My Coney Island

8/14/2019 My Coney Island

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oney Island Memories

My Coney Island Memories

all stories written by JK Sinrod

The following pages contain some short stories and observations of my lifeowing up in Brooklyn, NY. Excuse the fact that they are in no particular ordernce they were written separately over the years. At the end of each page clickEXT PAGE to continue.....

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A Hot Coney Island Night It was 1962...... our transistor radios played the Beach Boys and The Four

Seasons. We could hit those high Frankie Valle notes till we turned about 13. Wehung in groups, strength in numbers..... loyal to the block, loyal to the

neighborhood. We ruled the streets. We never used words like, LOVE, HELP,THANKS. Moat of us were poor kids. Jews, Catholics, Italians, Irish, Polish. Ourarents were different, but we were all the same. Some called us white trash, but noto our faces! We had our rules. Cursing, cheating, conning were all fine. Making fun

of someones heritage or color or race was fine too, as long as you could take it ineturn. But above all mother's were sacred. Your father may have been a bum or a

drunk but, you never ranked on anyones Mom.... NEVER.



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We played street games, not for fun, but for blood. Winning wasverything. Didn't Vince Lombardi come from Brooklyn? We played stickball, ring-leevio, johnny-on-the-pony, punchball, poison ball, stoopball, single double triple,ngs, box ball, I declare war on Germany, red light green light. (How many of ese can you remember the rules to?). We did arm wrestling and Indian wrestling.

We raced from sewer to sewer, jumped fire hydrants, climbed barbed wire topped

nces, till we spent the last ounce of our sweat, or till our Moms stuck their headsut the windows and screamed our names to come home for supper. We played allay and night. Seems like we were always testing ourselves? Who was the fastest,rongest, even the best spitter? Loyalty, strength, speed, power, quick wit, and ag mouth, yeah those were the tickets to survival.

As tough as we were, we were still little boys, who stayed up late at nightnder the covers compulsively waiting for our favorite song to come on ourarplugged transistor radio or we couldn't go to sleep! Sherry, The Gypsy Cried, are

wo special ones that I can recall waiting for. The girls were even tougher. They hadbe I guess? They had big heaps of stiff, crispy crackly hairsprayed hair. They

ould pop big bubble gum bubbles in our faces to show us who was boss. Eyes thickith black makeup, lips with white. Skintight peddle pushers showing off every

urve to torment us with... (you can look but don't touch!). Man oh man did theymell sweet, with cheap perfume and scented hair lacquer. The girls were alwaysmarter and more mature, and would use it to tease and torture us. Us boys wouldmp over garbage cans, and engage in near mortal combat like knights of olde foreir favour. If you blasted them with your best serious curse word and said, "F

ou"... they would quickly and calmly say, "you wish"... always having a betternswer that left us speechless. (What did that terrible F curse really mean anyway?).

When you got close to one.... I mean really close, your blood pressure and the sweetmell would make your head swim. I ask you.... what feeling comes close to the firstme you put your clumsy arms around the slim waist of one of those girls, and drewer near.... closer.... for that first kiss? On her breath may have been, Dentyne, Sen-en, Bubble gum, Violets, Chiclets, or milk..... ugh.., and hopefully no cigarettes!

I find today, that when the right song comes on the radio, like Under Theoardwalk, or Up On The Roof, I find myself back there... smelling the salt air ande perfume, on a hot Coney Island night.



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The First KissMy first kiss was with an immigrant girl from Belgium, we'll call her Heidi. I

as about 12, she was 15. Deadly cute, short of stature, beautiful dirty blond hair,nd a boyish figure that drive boys wild to this day. She had real charm speakingoken English with a slightly crooked smile. She tried her hardest to educate me

bout sex, but I didn't really understand the facts of life as yet. I helped teach herme choice "American" phrases and street smarts, and spent the entire summerong with everyone else, trying to get her attention. She ignored me. I ran like theind.... hit sewer length home runs.... wrestled other would be suitors to the ground,ut to no avail. By the end of the summer I had won her over with my newlyscovered charms. Someone else told me she "liked me". (The old Brooklyn,



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human telephone" chain of command, succeeded where direct contact simplyasn't done). Before we knew it we were spending the nights together on the stoopsolding hands. This was in private of course. I think she was embarrassed at beingith a younger guy. We would meet in darkened hallways and make out with thedio blasting AM style tunes in the background. The first kiss was strange and

wkward for me. With "Do You Love ME" by the Contours screaming in the night,

he immediately went into a teenage mode of opened mouth kissing. "In my countryis is called French kissing" , she said.... I was shocked and pulled back. She had to

xplain it all to me. Really she did! Through her teachings and my as yetndiscovered work ethic, we managed to spend the entire Winter exploring thisave new world together. Heavy winter coats, gloves, woolen hats all disgarded.

reezing temps, huddling in hallways, we emerged that spring as different people. Ias now a savvy bigshot junior high school 13 year old man of the world, who had ander girlfriend. She was an "old" 16 year old that I had used up too early.

A year after our last date, at a then closing Steeplechase park, she goterself in trouble with an older guy this time. I saw her with a big belly in the streets.he laughed at me with a still proud expression on her face.

I didn't see her again for years. I was 17 or so, sitting on the bus comingome from high school, when a very tired looking young woman boarded. Tatteredothes, hard lines of a tough life on her face, greasy dirty blond hair. She wasolding the hand of a small child, with another baby in her arms, and evidence of yetnew one on the way. Our eyes met, then turned away. She still had that proud,ugh look on her face but no smile now. I felt sick. Not so much by what had

appened to her, but by the fact that we were unable to say a simple hello. What wead was between two different kids.

I spent years reflecting on her. Remembering those hot Coney Island nightsnning through the streets, and those frigid ones in the hallways with her as well.

Wondering if it was fate that had me meet her at an age where she was just a teachernd not yet a mate. Had it been a few years later, I might have been riding that sameus, but not as a cool 17 year old student with my entire life and career in front of e... but as a tired and beaten down teenage father.



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Steeplechaserk about 1962

A Day In The Life..... 1967

The alarm went off it's about 7 something..... gotta get going. Wash... combair... look in mirror. Hair short and neat. Little hint of longer sideburns. Jeans

ack skin tight size 32... they look good, just bought them at the dungaree factoryn Coney Island Ave yesterday.. about $3 bucks. They are poured right down intoy brown penny loafers, Can't wear bluejeans to school, not allowed. (Why Ionder?) Button down shirt. Need a little cool touch. Look in closet at 4 inch wideod ties. Which one, hummm...... polka dots? No. Here's a nice paisley one. Grab

ooks bound by a one inch red rubber strap. Run out the door to catch the Seagatehuttle bus. Just a few people on it. Caryn, Tina, Butch, Nancy, Jimmy. It's tooarly for a hello. Just a nod of the head will do. We get off and I run outside the gate



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transfer to the Surf Ave bus. Almost empty now but by the time the bus makes itast the Surf Ave. projects, I'm packed in like a sardine with fellow babybomers.here's Mitch, Alan, Mike, Dave. Mitch and I always get a kick out of the stupidarly morning cartoons. Alan and I argue baseball mostly. Still too early and hot tolk much. What's air conditioning? Luckily I'm pressed full body up against a

weet young thing. Is that Este Lauder? Man it's just perfect mixed in with my gallon

Canoe. We can barely breathe we are so close. Hope I don't embarrass myself, didremember to brush my teeth? No matter, I don't speak, either does she. I'm goingeady with someone else anyway and its 1967. I hear music through the perfumend the deodorant. The Monkees are wailing, "Take the Last Train to Clarksville".omeone has a transistor radio on the bus. It's near the window of course, forception. Hard to believe but by the next year or two, we'll have our hair down to

ur shoulders and be listening to Hendrix and Joplin on FM, smoking pot andaving "free love" as much as we can get!

About 15 minutes later we all disengage and walk the couple blocks toincoln HS. I don't have a class for awhile so I walk down to the cafeteria to get anack for breakfast. I run into a couple of friends and get the reaction to my wideud tie I craved. "far out man".... "groovy"..."psychodelic"... "oh wow". Makese feel good, a little different than the rest. Yet I also belong. Isn't that what we allanted? I had a bread and butter hero with a milk for a quarter. I walk up arounde study hall. Poor suckers don't have a friend like I do in the program office, soey have to sit there and silently read for 45 minutes while I can roam the place. The

alls were dead quiet then the bell rings. All hell breaks loose. Wall to wall boys andrls struggling to get to class. With each change of classes it was a social event.aying hi, flirting, making plans for the weekend, slapping fives. All done in about0 minutes. God help you if you had a class on the first floor and the next was on theher side of the building on the third.... and a creep of a teacher who couldn't wait toark you late each day. I think 3 lates equaled an absence? Made no sense did it?ome teachers were awful. Some of them were terrific. Mrs Edelman comes to mind.he was one of the rare ones, whose verve and passion for her English class, helpeder draw out an insecure young writer like me now and again.

Last class is done. School is over now. I pick up a soft pretzel, (we also calledem bagels then), from the guy on the corner for a nickel, and head for the bus trip

ome. I'm wearing my team jacket and damned proud of it too! Maybe I'll getgether with some friends that drive, and cruise Kings Hwy this weekend? Why wasthat the other school's cheerleaders always seemed to be prettier? On the slow busde I'm thinking about getting home in time to watch "Where The Action Is". Paul



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evere and the Raiders are on today. I'll probably do my homework with Soupyales on in the background..... but hey the weekend is coming. I spend most of thevening on the phone. Can't go to sleep or breath without my girlfriend and Ixchanging a few "I love you's" on the phone first. Young love, or is it lust, is allonsuming. We are all there is in our world. Seems different for our kids today.

There's yet another sweet sixteen this weekend. Which jeans will I wear?he black, blue, brown, or white? Gotta arrange the timing so we walk in late toake a cool entrance. We are a cool couple alright. I'll be slapping fives with the

uys, while she'll be off in a corner whispering gossip with the girls. Better practicee Skate, The Jerk, and the Slop in the mirror. I lay in bed thinking, with mydio on..... "A Whiter Shade of Pale" playing in the background. What will becomeme? Of course I'll marry her (I never did), the war in Vietnam, graduating High

chool, going to College, my girlfriend, the Mets, the Jets, my girlfriend, the Rangers,

e Knicks, the next weekend, my girlfriend. How could life get any better than this?ittle did we all know..... it never would.



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Kim and June 1967 Kim and Linda 19

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oney Island Memories p4

My Coney IslandMemories

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Superman Is Dead

was the age of innocence. The little battery powered transistor radio played "Sherry" andUnder The Boardwalk". Girls had to wear skirts to school, and boys had to have on ahite shirt and tie, or they couldn't go to assembly.... (what a threat!) If you were lucky theillion Dollar Movie would have an Abbott and Costello movie on that week. You couldatch it everynight, and twice on Saturday and Sundays! I remember seeing Cagney so



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any times in Yankee Doodle Dandy, that I knew not only the songs, but all the dialoguey heart. Why is it that to this day when the young marching soldier asks Cohan, (who hedn't know wrote the song and just got the medal of honor from the President), "don't you

now the words oldtimer?".... I still cry? We waited on line for hours to get scared to deathy the Tingler in our very own movie theatre! Wore silly 3D glasses for 13 Ghosts, andneaked in sandwiches our moms made us because the candy was too expense at 25 cents.

Who was better? Mickey, Willie, or the Duke? The damn Yankees always won anyway,aybe thats why they had so many fans? We played..... hell..... we LIVED in the streets.un-up till dinner time, then back out again. Hot sweaty summer nights with the smell of e salt air burning our heaving chests from running around. Then like the shiny white

night, came the incessant musical jingle of the Mister Softee truck. A cool respit. Time tot on the stoop and eat, and fight about which was better. Carvel, Mister Softee, Goodumor? We fought about everything didn't we? We didn't know it then but we wereoning our skills for the real world. Soon after someone would yell out a game and

stantly we were fighting about "good sides". "Thats not good sides.... you'll kill themith all the big kids". So we would have to chose sides. How to choose? Another fight! Inality all this was a ballet of sorts, to be passed down from the older kids to the younger

nes, so they too would know how to handle a crisis..... Like when a stickball court wasccupied, and you wanted to play? You would "challenge" of course! But to properly dois you needed 2 balls? Why? Who the hell knows? Late at night my dad who was not arribly educated man, would send me down to the corner store to intercept the truck elivering the Daily News and the Mirror. He had to have both for some reason. As theuck approached, the gigantic letters on the side billboard screamed out "SUPERMANEAD". We all looked at this puzzled? How the hell can this be? We all read the comicsercely and knew it was only Kryptonite, and the green kind, that could remotely do this.

We started to argue, some of the younger kids getting very upset. We grabbed the 1staper off the stack and read the headlines briefly and quickly opened the page. The actoreorge Reeves found dead. Suicide suspected. How could this be? Why would he killmself.... why would anyone? Especially him. Afterall he was Superman..... err playedm at least. By the next day it finally registered that an actor who played the guy on TV,at still looked young on the reruns we were watching, took his own life. Depression theyid............ The age of innocence was over......... Superman was dead!



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the 2nd best coaster was the Tornado

Stickball

There were several types of stickball games, and balls. The oldtimers played on thereets from sewer to sewer, dodging cars. For me the only kind of stickball was fasttching against a wall. I was an awesome stickball player. On the fly, against a wall, intochaulk box. That was a real mans game. You had to pitch, hit and field. When we wereoung our arms were like rubber weren't they? I could pitch 2 or three games everyday items. Used to love the park on 27th street in Coney Island. If you really got a hold of

ne, it was going.. going... gone... into the CYO across the street. I never had the real greatstball, but I could make that Spaldeen dance. Curves, sliders, screwballs, sinkers,

hanges. I would dig my knuckles into the ball and squeeze it tight and the ball wouldead right for the heart of the plate and at the last second dip and hit the ground, while theatter always chased. The ball of choice was a "Spaldeen", or more correctly spelled one ball as a Spaulding. Since the box was made of a thick chalk line, many ball and strikesputes were settled by a fresh chaulk line on the ball. The ball moved so damned much,at a batter was absolutely sure that a thrown ball would hit him, while it curvedfortlessly into the box for a strike. A real good batter would choke up and keep foulingf dozens of pitches to tire a guy out. I was also a switch hitter, with no power lefty, but I



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d it to foil that great curve that some could make break 3 feet. By the 60's you could buystickball bat for a $1 at the toy store. It was straight and thicker that the old broomandles we used to use. It also had a spiral of black tape up the handle. I still have minemewhere. It was one of my most important posessions. Several times a game someoneould hit one on the ground at warp speed directly at you. It usually had tremendous spinn it. What a challenge not only to reach it, right after you just threw the ball and were off

alance, but also hold it in your hands while it was still spinning. I also remembermething we called an "egg" ball. This was a pop up back to the pitcher that wasmewhow spinning really fast with the ball kind of sucked into itself as it tried to escape

our grip. We would play 1 on 1 or as many as 5 men on a team , with the outfieldersrely getting 1 ball to field. The fly balls were either pulled very foul, or were hit a mile,

nd lost forever. A typical game was 5 or seven innings and the score was about 18-16 bye time all the balls were lost. I can remember playing against both my older brothers one morning of one of their weddings. I was about 16 and they were 24 and 27. I struck

em out and hit a homerun, and as far as I was concerned, that was the day I knew I was aan.



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Of Dimes, pennies, and nickelsCoins were the mysterious and magic jewels of my youth. We would jump at the chanceo pick up a stray penny that was facing face up on the sidewalk. The really desperate kidswould even go for the unlucky face down ones. We would go through garbage cans, and

search the beaches to collect bottles that would net us a big 2 cents each. That 2 centsould buy us a pretzel, sunflower seeds, or various penny candies that lined the shelves of the corner store. Licorice shaped like coins, banana spongie things, taffy, dots stuck onaper, etc. Our dentists best friends? The nickel was much more royal. Now you're talkin'

a Chunky, my favorite. Or to us clever kids, 5 separate penny candies. The dime wasalready high finance. Ice cream cones and comic books. Now quarters were big time,hich could get you a bag of Nathans fries, or admission to the Mermaid movie theater, or

oliest of all a Spaldeen. I remember the first automated soda machine that I ever saw. Thecup plopped down, and it doled out a little syrup, than a spritz of seltzer. If the cup cameown crooked, the liquid missed the cup entirely, remember the mess? This feat of magic

was about 10 or 15 cents, but the thing I think was amazing is that for an EXTRA nickel,you could get ice in your cup!! Now a days we get annoyed when our cup has too much



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ce, and not enough soda. So now that I impressed the younger ones in the audience withthe value of any coins, here's the true story......

My pals and I were walking the boardwalk absolutely tapped out. I meanetween the 4 of us we had zero money. We walk up to one of the telescopes that youave to pay 10 cents to see the boats on the ocean with, for about 10 minutes. This

achine was obviously for the tourists, cause there was no way in hell one of us Coneyland boys would ever give up a whole dime to be a Peeping Tom. We could peek rough the wall slats of one of the bathhouses for free to do that. We look into the lenseshich were blackened and closed up. Finally we find one that is working! Someone mustave just been there, and walked away before the 10 minutes were up. We fight to takerns looking at nothing at all. The thing keeps on going. I mean it won't stop. We think e have just discovered ice cream. Boy are we getting away with murder or what! Aferhat seems like 30 minutes we are getting bored, and are trying to figure out how to get it

stop. After all why should some other creep get to see the show for nothing? Strangegic, I know.... I rap the contraption on the side, and low and behold...... a dime comes

ut. A whole dime. We all grab for it, and in our haste it falls through the crack in theoardwalk planks and onto the beach below. 2 of the kids take off to find it under theoardwalk, (hence the title of the famous song is born). When they are gone, I rap it againn the side... this time 3 dimes come out into the little cup on the coin return. Well now wee laughing so damn hard it hurts. More raps.... more dimes. Again and again till our littleubby hands are full of more coins than we've ever seen in our lives. Meantime the otherkids are directly below our feet still looking. We are helping direct them... "a little to theft", and "it fell right here". We are filling up our socks with the dimes all the while.nally the flow of dimes stops. It never occurs to us to split it 4 ways. 2 is better. After alley left us. They come back up without the dime, and shake the telescope in disgust. Wealk the rest of the way home trying to hide our "dime" limp caused by the coins slidingour socks underneath our feet. 2 of us are laughing like hell, the other 2 can't figure it

ut. The next day, we treat the whole gang to Mr. Softee.... we paid in dimes.



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My Coney Island Memories

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1960 program from the Mermaid Theatre.

we got to see the movies well after they were already out, on their second run.... heyat .25 cents and no cable channels or vhs ,how could you beat it?)

The End Of Summer Loves(posted to AOL message board 1996)

This time of year brings to mind years gone by when I was a young teen. Iew up in Coney Island and then Seagate. These beach areas always had a swellingpopulation during the summer months. It seemed that each hot summer there was

young cutie that moved into a vacant apartment summer rental with her family. Onemmer we actually had a family with 5 sisters from South Carolina move in ourock!! They usually proceeded to absolutely tear my heart out. Making it worse was

er exotic accent. Maybe from down south, or as far away as NJ or Queens! The wordread quickly. "Did you see who moved in down the block?". "Yeah what a dog". Ase secretly acted nonchalant to jockey for position. Before you knew it, we wereearing our clean sneakers, and combing our hair with Vitalis or Bryl Cream. Guysat were normally your buddies, were all of a sudden tripping you, poking fun at you,



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nd generally trying to make you look bad!! In a few days the sizing up began innest. It always started off slowly with lots of game playing. Flirting, teasing, hard to

et, I like your friend better, were the games that were played. Playing rough andmble street games just so you could have an excuse to playfully put your armsound her. The pressure of trying to hit that "Spaldeen" out of sight when she wasatching. That first feeling of closeness to someone that smelled just SO GOOD, was

xhilerating. It was near the end of the summer with dreaded school coming closerat things would finally heat up. Holding hands actually in front of your buddies! Ohy goodness was I crazy? Sitting on a quiet stoop at night in each others arms.ecretly meeting under the boardwalk to make out on the sand. I can still smell thecean and the sen-sen on her breath! Love hurts like hell when you're a young teennd your summer girlfriend is going back home, probably forever. For some reasone didn't have the social skills back then to take a phone number or write. It wasmost like some inevitable force. It started like a hurricane, then it was simply over. I

ill believe that there is no such thing as puppy love. Especially when it's happeningYOU. Seems like the entire winter was spent in black and white, just waiting forat first warm breeze of summer to add some color to my world. Time to keep an eye

n those vacant apartments again.



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My first teenage love, Brenda. at the NY Worlds Fair1965

Since she lived in Canarsie, I had to take 2 buses to the train

to Manhattan, to catch the 14th St line back to Bklyn

to another bus, just to see her! Still one of the sweetest girls I ever knew



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An Ode To Steeplechase and Coney (this is my first story posted to

OL board 1996)

Reading some of this stuff on my computer has made me nostalgic for the old

oney Island and especially the king of the parks, Steeplechase. My hey-day was therly '60's. By then Coney was ragged around the edges and going downhill. When Ias about 12 (1961 or so), it was heaven. My Mom would give me a whole dollar andwould go with my buddies, (Danny Sweet, David Louie, Joey Yosso, Larryosenbloom, Dennis Cavanaugh, Maurice Bank, Steve Hornberger, Larry Zeller,ey Keonig etc), down to the Bowery. The rides, Playland, Murray Zarets Animal

and, Bat-a-way, et -all. That dollar would last me a whole day, and if I was cleverweren't all us Brooklyn kids?), I would have enough left over for Nathans fries, (they



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ere in a cone shaped cup, placed in a bag for .15 cents. add salt a little ketchup andake until the bag was soaked with grease). Yet we would trade all that for a day ateeplechase. You would get a blue and white round wheel-card that would get

unched the appropriate number of times depending on how good the ride was. Thister changed to script, and then ride tickets.

The signature ride was the dangerous wooden horse Steeplechase race arounde park, they careened around old creaky tracks at breakneck speed. There were noat belts, so you had to hold on for dear life! When it was over the ride let you off ate entrance to a funhouse to be tortured by a midget clown with a cattle-prod. For

ou younger readers I swear this is all true! I was petrified of him but you couldn'tde the horses and avoid the funhouse.

The Whirlpool was a spinning Mexican hat where 20 riders would sit on the top

nd fight to push each other down the slope which was spinning around like a top.his ride was often temporarily closed, while they cleaned up the vomit once a day.he giant mahogany 2 story high slide which you slid down on a piece of carpet orwel. I was pleasantly surprised to find the giant bicycle ride, where we supplied the

ower to all go in a circle, turn up at Gaslight village in Lake George in the '70's.When you were out of tickets and money, you could stay for hours looking fornpunched tickets on the floor, watch the demon like little clown electricute people,e the girls skirts being air blown up to their necks, or watch the very first real color

V set in a very quiet dark room. When the news was out that it was to going to close,e all made sure we went again, only to find everything in a state of disrepair. Theg smile on the guy on the front of the building had many broken windows or teethissing, and the shrine to George C. Tilyou was desecrated. Someone had even stolene dangerous and very rare Red San Francisco Bats. We went anyway, and looked at

verything through rose colored glasses, trying to relive the greatness our parents told of. That final night of operation in 1965 they played Old Lang Syne, and There'so Business Like Show Business. 67 bells were sounded, one for each year of

eeplechases existence. The neighborhood was falling apart as well. Empty rundownum buildings, gated shops. I never realized until I was an adult looking back howepressing it was for us all. This was my first real experience with the death of a lovedne, Steeplechase.



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the funhouse, where the little clown would terrorize us Thwooden Steeplechase horses



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\

One Less Summer written

1999

It's the time of the year that seems to evoke sad memories. For someason the coming of the fall and winter leaves us cold as well. Of course as kids the

ming of the wind signaled the start of dreaded school. What was ever worse thanat? Getting up early. Dealing with dress codes. Rules, rules, rules. Yuk. No morerls legs to see. No more bathing suits. Also it was the start of all the big Jewish

olidays. Couldn't play ball in a suit. The end of the year. Another one down. One lessmmer in our lives. Often it was saying goodbye to a transient summer love. The endanother great baseball season. It was getting dark earlier and earlier.... hey where's

e light? At 6:00pm coming home from a late session at a bursting at the seams babyoomered High School, it was already cold and dark! Time to do homework, watch a

tle TV, and go to sleep. The rides and games of chance were closed and boarded upght all around the Bowery in Coney Island. The mechanical laughing fat lady at theagic Carpet Ride Funhouse was just sitting there, doing nothing. The paint peelingf her fat cheeks. I would always look at her for a long time, scared to death that sheould wink at me or move on her own. The wax museum was open all year round, butithout the barker screaming into a raspy microphone "see Lena Medina..... the 5ar old mother". The trees were barren, the sand was blowing around the ramps toe boardwalk. Just a few days ago it was teaming with millions of folks, who got off



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e trains at Stillwell Ave. schlepping all their bags of towels and goodies to the beach.athans put up its wooden shack like walls, so you could still eat standing up outside,t be somewhat protected from the cold. Come to think of it, Nathans was alwaysowded, Summer, Winter, didn't matter at all. Winter had its good parts too. Theticipation of snow coming and cancelling school. Cuddling at night in a doorway or

oop fully dressed with your sweatheart. Christmas and/or Chanukah presents.

ovies. New Years. Stocking hats. Gloves. Boots. The best part of all was the sniffingthe air trying to, be the first one to say, "hey the summers coming"!

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(posted to AOL 11/00)

Oh yeah. we bad. We were Coney Island street kids alright. Mixed Italians,ws, Polish, Irish, mutts, and whatever the summer bungalo's brought in. The girlsere tougher than most of todays guys. We had a right to take it out on the rest, didn'te? What were we supposed to do with our spare time? No video games or cable TV.anks, scams, cons, were what we lived for. After all we were the locals who weren'tlowed to play the games at Facination or the Bowery, 'cause we knew how to beatem. You name it, we had a solution. Remember the HIT THE BIG NAIL INTOHE 4 x 4 BEAM and WIN A PRIZE? Almost impossible to do in just 3 hits... butry do-able if you used a little vaseline from your hair on it. That ring toss game is

nfair, so one of us would distract the barker, while a buddy would bend over andace the ring right on top of a good prize. (Ooops another secret revealed). Theseams didn't last for too long. Before we knew it, we were all chased down the Boweryhind Nathans and banned for life!!

Slugs, outright stealing, cheating, that was for losers. I could play at Playlandr hours, not because I was good, but because I knew the location of the secret

witches under or on top of the various baseball and pinball machines. The right pushd a free game.

Our best targets were the folks unlucky enough to walk down our block. Weould watch with roaring laughter as an unsuspecting woman was all tangled up inur homemade web of "invisible" black thread criss-crossing back and forth acrosse street. What a blast it was to set firecrackers with a very slow fuse to go off right inont of nighttime strollers. We were sitting across the street minding our ownusiness. Riding our bikes on the boardwalk in tandem each holding the end of a cordd deftly flipping the hats off the men walking by Brighton Beach. They would cursewith thick yiddish accents. You little son-of-a-bitch bestids! And of course the

mbles. Forever talk of, how, when, where, what weapons. In a local fight with one of ours, over money or a girl, fists were the only legal weapon to use. You would startut boxing, but it almost always ended with one guy wrestling and pinning the loser one ground. Then it was over and you were buddies again. Outsiders were VERYfferent. Sticks, rocks, chains, pipes, whatever...... was OK. Especially since youould always say you were outnumbered. If one of your guys were in trouble it was aatter of minutes before we would be tearing down Mermaid Ave to come to hisscue. Of course there was always the weak link of the bunch. The wimpy guys who

ung around for our leftovers, whether they were girls or firecrackers. You know the



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nd of guys I mean. The ones that got the last "zip" of the soda bottle. That last inch90% spit, 10% coke. This guy would take regular torture and come back for more.

he night we took him down to the beach and buried him in the sand up to hisck....... naked. Put him in a garbage can and secured the lid.... rolled him around theock. Tied and gagged him and put him in front of the meanest, foulest, drunkestndlord's doorstep, and rang the bell for the umpteenth time that night. The guy

me out with a shotgun once, and the kid almost had a heart attack! (We paid theice for that one). Funny but after re-reading this stuff, it sounds kind of tamempared to the school shootings, drugs, and such we read about today.

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My Coney IslandMemories

page 4



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Mermaid Dreams

It was simply the best place in the world for a kid to grow up........... Coney Island.

he rides, Nathans, Steeplechase, the beach, the fishing pier, the Loews Surf ave (lineound the block to see that sci-fi blockbuster The Mysterians.), the RKO Tilyou (I sawe 3 Stooges live onstage), the Parachute Jump, the Wonder Wheel, Cotton Candy,lly Apples, Buttered Corn, Shatzkins Knishes, Fabers, Playland, The Magic Carpet

unhouse, etc etc I could go on for pages and pages. A block away from all this wase true heart of Coney Island: Mermaid Avenue.

In the early to mid 60's it was THE place to shop, and hang out. We had Jerryromes Deli on 24th, Joe Blumes 5 and 10, David Louies parents chinese restaurantee Wah, The Huba Huba diner, Mindys lucheonette, Meyersons Bakery (raisin

umpernickle & fresh bagels), Jeffrey Eagles parents dry-cleaners, Nat Sinrodsuxedos, Al Sinrods Menswear, Blanche Sinrods Tots to Teens baby clothes, Beckynrods bridal gowns, Sam Horowitz's (later to be Congresman) great old Mermaidheater. We had 2 synagogues on our end of Coney, one on 23rd and the other onth. Our Lady of Solice church (if you were a Jew and went in you would get instantlylled by lightning...... really!), and the library on 19th. Other than Tortonno's, I seem tomember only one pizza place, Johnny's on about 23rd st. It started out at .15 a slice,n you imagine $1.00 for a whole pie? It quickly went to .25 a slice and $2.00 a pie.... ag difference back then. I remember 3 good Italian Restaurants. Carolina's was a

mily style place. Gargiulos (which we all pronounced Gar-jewl-ios), was the fancyhmancy Lundy's type place. If you asked the waiter, he would bring you a bunch ofe wine grapes growing on the back trellis. Recently at a boomers reunion, 10 of uset there. They refused to seat me because I was wearing shorts at lunchtime, evenough it was August & 90 degrees! I told the matre'd ... "I wasn't good enough for thisace 40 years ago, and I still can't get in". He didn't crack a smile. The other Italianstauant was crazy Stellas. Not only could you bring your own wine, but you couldso bring your own food to be cooked by them, and walk into the kitchen to watch theaiters fight with the cooks. Never will there be another place like it.

On oir block we had the older white trash teens up the block who called me aChrist killer", beat us up & terrified us on a semi-regular basis, just becasue theyuld. We also had the much older guys, who seemed to be the guys from West Sideory, only without the dancing. They would work their little part time jobs by day, playhnny-on-the-pony, love up the girls on the beach and then sing real good doo-wopcapella to put us to sleep on the street corners at night. I remember a small

mattering of Puerto Ricans down the block that were pretty much openly accepted asng as they could speak some English, but not too many black faces till the middle's. Going down to the Iitalian blocks close to Stillwell Ave was like entering a



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fferent world. Pastry shops, Pizza and Italian Ice. Those guys wore "hitter" white teeirts with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the short sleeve, black pointed shoes, and ag Vitalis ladden comb in the belt. The girls had big black lacquered hair that couldve you an Indian burn. Careful because if she put out too much, she got aeputation" and was branded a HOO-ER (whore). Braving all that was worth it forortonnos pizza. I'd stand up to the counter and Jerry would wink, and give me a piece

fresh mozzerella.

Every block had a huge empty lot in the middle of it where the trolleys ran yearsfore. It was a natural place to playball, catch crickets and get in trouble. It was aortcut through to the next block.... which could start turf wars. Each block had their

wn group of kids with their own talents and reputations. We would ride our bikeswn to the bakery on 27th for a charlotte russe.... 5 cents extra for sprinkles. Then onSeagate to try to sneak in, and see what the "other half" lived like? I would ride the

us for a nickel with my bus pass down to the train station. At 12 we were riding theains all over the city. We'd jump the turnstiles and go to Manhattan on a whim. Nowe don't let out kids cross the street alone in the suburbs.

he beach was our private playground. I preferred a game of against the wall stickballn any hot day in the park on 27th street. If you really got a hold of one, you would dour own Mel Allen play by play.... going, going.... gone.... into the CYO! In fact we werenvinced that Under the Boardwalk was written just for us. For that matter Up On The

oof as well. In fact most of the songs played on our transistor radios were. Weren'tey? Remember sneaking the radio under the covers? We couldn't go to sleep untilhat special song" was played?

Lining up for a Saturday/Sunday matineee at the Mermaid. Sometimes 4 movies

us cartoons, and cliff-hanger serial. All for .25 cents! We would sneak in a paper bagnch, or sneak out and go home for lunch and sneak back in again! We had a lookoutsted for the burly and mean Matron, who weilded a very powerful flashlight, and wasnstantly interrupting the movie with threats to anyone caught talking or eating. Theokout would say "OK the coast is clear", and at once a row of 10 kids would take outeir brown bag from inside their shirts, and put their sandwich to their mouths for a

uick bite, before she came walking back. The neighborhood was just so warm andendly. Stoop sitting was a cutural artform. Anyones mom was everyones mom whencame to a kid that needed help. My mom would send me down with money to Paul the

utcher, David the fruit and veggie man, and Sams toyland who were all on a first namesis. "A little short this week? No problem, pay me when you can." There was nevery thought or worry about crime, kidnapping, or getting ripped off. We would live ine streets all day and night. I can still hear the mothers screaming out the windows foreir kids to COME HOME. I'd give anything to hear it one more time.



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Steeplechase Pool



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Mermaid Nightmares

The downfall of Coney, may have been caused by the plight of thendlords. They needed to rent out all the summer bungalows, and apartmentsear round to pay the tax burden and still make money. As the buildings fell intosrepair, the only ones who would live there were the poor, welfare collectors,

nd trash. The buildings continued to get worse, but there was always a newopulation of immigrants to move in.

I can remember it seemed like it was all of a sudden in 1963, that the placeas unsafe. We started locking the doors for the first time. Gangs of poor kids

ould shake us down for our change. All my white friends moved away or to theojects. We were the last family to go. We moved into a Seagate apartment for200/month rent.... We were paying $65/month in Coney Island. It was a realurden for my dad to pay that rent. Stores were getting robbed regularly. Gangs

toughs would come into my dads store and harrass him. Mom and Pop shopsere threatened. First they put up metal storefront gates, then started to closeown and move away. My dad got an SBA loan, and was forced to move his littlehop, then our home to Long Island in 1968. The new groups of immigrants and

ash had no experience or aspiration to become store owners, so Mermaid Ave.ecame a ghost town. No stores....... no jobs.......DRUGS naturally followed.Now (1965) people were afraid to come to Coney for the beach or the

tractions. Steeplechase went down, the bowery games dried up. The town died.still have nightmares about being mugged and chased through the streets.unny though, I have always been a free spirit and totally non-prejudiced to thisay, and have tried to teach that to my kids. You notice that I don't call theseangs blacks, though thats what they were at the time. They were poor kids with

gigantic chip on their shoulders put there by the parents.1968; The drugs and prostitution were everywhere. My uncle's store on

Mermaid and now on 24th, was regularly robbed. Once they used a battering rambreak down the adjacent wall in a building next door and the same

eighborhood he staunchly defended all those years walked through a 4 foot holesteal him blind. The police thought it was funny. It broke his heart and he finally

osed up shop for good too. What a horrible taste in my mouth it leaves me with.



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The End of Steeplechase, Febth, 1966



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I cannot believe I left some holes unpunched!!!!



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Jones Beach concert 1999

(turn up the volume and read s l o w l y)

So I'm sitting at the Moody Blues concert at Jones Beach tonight, and I find myself

ransported back in time and space. The houselights are off, the stars are out in force,ustin Haywood is in great voice, and the sweet smell of Marajuana fills the air. Call mehopeless romantic, but my eyes are welled up with tears. Although my wife is seatednext to me, my mind is wandering down memory lane......... It's the sixties, and I'm in

Central Park again. It's a past life alright. I'm a concert photographer so I have one ofthe best seats in the house..... fifth row center. Can't remember exactly who I'm

watching? Arlo Guthrie? BB King? The Temptations? It's all a blur of loud music, pot,wine, and good vibrations. Someone brought a bag full of little Italian plums. Anotherhas a skin filled with Boones Farm wine. Joints are being passed back and forth, forthnd back at a dizzying rate. It's a much simpler time. A time of flashing the peace sign at

a total stranger, and getting a big smile while it's being returned. Whatever wasvailable, was freely shared by all. We looked mostly alike. Long hair, faded jeans, tie-yed shirts, beads, chokers and headbands. Something momentarily breaks this visionnd I'm slammed back to the present. An audience of middle aged, pot bellied, graying,boomers. The Moody Blues are backed tonight by the Long Island Philharmonic. Let'sace it, although we loved their wonderful, intense mixes of rock and roll, and classical

poetry, we're all here to see if Justin Haywood and the orchestra can do justice toNights In White Satin one more time. A song for the ages, the music of our lives. I lean

ver to my wife and whisper in her ear, "I wonder if I'm getting an old fashioned contacthigh here"? The smell of pot pervades the air and I'm back at my old apartment in the

Park Slope of 1970. It's early morning and I awaken with some sweet young thing lyingsleeping next to me. I don't know how she got there, and more sadly, don't know her

name. I'm immediately taken by her long dark hair and the curves of her body. Heroung musclular legs are as smooth as silk, and taught as rubberbands. I look aroundnd see my room as if for the first time. The mattress, (leave the last "s" off for savingsmy timetravelling mind says), is on the floor. Art posters on the walls. Record playerrning silently. Overstuffed pillows all askew. The sweet familiar scent of pot in the air.

I'm being pulled back to the present, but decide I can control it, and stay here for a bitlonger. I look at my hard 20 year old body in the mirror and notice tears streamingdown my face. The record player is now tracking .... "Nights in white satin, never

reaching the end, letters I've written, never meaning to send...... beauty I've alwaysmissed, with these eyes before, just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.... The

flashing lights of the stage show bring me back to the here and now full force. OldJustin is hitting all the notes as if he didn't age a day in the 30 years since I first heard

that song on the radio! My wife reaches up to wipe away the tears from my face, notknowing the brief trip through time I had just taken.



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The Park Slope Years; early 1970's

Seems like everyone worked on Wall Street in the 70's. I moved into a run downownstone on Prospect Place around 1970. My brother Gene, his wife Joan and their 2ys, bought it for a song and became the only white folks on the block. I lived in theound floor apartment with my girlfriend Linda. I followed in my brothers' footstepsd became a Stockbroker at the too young age of 22. I wore a a three piece suit,

moked cigars, and wore wingtipped shoes. Despite all these concessions to style, Id a full beard and longish hair, and thus was the whizkid "hippy stockerbroker" to thenservative office oldtimers. We never got a seat on the hot, sweaty & disgusting IRTthe city every morning to work. I hung onto a strap for dear life while enjoying the

dors of the poor working slobs next to me. I had my first real job, and enjoyed theestige and the title of Financial Planner. In reality I was still the little shit from Coneyland, this time playing with peoples serious money on the big stage. I was a greatlesman, even so young, but really had little idea of what was going on around me.atch Charlie Sheen & Michael Douglas in the film "Wall Street" sometime. It's not toor from what it was like. Very high pressure to sell, sell, sell, or you're out on your ass.

Back in the Slope, we spent weekends looking for garbage that we could use tocorate the house. Gene built a big tank and filled it with caustic stripper. We would

ump in a piece of junk from the gutters, and in a few hours out would come a beautifulece of antique oak. We demolished walls by hand. Carried 50 lb bags of cement up 3ghts of stairs.... and sometimes took a break eating dozens of White Castle burgers.e made that dump into a beautiful place. My brother even built a goldfish pond in theck yard. It was a tiny piece of paradise in the middle of a huge slum. In the comingars, it became trendy for white couples to start buying up these brownstones inrrible neighborhoods. They called it gentrification. We lived with wrought iron bars onur windows, and would hear the blasting Latin beat along with the gunshots in theght from 5th avenue. We eventually had a mix of great neighbors like nowhere else ine world. Hippies, lawyers, accountants, musicians, gays, Jesus freaks (as they were



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nown back then), black, white, Puerto Rican, Haitian, everyone got along like familyn that block. Heck we even had a lesbian couple next door! We had a blocksociation, produce co-op, block parties, and weekend cookouts in the back yards.hen there was a room to be painted, or a roof to be tarred, or a floor to be put down....ithout asking there were always neighbors to pitch in and help. We all had tons ofuse plants, cats, great record players, and alternate side of the street parking. Our

rie was runny, and we had wine with every meal. We hung out at the Aquarius coffee

use, or Snooky's Pub. We bought fancy teas and coffees, and ate Hagen Daas iceeam. We had dinner at least twice a week on Atlantic Ave, or over the Manhattanidge in China Town, where our picture was on the wall as if we were celebrities. We

moked pot by the car load. Seems like it was 24 hours a day.... but marajuana wasod then, wasn't it? God knows we must have had at least 4 different types of Bongs!any an evening was spent incessantly chatting about what the Beatles were reallyying, or lying on the floor listening to the same Allman Brothers album skipping overd over again, too stoned to get up and advance the needle.

I learned the real lessons of life being the youngest in that crowd. We discussedlitics, sex, and what it really means to be a hip New Yorker! I watched all the olderarried couples relate. Gene & Joan were the perfect couple, and my mentors. Somplex with just the right touch of intellectualism and real world flaws to deal with. Ianted to be just like them. For the first time in my life I had terrific role models. Iarned to grow emotionally, and from my brother to not be afraid to try anything, if itade you a better person. I eventually shed the immature and macho Coney Island kid,d became a semi-cultured, semi-adult craving self improvement at any cost.

Then I watched helplessly as just about everyone on the block, including byother and Linda & I, split up after reading a book called Open Marriage. "I don't knowhat I want, but I need to go out and find it" , she told me in a moment of crystal cleartusity. I was absolutely and totally crushed yet again by the woman in my life. Shet her own apartment near Prospect Park, and we saw each other off and on for awhile

ntil it finally died out. The stockbrokering also went south with the awful market of therly 70's. Gene was a Wall Street bigshot, rising to the top of the food chain during thee 60's bull market, but was now reduced to being unemployed and directionless. Heas forced to sell the house and split the money with his soon to be ex. He moved

state to start a hippie like commune and make stained glass lamps. I too discoverede joys of collecting unemployment checks shortly thereafter, and took up the guitar,here I met the future Mrs. Perfect. I played with Paul & Eddie Simon and learned fromat whole crew including Danny Kalb, David Bromberg, Eric Weiss and Dave Vanonk. I then did lots of concert photography, mostly to get free tickets and hangoutckstage. Someday I'll post those pictures. Sorry but most of those exciting daysckstage with Ron Delsner & Scott Muni & Dion & the Eagles, have been permanentlymoved chemically from my memory. When that middle 70's thing died out, theological clock made us move to Long Beach Long Island, to have babies in the



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burbs. It's amazing how much Long Beach looked like Coney Island. I really wishose Slope days went on forever, but I guess we all have to grow up and move on.



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( the future Mrs. Sinrod...... what did she see in me?)



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The Weed Years or.... the yearswe forgot;

This is going back to an era when it was illegal to do anything but drink. Thetablishment wore black shoes and had short hair. We needed something for

urselves and it was Marajuana, and it was good. One of the reasons it was so goodas because our parents said it was bad. We bought it in Central Park for $1 a joint.ome to think of it can you imagine buying anything today from a stranger on a streetrner that you put in your mouth? It was an era of trust, even with your local drugaler. When we needed quantity, we would sneek up to a 3rd floor walkup in SOHO atm, and sample serious stuff from a guy selling exotic weed by the pound. He wouldve bins full of all kinds of stuff, and many bodies lying around on the floor in various

ates of waking sleep. It was between $20 and $60 an ounce for the expensiveawaiian, the rest was much cheaper. Did anybody really know the difference? We hadust.

We took turns having big weekend parties. Chips, pretzels, wine, cheese, whateveras put out was quickly gobbled up. We sat around in circles and passed joints around.om mouth to mouth. My kids won't even drink out of their brothers glass! We had allnds of crazy homemade bongs going as well. We thought it made everything better.ood, (how could you go out to eat without it?). Sex. The movies. Music. The topic of



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scussion was always the same. Highness. Are you high? Boy..... am I high! How highe you?.... Wow...... I....... am..... so.... stoned. Are you feeling it? I'm a little buzzed now.hat did you say? Giggle giggle. This went on forever. The record in the backgroundas sometimes skipping over and over again, but no one heard it, cared, or had anyergy to get up and fix it! Sometimes someone would freakout with what we called potranoia, and it was always because it was "bad weed". In the middle 70's the good

reet pot was replaced by cheap chemically laced junk. It was scary, dangerous and

d for your head, and suddenly it wasn't fun anymore. The politically correct policed us believing in the worst. Blindness, impotence, brain cancer. Then we hadildren, and the weed years were gone for me. I tried growing my own in the suburbs,

ut it just wasn't the same. How do you tell your young children about "just say no",hen we said yes? I have chosen to tell my boys the whole truth about what we did. I'llt you know how it turns out.

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