The combination of highways, parks, and projects almost urban-renewed the
old Coney Island out of existence. Luna Park, the second great amusement
park, burned down in 1944. The first high-rise housing project went
up on its site shortly thereafter. During the next three decades vast rows
of tall housing projects were built. The city also ripped out many of the
traditional streets of low-rise apartments and homes. Today Coney Island
has a fading retail strip, remnants of an old-style urban neighborhood,
and scores of high-rise apartments, most of them low-income housing. It
is this jumbled mix that the various "improvements" will act upon.
Above:
Mass transit and Coney Island: a rendering of the new Coney
Island-Stillwell Avenue subway station (top), currently
under construction; a 1920s postcard showing the old station
(bottom left); a rider on the train platform today
(bottom right).
The sweaty man in the pink T-shirt and baseball cap walked into the construction
trailer beside the Cyclones' KeySpan Park, then on the verge of completion.
"You got any merchandise?" he asked, using the cognoscente word
for souvenirs. "I was hoping to get some before it all got sold out."
Kevin O'Shea had come from Staten Island just to buy souvenirs. He already
had tickets. "It's about time," O'Shea said about the new stadium.
It is this kind of rabid fan intensity--a remnant of the time when Brooklyn
had the mighty Dodgers--that helped the new team sell most of the 247,000
seats for the season before a single pitch had been thrown. Tickets cost
a reasonable $6 to $10.
Even without the nostalgia for pro baseball in Brooklyn, the appeal of the
ballpark is easy to understand. It combines beach and baseball in a Zen-like,
all-is-one experience. Sitting in the stands, you can see the blue ocean,
white sand, boardwalk filled with strolling people, amusement rides,
and baseball game with just a swivel of the head.
Lead architect John Ingram, from Jack L. Gordon Architects in New York,
said he did everything he could to bring the resort ambience into the stadium.
Whereas most sports venues work to create a sense of enclosure, KeySpan
Park (named after the utilities company that bought naming rights) does
the opposite. The bland glass-fronted skyboxes were stacked in a pyramid
behind home plate rather than strung out along left and right fields,
which would have obscured views. The stadium has an entrance directly off
the boardwalk: you can walk the hardwood planks, turn, and head directly
to the stadium on a pathway made of identical wood without changing elevation.
At night the ballpark has a different dynamic. The sun and sand disappear,
and the stadium merges with the lights of Deno's Wonder Wheel Park. Surrounding
it are giant lollipop lights, each 120 feet high, topped with 30-foot circular
neon lights. These red, green, and blue lights mesh with multicolor lights
placed under the skyboxes, creating a bowl of illumination. When a Cyclone
hits a home run, the lollipops spin in circles, playing off the fiashing
lights from the amusement park a block away. "We were trying to get
some of the colorful overlays of light and graphics that were associated
with the old Coney Island experience," Ingram says, adding that they
rejected a historical look to the ballpark. "This is Coney Island now.
We are its future. We are the fresh new look on the block."
The stadium's 800-space parking lot is placed to the side of the building
and is not visible from the stands. Although minimizing the parking lot
visually is admirable, the larger question is, why is the city spending
money on parking while also dropping a quarter-billion dollars to rebuild
a subway station a block away that can handle a million people per day?
No doubt the owner of the Cyclones wanted parking, but it may not be in
the long-term interest of Coney Island.
In 1997 Bilbao, Spain, opened its new Guggenheim museum. Designed by Frank
Gehry, its dramatic presence seemed to single-handedly revive that fading
Basque industrial city. But the $100 million museum was the capstone of
a $1.5 billion urban redevelopment program, which included a new subway
line, refurbished train and streetcar system, waterfront development plan,
and new airport. The shiny Guggenheim was simply the bauble on top of a
mound of infrastructure, which would do more in the long run to bring additional
jobs and residents to the city.
In similar fashion, the Coney Island ballpark is the bauble on top of some
serious infrastructure. Although the ballpark got its picture in the New
Yorker, the new subway facility is more important. Four separate lines--the
B, D, F, and N--terminate here, giving it immense capacity. Like Grand Central
Station, the stop was built with ramps instead of stairs, to better handle
the vast crowds. As you stand in the station's swelling mouth, where four
ramps from four platforms from eight tracks exit, you can visualize the
crowds of past days moving down ramps resembling cattle chutes.