’s not just the rule changes that make the legislation exceptionally important. It’s their underlying philosophy. Prior to Tyler’s Law, Ohio’s laws governing amusement rides mainly relied on manufacturer specifications and visual inspections. This makes sense, but keep in mind that the Fire Ball passed its inspection the day it killed someone. The burden was changed by the new law. Owners of roller coasters, towers, and intermediate rides are now required to perform documented fatigue and corrosion reviews, maintain records for the ride’s lifetime, and provide those records to any potential buyers. Speaking with those who keep up with this stuff gives me the impression that the documentation requirement might be more important than anything else. Owners are outlived by paper trails.
Additionally, the bill made it more difficult for anyone to truly inspect a ride. The Ohio Department of Agriculture, which strangely oversees ride safety alongside livestock and dairy, was given more authority to immediately close rides, inspector qualifications were redefined, and the minimum number of inspectors per ride category was increased. For the past few years, David Miran, who oversees the department’s amusement ride division, has guided ride owners through the change. It hasn’t gone smoothly. A few operators complained about the price. Others quietly acknowledged that a reconsideration of the outdated system was long overdue.
Here, it’s worth taking a moment to consider the political reality. Laws pertaining to safety that bear the names of deceased teenagers are typically passed with little technical detail and a lot of emotional momentum. Tyler’s Law is unique in that it accomplished both. The Senate version’s sponsor, Senator Louis Blessing III, pushed for details that most lawmakers steer clear of—the kind of detailed language about engineering review and ASTM standards that doesn’t work well for press conferences. Legislative patience like that is uncommon.
Beneath the bill is a more expansive cultural meaning. Amusement parks and fairs have a peculiar place in American culture. They are nostalgic machines, replete with neon lights, fried dough, and the belief that nothing negative will occur because nothing negative occurred the previous year. In essence, Ohio’s reaction to the Fire Ball was an admission that nostalgia isn’t a safety net. Even years later, it feels meaningful in a difficult-to-explain way to watch the state put real teeth behind that idea.
It will take more seasons to determine whether the law has truly made Ohio’s rides safer. Corrosion is patient. Inspectors are people. Only in 2023 did the roller coaster compliance phase start. However, compared to eight years ago, there is now a stronger layer of accountability between families and the machine when they pass a Ferris wheel at the Ohio State Fair. That is not insignificant. Ohio has set a precedent in a nation where regulation of amusement rides is still a patchwork of state laws and uneven enforcement. The Marine would have been Tyler Jarrell. Rather, his name appears on a statute that might ultimately save strangers.
