Fight to save coney island
Stephen Baker will happily lie on a bed of nails at Coney Island -- it's a city council vote today on the iconic amusement park's future that scares him...
"They're going to destroy the magic," said Baker, 42, resting between acts at a freak show also featuring a sword swallower and "elephant woman."
Nearly everyone -- even Baker and fellow sideshow colleagues -- agrees that New York's Coney Island needs a makeover.
But what Mayor Michael Bloomberg's administration terms "revitalization," many Coney Island fans call an agenda to turn a gaudy national treasure into a bland money spinner.
Many of the most famous 20th century attractions, like Astroland, have disappeared, leaving a ramshackle, often seedy district in their wake.
The delicious aroma of hot dogs, said to have been invented here, mixes with the stench of urine and rain-soaked garbage. Drunks on the cracked sidewalks easily rival the phony scares of the Spookarama ghost train.
On Wednesday, the city council was scheduled to vote on a rescue plan.
"It's a plan for the rich," said Baker, a gangly man with a mustache and, he claims, the world record for banging nails with a hammer through his nose.
The decline of Coney Island began more than half a century ago as urban crisis, social Change and property disputes stymied development along the sprawling, south Brooklyn beachfront.
Today the area is a bizarre, raffish mix of the attractive and atrocious.
Vacant lots mingle with bustling small businesses like Nathan's Famous hot dog restaurant, site of a legendary annual eating competition.
Venerable, shaky rides like the Wonder Wheel and Cyclone rub shoulders with tawdry shops pumping out rap music and selling cheap wares.
On slow, hot afternoons, freak show operators urge a trickle of customers to witness the headless woman, mermaid or two-headed cow.
Robert McKeiver, a 60-year-old chauffeur, remembers coming as a child and barely being able to find space on the adjacent beach, which stretches just beyond the huge boardwalk.
"This place was jammed," he recalled, shaking his head at the way things turned out. "Something needs to be done. I'd like to see things open 365 days a year, not just in season. There should be stuff you can do indoors too."
The city plan promises just that -- an "amusement and entertainment district that will reestablish Coney Island as a year-round, open and accessible amusement destination."
This, according to the official proposal, would include a wide-ranging overhaul of the area, adding entertainment complexes, big hotels and housing, but still adhering to "Coney Island's unique character."
The island's colorful denizens -- ride operators, burlesque performers, and local historians -- fear the plan plays into the hands of a big developer, Thor Equities, which owns the heart of the district.
Groups like Save Coney Island say the total area zoned for outdoor amusements will shrink while the rest will be inundated with mall-type shopping and four high-rise hotels that will forever block the skyline.
While the city promises badly needed affordable housing, some critics suspect that lucrative condominium projects will follow.
"There's not enough acres left after you stick in all these hotels and stuff that doesn't belong in the amusement area for rides," the self-appointed "mayor" of Coney Island, Dick Zigun, warns in a video address.
"They're giving financial incentives to destroy Coney Island's few historic buildings," he fumed. "There's more left of ancient Rome than turn-of-the-century Coney Island."
Carnival veteran Monica Ghee, challenging tourists to try their strength with a mammoth hammer, said she felt helpless as the rich haggled over what to do with her run-down, yet beloved park.
"They squeeze you out so that the rich people can come in," sighed Ghee, a tiny woman of 59.
"I wish it could stay the same it was, but it's already too late. But as for all those fancy condominiums coming in, I hope I'm dead and buried by then."
The city has said it wants to buy back the land from Thor Equities and if that happens there may still be time for negotiations about exactly what to build, with possibly more land devoted to traditional outdoor entertainment.
Already, though, there is a palpable sense of Change.
On a recent afternoon, passersby stopped, open-mouthed to gaze as a giant 1959 Cadillac cruised down Surf Avenue, its Batman-style black tail fins and white wheel rims recalling a long-gone era of fantasy and confidence.
A man in string vest turned to onlookers and announced: "That time Ain't ever coming back. It Ain't coming back."
Source: www.theage.com.au