New York City

My father loved Coney Island. Yesterday, on Father's Day, I went there for the first time to see if it had changed from the place he described to me in the 1960s.

When I was growing up on the Iowa prairie, New York City seemed a long way away. But my father, whose business brought him here at least once a year, told me stories about it from the time I was old enough to stay: "Tell me a story, Daddy."

He loved to talk about Coney Island. "It's quite a place, honey," he'd say, taking a long drag on his omnipresent cigarette. "They have the best roller coaster in the country--scare you to death. And hot dogs on a stick. They even sell corn on the cob on a stick, dripping in butter. There's a mile long walkway along the ocean, so you can be close to the water without getting your feet wet. Someday I'll take you there."

I remember sitting there, on his lap, trying to imagine a boardwalk as long as the whole main street in my Iowa town, or riding a roller coaster or eating a hot dog on a stick--even the triple A ball park ( feeder for the White Sox, if any one is wondering )-- didn't have anything that exotic.

I dreamed about going to Coney Island with my dad. And it almost happened. Dad started a tradition that when you graduated from high school, he would take you on his business trip to New York for a week. My turn finally came. It was 1964, the year that New York hosted the World's Fair.

We arrived in New York just at this time of the summer. I can still tell you what I wore on the plane ( those were the days when you dressed for traveling ). Yellow polka-dot shirtwaist dress, black pumps and ( always ) white gloves. Dad took me everywhere--Lincoln Center to see The King and I with Yul Brynner; Radio City Music Hall to see the Rockettes; Broadway to see Oliver. We even had dinner at the Essex House, overlooking Central Park early one evening. "See that man sitting alone over there?" My dad pointed with a flick of his head to the table closest to ours. "That's Casey Stengel, honey. Now you can say you've seen Casey Stengel." All of my family were baseball crazy, so I knew everything about the guy, and what a record he had as manager of the legendary New York Yankees.

But we didn't get to Coney Island. "Honey, we have to choose between going to Queens and seeing the World's Fair or going to Brooklyn for Coney Island. " I say we do the Fair. Coney Island's gonna be there for a long time to come. What do ya say?"
At that point in my life, I thought my dad knew everything, and if he said the Fair was the best choice, I was sure he was right.

So, off we went to see the wonders of the World's Fair. I still have remnants in my scrapbook. Michelangelo's Pieta, viewed via revolutionary technology-- a moving walkway. And tents from various countries with foods beyond belief. I was thrilled.

All these years later, everytime I go by the huge silver globe at the site of the '64 Fair, I think of that afternoon. Almost exactly one year later, July, 1965, my father died of a massive coronary.

I thought about all of that as I walked the Coney Island boardwalk, looking at the roller coaster and the huge, yet graceful ferris wheel. I watched the throngs of families on Father's Day outings speaking ten different languages. A little girl cried out as her ice cream dripped down her boney arm.Her father took a big lick, wiped her arm with a tissue, and gave it back to her. One balding man, shirtless, his belly hiding his belt, was straddling a bench, his head cocked slightly toward his boombox. " It's two outs for the Mets. Top of the fourth."

I headed for the F train late in the day. I'm not sure I see Coney Island with the same eyes as my father. I'm partial to quiet beaches where the only interruption to thought is the crashing of the waves. But contemplation wasn't the point today.

I found what I went there to find.
M.C.