THE WONDER WHEEL by Peter Nolan Smith

Memorial Day was America's introduction to summer.
It was a good day to visit Coney Island.

Ellen's Argentinean friends wanted to see the sea.
They walked on the pier.

The Atlantic was cold and the sun was hot.
They walked back to what was once The Great White Way.

The Giant Elephant was gone,
So were the bathhouses,
But the Wonderwheel stood its ground.

Ellen and the Argentines bought tickets.
Their car soared into the sky.
There were no clouds.

Only the beach, the people, and the cold green Atlantic.
From the top of the spin Ellen saw swimmers in the water.
She could feel the cold and thought, "How cold could it be?"

The hoi polloi leaping off the pier knew how cold.
Ellen took photos from the top.
Photography was her art.

None of her models went to the Freak Show.
Ellen was an artist
And artists see the truth where no one else sees it.
Even from the top of the Wonder Wheel.

The Wonder Wheel stopped at the bottom and Ellen got off the ride.
Her friends looks at her, "What next?"
She was not from New York,
But the first time she came to New York,
She came to see Coney Island.

The years had not been kind to Coney Island.
The Cyclone was ready for arson.

NBA star Stephon Marbury came from the Surfside Gardens.
He learned ball on those court.
Those boys had a tough game.

Then was a long time ago
And now was today.
Ellen turned to her friends.

"We can go to Nathans."
Her friend Peter had suggested a hot dog there.
The Argentines said, "Yes."
Nothing was more American than a hot dog
And nothing was more America than Coney Island.
Not in Brooklyn and not in 2015.

It was the world.

THANKS TO ALL THE PHOTOGRAPHERS

I LOVE YOUR WORK.

Lucky's Night 1955

Lost another job today
And my empty pockets don't help
Can't say the future's mine
But the past wasn't mine too.
So as always I'll live on account
Jamie was there the night I rolled 300
And all she managed to say,
"It musta been fixed."

Leaving me all alone.
So I took the prize
The chance to lie between the thighs
Of the youngest waitress at the bowling alley bar.
Doreen left at dawn
Taking all my winnings
I walked to my home.
Jamie had wrote a note
She and the kids were Laredo bound
I don't know what is in that town.
Now beer cans litter my bed sheets
I have enough change for a six pack of Lone Star beer
No home
No family
No money
And no friends answering the phone
So I'll do what I've always done
I'll roll another 300.
Lucky has to come my way again.

Bowling For Prosperity

Back in the 1980s no one other than Rockets Red Glare was fat and these days he might pass for husky.

We loved he nightlife.

New York was the capitol of the world.

Every place else on Earth was second-rate, except for Paris and Pattaya.

Both those cities knew sin.

However New York could mix bowling with sex, drugs, and rock n roll at the University Lanes in the Village run by Alan Platt.

The girls were beautiful.

We knew their names.

Especially Wendy.

We will always have the University Lanes and Paris.

Forever, although we never bowled in the City of Light.

ps my best game was a 187 and I was beaten by John Conti who scored a 199.

Oatar World Cup Boycott

The Qatar peninsula has been populated for thousands of years. In the 1800s the peninsula provided pearls to the Ottoman Empire and later became a British Protectorate. The sleepy Gulf city gained importance with the discovery of oil and natural gas. Its economy swelled with the worldwide demand for fossil fuels and enriched the ruling Thani family with billions of petrol dollars, enabling the small peninsula to win in 2011 the rights the the 2022 FIFA World Cup.

Hundreds of thousands of migrant workers from Bangladesh, India, and Nepal were hired by employment agencies demanding exorbitant fees to guarantee a working visa. All these men were seeking to support their impoverished families, however they were cheated of their wages and thousands have died under the desert sun without any criticism from FIFA the governing body for the World Cup.

Money overruled any and all abuses.

The 2014 Word Cup in Brazil cost $13 billion.

The 2018 World Cup in Russia topped $15 billion.

That was nothing.

The bill for the 2022 Qatar World has been estimated at $370 billion from oil price manipulations or the combined GDP of the fifty poorest countries on Earth.

Human rights were trampled by the Qatar Sharia law.

FIFA backed their choice to the hilt.

I've watched most of this century's World Cup, but I am boycotting Qatar 100%.

The horrible living conditions of the migrant workers, the uncounted death, the cheating them of wages, and FIFA's corruption has destroyed one of the greatest sporting events in the world.

Fuck Qatar. Fuck FIFA. Fuck the World Cup.

BOYCOTT.

It's not too late.

Bad Mouthing the Eagle

Benjamin Franklin proposed the turkey for the national bird. The turkey of his era was nothing like the domesticated bird slaughtered for Thanksgiving. The wild turkey was a cunning wood creature living in large communes of fellow avians. Huge flocks of brightly plumed turkeys would cloud the skies andBenjamin Franklin vehemently opposed the choice of the eagle as the national bird.

“I wish that the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country, he is a bird of bad moral character, he does not get his living honestly, you may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing-hawk, and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to its nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him…. Besides he is a rank coward; the little kingbird, not bigger than a sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest. . . of America.. . . For a truth, the turkey is in comparison a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America . . . a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should presume to invade his farmyard with a red coat on.” Wonder what Eagle would taste like for Thanksgiving.

LProbably like crow.

Big Bird Day

Last year I walked through Grand Central Terminal. Thousands of passengers sought to catch a train home for Thanksgiving. My sister had invited her family feast outside of Boston. I have to work on Friday and opted out on the holiday exodus to spend a quiet day at the Fort Greene Observatory.

I made myself eggs and toast for breakfast.

My options for a turkey dinner are limited to the buffet at Mikie Ds.

It's only a few blocks from my house.

That afternoon millions of mothers were putting on the final touches for the big dinner.

As a youth my Thanksgiving mornings were consumed by peeling apples, potatoes, turnips, carrots for our eight family members and another 5-10 guests.

My older brother called it ‘KP Day’.

After the turkey was done, my mother would extract the the crispy-skinned carcass out of the oven and order me to carry the big bird out the garage. Why was never explained to us.

One Thanksgiving I obeyed her command.

The garage door was open.

The air was cold.

It wouldn't take long for the bird to be ready for dinner.

My next-door neighbor came over to the driveway with a football. We had spent the morning at the football game between my hometown and their arch-rivals. The two of us went into the backyard to emulate the day’s heroes. After bobbling a long pass Chuckie pointed to the front lawn.

"What's with DJ?"

DJ was a neighborhood dog. I was in love with his owner, Kyla. The German Shepard had his entire head was masked by turkey and I heard my mother scream, “The turkey.”

I picked up a stick from the ground and charged to save our holiday meal. The big black dog fled from our yard with a slobbering snarl, leaving behind a mauled meal. My mother cried, “Where are we going to find a turkey now?”

My father looked at me. This was my fault. I didn’t even bother to explain my side of the story.

When you’re wrong as a child, proving you’re right is a waste of breath.

My older brother and younger siblings thanked me for ruining Thanksgiving.

DJ’s owners paid for our meal at a nearby hotel. The food was good and my mother didn’t have to wash any dishes.

The next day Kyla kissed me on the cheek for not beating her dog.

So even bad Thanksgivings can turn out okay, when life is good and it's always good to the last slice of pie on Turkey Day.

ERICA'S REVENGE fotos by Ellen Von Unwerth

Erica had a lot to learn from Alice. Raising your eyes was a sin. Erica knew better. Alice was about to learn what was best.

Afternoon masquerades were held in the garden. The crowd liked to take and not give. Erica was an expert at either.

Erica was back to being herself. She didn't question her role, She liked being a slave And so did everyone else. FOTOS BY ELLEN VON UNWERTH