I took a ride on the Blue Streak today…and the ride was filled with all the thrills and magic I could ever imagine.
The full story of this remarkable experience began long ago, in the dreams of a curly-headed kid from Millvale, PA. running ahead of his Dad...running to secure their place in the waiting line at Conneaut Lake Park’s famous wooden coaster. As soon as it became their turn to ride, the father and son raced to the last car of the coaster’s “train.” Every experienced coaster rider knew that this seat was the “best” seat on the ride…the seat that promised the most thrills, and the full momentum of the coaster’s awesome power. The two riders were not disappointed.
Later, as that summer’s eve faded softly into twilight, and gradually become enveloped (as all summers must eventually do) by the mists of Time and Memory, the boy snuggled gently into sleep upon the backseat of his parents’ ’57 Chevy BelAir…carrying within him the lullabies of the Blue Streak’s clanking melodies, and the whispering jingles of the Carousel’s Wurlitzer band organ.
The curly-headed kid grew up…physically…but, for some unknown reason, always carried in his heart the essence of those summers of long ago. Those days at the Park never left him; they formed much of the foundation of all his beliefs.
Those experiences taught him of the true nature of our heritage as a Nation, and as a people…of what can be accomplished when we dare to dream, and hold fast to those Dreams, despite the ravages of Time and Fortune. He learned how the eternity of Existence can be seen in the brass ring caught while riding the Park’s Carousel…learned how all the exuberance of Life can be experienced while riding the wooden roller coaster. And most of all, he learned how Hope is as eternal as the smile in a loved one’s eyes.
FLASHBACK…
It was 1972, August 11, to be exact. I was living on the East Coast. Although there was a LOT to experience and enjoy out there, I absolutely HATED the City and the crowds of “visitors” which always seemed to multiply on the weekends.
In order to avoid these tangled crowds, I would regularly head to the ocean shore, specifically to the Boardwalk and amusement park gracing the shores of Seaside Heights in New Jersey.
Here I would relive the days of my youth…playing games in the Penny Arcade, pitching Skee-Ball, munching on French-fries, and bag after bag of warm, buttery popcorn.
Of course, I would always take a ride on the park’s Ferris Wheel, and would traditionally end my day by riding the classic Carousel.
It was while riding this magnificent machine that late August afternoon, that I reached out and caught one of the brass rings from the container mounted on an outside pole.
Rather than “cash-in” on the ring for a free ride on the Carousel, I for some unknown reason, shoved the ring into the pocket of my jeans.
Later that evening, after returning back to my residence, I emptied my pockets…and, as I did so, my fingers grasped the ring I had “captured” earlier that day.
WHAT?? Oh, well!!! I shoved the brass ring into one of the drawers of my clothes bureau, and forgot about it.
When I moved back to Western PA in the mid-70’s, I packed all my “stuff” into cardboard boxes. Back in P’Burgh, I placed all the boxes into a storage rental unit.
Then, when we built our home in Espyville, both Carolyn and I collected all our various storage packages, and held “Christmas in September” in our new home.
There, in the bottom of one of my forgotten moldy boxes from 1975, lying underneath a pile of old dilapidated papers, was the brass ring that had (in reality) captured ME all those years ago.
Its message was clear.
(BTW…it wasn’t until 1991…August 11, to be exact, that my Life changed forever…and I became a Carousel Carver.)
That Ring that found me in the summer of 1972 never leaves my side…EVER!
PAUSE TO REFLECT…
All this came rushing back today, as once again, I “rode” on the Blue Streak.
One afternoon a few years ago, I rescued several sections of discarded Blue Streak lumber from destruction. At the invitation of the, then, Chairman of CLP’s Board of Trustees, I witnessed, at a prior date, the current restoration project at the Park’s historic wooden coaster. My visit to the Park was for the purpose of deciding what items to borrow for the upcoming exhibit and tribute to Conneaut Lake Park at one of our Region’s health centers. Observing my interest in the pile of discarded coaster lumber, he indicated that if I had a use for any of the wood, that I would be welcome to select whatever I would choose. A DREAM COME TRUE!
As I delivered and installed at the center several sections of ancient track cross-pieces, I took a few moments to pause and examine the sections more closely. Here’s what they revealed to me…
I saw (in them) the handiwork of the nineteenth-century artisans who crafted the original structure of the beams and rails…the bolts , nails, and grain of the century-old rails; they told the story of proud and hard-working craftsmen and their pride in their work.
I saw every era of care and maintenance by generations of CLP personnel.
I walked the rails with the men whose responsibility it was to grease and inspect the tracks every morning before the Park opened…heard their laughter…breathed with them the stillness and promise of each new day’s dawn.
I saw the team of Amish men as they made repairs to the existing structure.
Spoke again to the incredible team of craftsmen undertaking the current restoration project.
Heard the squeals of delight uttered by innumerable riders…felt the warmth of their excitement embedded in every board and rail.
Finally, I watched as the last car rolled into the distance of a summer’s eve long ago as that curly-headed kid hunched closer into the protective shoulder of his smiling Dad.
What stories those pieces of wood have to tell!
If you listen closely, be prepared to be amazed by all the magic contained in these humble, yet incredibly precious, sections of a wooden coaster. Listen still closer, and you will witness once again all the Dreams of your childhood come to Life.
THE MAGIC NEVER ENDS…
So…today that curly-haired kid from Millvale, was reborn, once again. All the pressures and turmoil of the Past seemed to vanish in the sounds of the clanking of the coaster’s machinery.
The message hidden within the Brass Ring became clear once again.
As I ran my fingers across that ring, I rediscovered the message I had shared with innumerable persons over the past several decades. A message I had refused to acknowledge for many, many, years…a message that I had cast into the bottom of a box…a message that I had, over the past year, forgotten somehow…a message that had, however, NEVER left my side. Its whispers ALWAYS remaining in my dreams. Once again, I am now listening to its message.
That Brass Ring has no discernable joint…NO Beginning…NO End. Like Life itself, it goes on…and on…and on……
Let’s take a ride together. BUCKLE UP!!!
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