A strange and wonderful land at the southern tip of Brooklyn, Coney Island has been a contested space for quite some time now.  I visited Luna Park, Mayor Bloomberg's new vision of Coney when it opened on Memorial Day weekend, and was relieved to find a place I could still recognize as my own secret Island. 

This is actually the second coming of Luna. The first closed after fires and gang violence in 1946. Ever since, different development companies have jockeyed to transform Coney (some of them threatening to remove the iconic Wonder Wheel and Cyclone roller coaster). Their plans always seemed to suggest a sterile island, stripped of its certain je ne sais quoi that makes us mount ancient, rickety, whirling things after eating too many friend clams.

Changing this monument is no small thing. Aside from inspiring one of my favorite poetry collections, Lawrence Ferlinghetti's A Coney Island of the Mind (in which he explores the complexity of his own inner isle), throughout its history Coney has boasted a bizarre yet fascinating combination of cultural diversity and sensational smut. 

From 1885 through 1896, the hotel-cum-brothel, the Coney Island Elephant, was the first thing New York newcomers would see as they sailed in. What would they find when they landed? An encyclopedic array of vice: prostitution, gambling, freak shows, and in modern times, the worst crime of all--buying those over-priced piña coladas on the boardwalk.

 
 
Originally called Narrioch, or land without shadows, by its Native American locals, and later Conyne Eylandt by Dutch Coneyites, the Island was once the site of a booming resort and amusement park. It reached its peak in the mid-twentieth century and started to decline after World War II, becoming by the twenty-first century the endearing mess I’ve come to love. 

A thrilling combination of life forms, this island is one of the few places in New York where you’ll see an emo kid, a yuppie, a Hasidic Jew, and a Hells Angel crunched together on the Cyclone, chatting back-and-forth, raising their hands and screaming together as they go over the first drop.

 
 
I've been going there, absorbing its beating life, and taking photos since I was a child; and now I give you my Coney Island.