It’s strange what lasts and what doesn’t. Today my friend Vivian and I went to Astroland at Coney Island, on its very last day of existence – ever. Astroland opened in 1962, with a flourish and a strong dose of forward-looking optimism. Its futuristic theme rode the high that the nation was feeling during those heady early years of the Space Age.
Over the years Astroland lost most of its lustre, and pretty much any sense of optimism or wonder. As often happens, its futuristic logo came to represent an opposite idea: A moment stuck in the past, caught in amber like Buck Roger’s 1936 Art Deco spaceship.
But the main attraction of Astroland today was not Astroland, but rather the Cyclone. To merely call the Cyclone a rollercoaster would be to demean it. It is, in a sense, the Ur-rollercoaster. Built in 1927, it quickly established itself as a work of genius – an amazing contraption of rattling wooden slats and impossible curves that was built for one purpose only: To create the ultimate fusion of fun and fear – a perfect product of the Freudian age.
To plunge down the Cyclone’s merciless 60 degree slope is to experience that moment of disaster, just before the speeding train goes over the trestle, just before your falling body strikes the ground, to witness your feral mind’s terrible knowledge that in a moment you will no longer exist – and then to walk away, laughing, face red, newly appreciative of just how wonderful is that next breath of air.
Here is an image from when the Cyclone was new. Since then it has remained unchanged, even as the world has changed around it:
After 35 years of wildly successful operation, the Cyclone was rebranded, made part of Astroland, and has remained so for an additional 46 years, until today – and only until today. Tomorrow – by the time you read this – Astroland will be no more, lost in that place where they keep Frontierland, Palisades Park and other fabled childhood places destined to fade from the collective memory of humankind.
But the Cyclone will live on.
Mere fantasies of the future like Astroland can fail, and be swept away by a real estate developer’s grasping hand. But such a fate will not befall the Cyclone, for the community realizes that it is a sacred thing. The Cyclone is no mere gimmick, no empty promise of the future, but a valuable instrument – a gift from long ago. Each time we ride it we are reminded, in a way we cannot ignore, of the preciousness of our lives.