We have long forgotten the date, but we can’t ever forget that infamous Easter Sunday, during the second term of John Lindsay’s mayoral administration.
America had seen too much burning – too much rioting – too much looting. That Easter Sunday came to life in a record heat.
Coney was the place to be – to “cool-it, man.” The subways were over-crowded. You could hear the trains “phumphh” at Stillwell Avenue. “Coney Island, Last Stop.”
First the crowds flowed to Nathan’s, following the magic odor of Nathan’s famous fries. Thirsts were quenched with cold beers, root beer for the kids, Schaefer’s for the bigger guys.
Some went off to crowd the beaches, but the bulk of the crowds were off to the runways; the magic shows, the side shows; the glittering new rides; skee-balls; bumper cars.
That Easter Sunday was a roaringly fun day – getting wilder by the minute. Frustrated concessionaires were calling their truckers for “More brews, more beverages! They’re all hot and hungry today and they ain’t going to church. They’re here and getting wilder.”
It was the late sixties, when Coney erupted. About 8 – 9 pm that evening that the crowds were out of control. Here, on the Avenue a drunk became wild with rage. He knocked over the admission booth in front and raced in free while his friends joined him after picking up the moneyed cigar box that they grabbed from the cashier who was laying on the sidewalk.
Some other drunks watched it happen and looked for another change booth to knock off. Police calls started to ring out – a rob-epidemic was spreading. Fear became a by-word from one concessionaire to another.
Then, when the crowd control was gone, the word came out. From the concessionaire’s heights – “Get ready to close in half an hour. Pull in your ticket booths now. Stop your rides promptly. Hide your receipts. Roll down your gates and Go. All lights out by half-an-hour.”
Many lights went out faster. Helpers were paid and sent away.
The crowds fled like hordes – beaten by the heat, by the too many brews – the darkness and bewildering fear on an over crowded avenue.
The next major attraction was the Stillwell Avenue train terminal. Soon the record throngs over-jammed the subway turnstiles; the inner runways; the jammed stair cases that led to no-more room train platforms – over bulged.
“Where to go man?” There was no waiting room left; no train room; no platform room.
As if in one mind, the pressures of the heat of the day and night caused the hordes to spill out and onto the street below. This was central Coney Island – Mermaid Avenue was over-laden with stores – liquor, food, butchers: Block after block for one full mile.
Almost all stores there were closed, their windowed fronts had iron gates. Accordion types or roll down impenetrables. But too soon they were penetrated. Iron turned to mesh. Wines and liquors turned back to mash. TV’s were carried out of Bobby’s Electronics on Mermaid Avenue.
This was not Jericho, but Coney’s gates came tumbling down; starting at Stillwell and heading west.
We got personal calls from our tenant, above my own store, three and one-half blocks west of the Stillwell terminal. Our tenant called us to say, “When I leaned out the window, a looter was tryin’ to crack the liquor store gate and he yelled up to me, ‘We gonna get your store, next.”’
Our police Captain answered when we called him, “Lou, I ordered the island closed up. No one can get in. Don’t worry, we’ll watch your store.”
Less than half an hour later, the Captain called us, “Lou, you gotta get here quick, a drunk got up, over your fold-up gate. He’s sitting on top of one of your display windows, trying to get into your store, but we got him covered. We just need you to unlock the gate, so that we can arrest him, legally.”
“We made it to Coney in record time. The cops made that ‘collar’ one of the 79 that we assisted on that night in Coney Island – that our Mayor hopes to bring back.
God endowed Coney Island, but man hasn’t recognized, it is not always “Fun In the Sun” Bless up piles of labors to put willing, needy, people to work. Not just sun and fun.
As an aftermath of the Easter riot, the aged tailor, Aaron Bush had his tiny shop around the corner from our own store and just a half block from Steeplechase in its prime
He was a proud tailor. He liked to show people that he was a tailor not just for Powsner’s Men’s shop, but also for Mr. Nathan’s Hot Dogs, Nathan Handwerker, who once lived on the same block, West 19th Street.
That Easter Sunday, the wild hordes cracked his door and emptied all the cloths that he had cleaned or mended. Nothing was left. Angry customers teamed up to take him to court.
We asked our lawyer, the late Bill Weintraub, if he would represent Aaron Bush, No fee, Bill Weintraub was in the defense box for old Aaron Bush. The judge ruled Not guilty. They did not steal from Aaron Bush who had two locks on this store.
They stole from the whole community.
Just recently when visiting the graves of my parents and family, we tried to find the grave of Aaron Bush , but couldn’t locate it.
Very oddly we spotted the graves of Nathan and Ida Handwerker, (Mr. & Mrs. Famous frankfurter) who once gave Mr. Bush their clothes to clean. There, we paused to say a prayer for each – hoping to keep cherished Coney memories alive. Their families will find my stones of visitation to their blessed graves.
