Meet the Real Residents of Coney Island!
30,000 people living in the shadow of a crazy amusement park!!!
Hello everyone,
Welcome to Issue #126 of CAFÉ ANNE!
No news this week. Just a quick thank you to the many folks who responded with helpful comments and emails after I wrote last week about how I’d left my iPad behind on a subway platform bench, and the weird developments that ensued. There have been some intriguing advancements since then, and I’ll be sure to provide a full update in the next newsletter.
I’m very excited for this week’s issue, of course. It’s a mini profile of Brooklyn’s Coney Island (the actual neighborhood, not the amusement park) based on my encounters with folks who live there. Please enjoy.
Regards!
Anne
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THE NEIGHBORHOOD SPEAKS!
The Real Residents of Coney Island!
When private developers over took Coney Island’s amusement park scene and vowed to clean it up, I was concerned. What if they succeeded? Good news, they did not! Coney Island remains a delightful place to visit—a sort of post-apocalyptic Disney World on drugs, full of sketchy characters. On a hot summer evening, the boardwalk, especially, feels like a non-stop party on the brink of chaos. Everyone is welcome!
But I've long wondered—what's it like to actually live in Coney Island? West of the ballpark where the Brooklyn Cyclones play, there's a neighborhood of 30,000 residents that most visitors never see. Last week, I spent an afternoon exploring the scene. Reader, this oceanside district is as captivating as the amusement park.
The area I focused on is a narrow swath of aluminum-sided row houses and housing projects stretching from Stillwell Avenue to West 34th Street—about a mile long and three blocks wide. Mermaid Avenue is the main drag, so I started there.
It's your typical NYC mom-and-pop retail strip, but roughly half the storefronts are vacant, which is unusual these days. There's lots of bodegas, discount shops, liquor stores and barbershops. There's a lot of men sitting in front of these stores on plastic milk crates, enjoying the afternoon sun. And if you've been wondering who are the 14% of Americans who still smoke cigarettes, I can confidently report that they all live in Coney Island.
The first person I approached was neither smoking nor sitting on a milk cart, however. He was busy decorating a wooden tree guard with magic marker doodles. I asked if he could chat about the neighborhood.
"Do you know who I am?" he said. "Look it up!"
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Joe Byron!" His voice was as raspy as sandpaper. He lifted his shirt to display his nick name—"King Bing Bong Byron"—tattooed on his stomach. "Take a picture!" he said.
"What are you famous for?" I asked, snapping a photo.
He suggested I Google his name, so I looked him up on my phone. You can, too. Joe Byron is Tik-Tok famous, and it's an incredibly complicated story.
“You want to take a picture of my stomach?" he asked, after we’d watched a couple videos together.
"I already did," I said.
"Oh yeah," he said. "You want to take a picture of my back?"
"Sure," I said, snapping another photo of his tattoos.
Next, he offered to show me a tattoo on his behind.
"That's okay," I said.
Further down Mermaid Avenue, Felix Ortiz was stationed in front of the J&E Alvarez Discount store tending a sidewalk display of summer merchandise including sun hats, hula hoops, bubble guns and spinning fans.
Mr. Ortiz was an infant when he arrived in Coney Island 48 years ago. "It is getting better,” he said of the area. “It used to be, oh my God, it was worse. But no, they put up all these new buildings and it actually has got calm. You know, I'm grateful they fixing up everything. Coney Island needed a change."
He was referring to the revamped amusement park, the stadium and the many high-rise condos under construction along Surf Avenue. A casino is in the works.
"A lot of people know each other," he continued. "Like the people in the barbershop, I know everybody in there. Especially the two of them that is on that wall."
He noted the mural across the way, memorializing two handsome young men. "Brothers Forever," it said.
"How did they die?" I asked.
"I dunno," said Mr. Ortiz. "Things happened."
I asked what it’s like to live in Coney Island.
"Coney Island is one of the best places," he said. "To come out here for vacation, being a tourist. But to live here, nah. You still got people, like, if you want to walk at night, you still got those who want to hurt others."
He carries two wallets, both emblazoned with the Puerto Rican flag, in the pocket of his cargo shorts. The wallet on top is empty, "In case they try to steal one!"
I was curious if residents spend much time in the amusement zone. Mr. Ortiz said he’s a frequent visitor, but mainly for the food. He's busy working! He puts in long hours at the sidewalk stand and as a security guard at a junk yard. He also finds construction jobs—carpentry, sheet rock, roofing, painting. "The one thing I don't touch is electricity," he said. "I'm not gonna be a roast chicken!"
He's excited about the casino—he knows a politician who might hook him up with a job there. While that’s probably years away, ‘This place is changing pretty fast,” said Mr. Ortiz. “I'm grateful to God that the people I know is doing good. And I'm doing good. I thank God every day that I get up in the morning to see another day and work."
I continued along Mermaid Avenue, passing the pawn shop and the thrift store and the library and the nail salon, avoiding the brutal sun by sticking close to the buildings. The city has planted a lot of trees in Coney Island in recent years, but they're still scrawny things that don't throw much shade.
A storefront sign caught my eye: "Donut Connection—World's Best Coffee."
I went in and met the owner, Tsering Jordhen, who is from Nepal. He laughed when I asked about the coffee. Donut Connection, it turns out, is a small chain headquartered in Pennsylvania. Mr. Jordhen is a franchisee. The "World's Best Coffee" slogan was handed down from corporate, he said.
"So how is the coffee?" I asked.
"Better than Dunki’n Donuts," he said. "Much better than Dunkin’ Donuts."
He offered a free cup. And he was right—it was much better than Dunkin’. I noted that the menu also listed a $2.75 cappuccino.
"Yes, it's from the machine, though," he said, pointing out an automated dispenser of the sort you’d find at a gas station.
Mr. Jordhen lives in New Jersey but sees a lot of opportunity in Coney Island, which is why he located here. "I heard it's getting better," he said. "The casino is coming, and so many buildings are going up."
"What are the people like who live here?" I asked.
"Mixed!"
And how is business?
"Okay," said Mr. Jordhen. "Today is really slow."
Reader, his shop was bustling.
It's been seven years since Mr. Jordhen located here, and he has yet to visit the amusement park. The Atlantic Ocean, meanwhile, is two blocks away and he's been there twice, but never to go swimming. "Too cold for me!" he said.
At the Coney Island Hook & Bait Shop on West 24th Street, the owner, Derrick, declined give his last name or let me take his photo, but was happy to chat about his 300 square-foot shop, crammed with enough merchandise for three stores.
"We got fishing rods, bait, weight, lines, all fishing apparel, rain gear, boots, anything that equates with fishing," he said. "We got blood worms, sand worms, lug worms, clams, squid, shrimp, fresh bunker. Mmm hmm."
When I asked what one can catch around Coney Island, he referred to a poster, "Fishes of the North Atlantic," on which he’d circled all the local species, and then proceeded to describe each fish in great detail. He was a long talker! But it was fascinating. You can cut the wings off a skate, he said, and throw it back, and it will regrow the wings!
"The waters are so fresh and pure right now, this year, we won't know what we'll see next," he concluded. "Anything could pop up that we've never seen before!"
Customers come from all over to enjoy Coney Island's bounty. "I'm on the internet now," he said. "I got people coming from Jersey, Manhattan, Staten Island, Queens. They call and say, 'Derrick, we're coming out today to do some fishing.' I say, 'Sure come on out!'“
As if on cue, a customer came barging into the shop, which he'd had some trouble finding. "Hey boss," he said. "We walk like 44 blocks!”
"I don't know how y'all did that," said Derrick. "This island don't have 44 blocks on it. We only got 36 blocks, buddy."
"The only thing that matters is that I'm here," said the customer. "And my son. He is eleven years old. He lives in North Carolina. I live on Church Avenue."
"See?" Derrick turned to me. "That's in Flatbush. They make it here. You know what I mean? People are talking about the blue fish, the striped bass we're catching here.”
"I really don't care," said the customer. "I'm just going to throw my line in. I'm gonna let Jesus Christ decide if I got luck or not. How about that?"
"Believe me, if that water's moving, that means Jesus got fish in there. Jesus guarantees you a fish,” said Derrick. “All you got to do is have patience and respect for that water.”
"No," said the shopper, "faith."
"Respect," said Derrick.
"No! Faith," said the shopper. “Faith go over everything!"
Things got a little heated, with Derrick explaining the need to respect the water and the shopper arguing for divine power.
"Faith is number one," Derrick agreed finally. He pointed to a framed portrait on the wall. "See that man right there? He brings me here every day. That Jesus brought me here."
"You know, I needed that guy when my daughter passed away," said the customer.
"I met Jesus a long time ago," said Derrick.
"She was twenty years old. Twenty years old!" said the customer. "I need that guy!"
"Listen, I had five spinal surgeries," said Derrick, not to be outdone.
"So I know God is real."
The customer took a deep breath before he replied: "I just need some bait."
I next spotted a man tending a smoking grill covered with gold spray paint. He was selling jerk chicken, homemade crab salad, cabbage and baked macaroni and cheese. "It's called Drunken Jerkk Golden Grill," Tashawn Parris said of his makeshift sidewalk operation.
He also works as a private chef and maintains an Instagram to promote his business. "But I don't get the exposure that I know I deserve," he said. "So I just feel like, that was God that sent you to talk to me. Here, try this!”
He offered a sample leg, charred and slathered with sauce from a squirt bottle.
"Is this your own recipe?" I asked.
It was. "This one is infused—420 friendly," he said, displaying a bottle emblazoned with a marijuana leaf. "But I gave you the regular."
I took a bite. The chicken was fantastic!
Mr. Parris, who is 30 and lives in the nearby projects, buys his chicken at the local meat market. He charges $7 for a generous serving with two slices of white bread toasted on the grill. A platter with sides costs $15. He’s averaging ten to twelve orders a day.
"So far so good," he said. "I didn't come out here with big expectations. That's always a big plus. No let downs."
And he has yet to get a ticket from the city. "I feel like God is protecting me as far as those types of things," he said. "The cops don't bother me. I'm not bothering anyone. I'm not selling drugs, I'm not doing anything very illegal. You have to pick and choose, I guess, the infractions you want to control."
Mr. Parris said he's not so keen on the beach or the amusement park, but he spends a lot of time on the boardwalk, networking with other vendors and drumming up chef business.
His assistant and sidekick Phill, who also lives in the projects, said that while he's lived in Coney Island eight years, he's been to the beach maybe three times.
"The worst thing about the neighborhood is the isolation," said Phill. "It's far out from any part of Brooklyn. The best thing is there's a lot of people who are very familiar with each other and will lend a helping hand.”
I bought a platter of chicken to take home. "That's enough for two meals!" I said, when Mr. Parris loaded me up. And then of course I ate the whole thing in one sitting.
I was delighted when I made it to the west end of the neighborhood and spotted a lady sitting on a folding chair outside the school bus depot. For whatever reason, the number of men seems to far outweigh the women on the streets of Coney Island.
Casandra is a bus attendant. She moved here 14 years ago from Queens.
"What brought you to Coney Island?" I asked.
"Love! And I've been here ever since," she said. "I used to come here as a kid. And I love living here. Beach front property, America's playground. One of the Seven Wonders of the World. Coney Island, it's magical!"
When she was growing up, her parents took her to Coney Island on the regular. "Nathan's! The bumper cars! The games! Going under the boardwalk. Fresh clams! Frog legs," she marveled.
And she still enjoys the area as much as she did as a child. She loves the Friday night fireworks, the sideshow and the beach. "I don’t know how to swim, but I get in the water," she said. "The water's clear. No one believed me, so I got a bottle and I was like, 'See?' They couldn't believe it."
The neighborhood teens can get rambunctious, she said, but that's everywhere. The place could use more restaurants, but Footprints Cafe, the Caribbean joint, is excellent. "I have no complaints," she said. "Some people may see the gritty side of Coney Island. But I rarely see it. I'm not in that life."
I asked if she ever sees tourists out her way. No, she said. They never venture further west than the ball park. But they should.
"Coney Island is out here," she said. "Come out and just enjoy it. Get a blanket, get a chair—and just enjoy it!”
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I love these “interviews” you do with people you meet. The dialogue. The back story. It’s fascinating. Thanks for sharing.
Oddly, no rabbits anywhere. ("Coney" is an Americanized corruption of "Koenig", the Dutch/German word for rabbit, because they virtually owned the island when it was first observed.)