Coney Island's Thunderbolt Echoes

Working from a single anonymous complaint made last August, the City Department of Buildings conducted what some say might well have been an illegal inspection, decided that the structure was dangerous and condemned it. Despite attempts on the part of historic preservationists and Coney Island USA's Dick Zigun to stop the demolition, despite last-minute efforts to have landmark status bestowed upon the Thunderbolt, despite a lack of public hearings on the matter and despite long-held plans to restore the coaster to working order, the old dinosaur?which, as it turns out, would have been nearly adjacent to the new baseball stadium?came tumbling down.

Now, granted, the Thunderbolt hadn't run in years. It was covered in vines, the grounds were overgrown and the house beneath it looked to be in pretty rough shape itself. But what a few powerful people considered little more than an "eyesore" was a thing of great and powerful beauty to some of us. After hearing the news, an architect friend of mine declared the Thunderbolt "one of the most beautiful structures in New York." Every photographer I ever brought to Coney over the years was always more captivated by the old coaster than by anything else on the Boardwalk. What's more, it had quite a history before it went to the vines?not just as an amusement park ride, but as an architectural anomaly, as well as a part of American cinematic history.

Built in 1925, the Thunderbolt was actually put up around the old Kensington Hotel. In fact, after its top floor was removed, the (now) two-story house was used as one of the coaster's central supporting structures. The ride was in operation for decades, suffering only two accidents?those in its first two years of operation. And in 1977, the house (with the Thunderbolt around it) appeared as Woody Allen's childhood home in Annie Hall.

And now, because of a single, anonymous, complaining phone call, it's gone.

I know it's difficult for people to understand why some of us can get so worked up about something like a decayed, vine-covered, nonfunctioning rollercoaster?especially when there are so many other things in this world worth getting worked up over. As one man said to me after I'd been complaining about the demolition, "Oh, there'll always be old fuddy-duddies like you, moaning and groaning about some old condemned building. I bet when they tear that new baseball stadium down, there'll be people complaining about that, too."

And maybe there will be. Point is, though, Coney?as it exists today, broken and dirty as some of it may be?is a major piece of American cultural history. Oldest?and still the best, if you ask me?goddamned amusement park in the country. A new, slick, fancified and polished Coney?as some people seem to envision?simply wouldn't be Coney anymore. It'd just be another Six Flags. Coney's history is Coney's charm and Coney's meaning. The Thunderbolt was part of that charm when it was operational, and remained a part of it when it wasn't.

Now that it's gone and there's no bringing it back, the Thunderbolt will just have to take its place next to Luna Park. All we'll be able to do is read about it and look at old pictures.