The Coney Island Knish Guy
by
Phyllis Reilly
In
the 1950’s, we lived in a three-room apartment on the top floor of a run-down
apartment house in Flatbush, Brooklyn.
In the summer our apartment was like an oven…a tar roof boiled by the
sun made it unbearably hot. When it got too oppressive, my parents took me
to Coney Island Beach to cool off.
The Atlantic
Ocean sounded so big to me, but it was a lot of sand with too many people and
even though it was an ocean, there was never enough water. The shoreline was
littered with people who wanted to cool off and dunk themselves in the shallow
water. They sat on low beach chairs,
waiting for the waves to splash over their bodies... more people waded in the
water, then actually swam. There were a few floaters that bobbed up and down on
the rhythm of the waves and the occasional swimmer doing the back stroke,
gliding along with the current… arms moving in slow motion like a synchronized
swimmer.
Coney Island was
like rush hour on the IRT subway. Blazing heat. People packed close to one
another, careful to make sure their blankets
never touched. Everyone safeguarding their tiny piece of paradise. A summer day
with striped umbrellas and lunches packed in wax paper tucked inside brown
paper bags. Some people had coolers packed with ice, filled with drinks. Other
people walked to the refreshment stands on the boardwalk for a bottle of cream
or orange soda. Unless you were in the
water, it was hot at the beach. But if you were under an umbrella, it was
bearable, and by late afternoon boasted a breeze that helped cool the day.
There was this guy with a cart. He was there every summer. He pushed that cart along the beach and
plowed through the crowd selling hot knishes.
The sun followed him across the beach like a spotlight. His nose was
white, painted with zinc oxide. He wore a safari hat that had cloth hanging
from the back to protect his neck from the sun.
His face was lobster red. He looked miserable. Maybe he made a lot of
money, maybe it was a great job but sitting under our umbrella, it looked like
torture to me. He never smiled just
dragged himself and his cart across the sand.
Every few minutes he shouted,
“Hot knishes. Get your hot
knishes.”
They
were round patties made from potatoes and popular with the beach crowd. The only other place I knew that sold them,
was the Jewish Deli on Flatbush Avenue.
He had a silver change maker on
his belt and wore these oversized brown shoes that reminded me of clown shoes,
that curled up at the toes. providing protection from the sun and sand. I don’t
know why but the Knish Guy fascinated me.
I didn’t know him. I never bought a knish from him He was just one of
those people. You don’t know them,
but you wonder about who they are, where
they live, what’s their life like. I
would sip my cream soda under our beach umbrella, my body still damp from the
water and watch him.
When he finished for the day, he pulled his
cart up the steps onto the boardwalk and disappeared.
I wondered if this was his forever job. Maybe you could make a good
living selling Knishes on the beach but what happened to him when the summer
ended? I thought that he went to Florida
or California and worked there during the cool months of Brooklyn. -- like a
travelling salesman. He would return to Coney Island when it was summer. Visit
his family and do it all over again. I
realized that he was probably too young to do that.
I decided he must be a high school kid, and this was a summer
job. He was working hard, saving money
to buy a red sports car so he would look cool and could pick up girls.
What
did he do on his day off? I doubt he went to the beach. He probably went to the
movies. Sat in the dark air-conditioned theatre far from the heat and sun. Cool
enough to bring a sweater just in case it got too chilly. Or maybe he just
stayed home. Slept late and watched cheesy TV shows, stretched out on the sofa
with a bag of chips and a Coke; a large floor fan, blowing loud noise and cool
air.
I thought I saw him in the
lobby of the Loews Kings Theatre. He was with a beautiful pale girl. She had
long black hair and was so fair that I was convinced she never sat in the sun.
Granted, I had no idea what The Knish Guy actually looked like, but
that didn’t stop me. They were at the candy counter holding hands. The guy was sunburn and the skin on his face
was raw and peeling. Based on nothing more than an over active
imagination I decided it was him. I worked up enough courage to go up to them.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you The Knish Guy from Coney Island?”
He looked confused.
“The what guy?”
Thinking
he hadn’t heard me I asked him again, only this time, louder.
“The Knish Guy from Coney Island?”
“No I’m not. I don’t even know what a Knish Guy is.”
They
were both laughing. I was embarrassed and left the candy counter with out
buying any popcorn.
I realized that anyone who dragged himself
around the beach getting fried by the sun must be crazy. And anyone who spent
time thinking about him, was not far behind…
He wore
sunglasses and was so covered up, that he was featureless. I thought when he
removed all his sun protecting clothes, he might be like the Invisible Man
character in H.G. Wells’ novel. I read
it at the beach and just incorporated into my already crowded fantasy life.
The
following summer, he
was gone. I looked for him every time we went to the beach but he was nowhere
to be found, I hoped he hadn't died of
sunstroke or skin cancer and that he had moved on to a better life. I never saw
him again. I missed him. He was part of my Coney Island childhood.
Things changed.
I
stopped going to the beach. I joined Farragut
pool and went there with my friends almost every day in the summer. When I was
older. I went to Riis Park beach… drank beer, smoked Marlboro cigarettes and
fell in love with a lifeguard named Bob.
Years later, I met someone from
Brooklyn, who knew the knish guy. He told me he earned enough money from
selling knishes to pay for college and was a Chemistry Professor at some
midwestern college.
As a kid, I spent a lot of time wondering about him. I guess you
could say I was obsessed.
I didn’t know him. I never spoke to him, but I was happy for
him—happy to hear he was out of the Knish business…out of the sun.
No
matter how much time goes by, no matter what beach I go to…
I still think about him.
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