Coney Island

A peninsula really, Coney Island is reminiscent of the traditional boardwalk, warmed by long, sunny days, saturated with salt and sand, air thick with cotton candy and greasy hotdogs. Although I visited on an overcast day, I could almost hear the generations of vacationing families, children squealing with the waves, parents chasing the errant child past cawing vendors and rumbling roller coasters, young people basking on the beach, sweat and sun and bored lifeguards. I passed the day on the windswept beach, book in hand, then, full of sand and eyes watering, I toured the grounds taking a ride on the Ferris Wheel and two, yes two rides on the Cyclone roller coaster. One of the oldest roller coasters in the states, rickety, and wooden, I loved every gut wrenching moment as the cars sped round corners and leapt down the tracks, a tenuous grip on the old rails.

I ended the afternoon with a draft on the boardwalk, chatting to the bartender about the older days. He pointed out the many pictures on the wall some dating back into the 1920’s, wistful in his reminiscing.

“They’re going to tear it down.” He told me, sadly shaking his head. “In two years none of this,” a weathered hand gestured at the bar and surrounding shops, “will be here. All of it will be beachside condos and resorts.”

Alarmed I asked if the whole of the boardwalk and carnival would be removed as well. The bartender pursed his lips in thought, “No, I think they’ll keep the rides, and the boardwalk…well, I hope so.” A sigh, “Would you sign our petition to keep the bar and shops?” Eagerly I agreed.
As the train pulled out taking me back to Brooklyn, I wondered if I would ever see Coney Island in all its glory again, or if I ever really had. Perhaps the glory days were long past, and now was a time for resorts and wealthy condos. No more vacationing families and carnies, no more rickety rides, and greasy hotdogs and sagging swimsuits and sunburned teenagers. All replaced by bronzed bodies, manicured nails, pool-side pina-coladas, honeymooners and yachts. Sadly, I glanced down at the postcards I’d collected, hoping there would be a place for cotton candy and sandcastles in the new Coney Island.