Under the Boardwalk: Summer in the City

New York City, My Old Home Town

Summer is about to begin again, and with it comes a flood of memories that I can feel in my chest like a warm breeze. Some of the memories go back more than seventy years, to the summers of my childhood growing up in New York City. Back then, school always ended on June 30. That was our real beginning of summer. It was not the calendar date, not the weather, but that final school bell. We would run out of the building with wild joy, skipping and hopping our way home, knowing the long, warm days ahead were finally ours.

I must have been around thirteen when I started paying attention to the songs of summer. Music was everywhere. Songs like Under the Boardwalk became the background to our lives. That one especially sticks in my mind, because it reminded me of our summer trips to Coney Island.

Coney Island was magic. It sat at the very end of Brooklyn, right on the edge of the Long Island Sound. We got there the way most people in New York got anywhere back then, by subway. Very few families had cars, so the subway was our freedom. It rumbled and screeched its way through the city, carrying us from the Bronx or Manhattan or wherever we lived, all the way out to the beach.

The boardwalk at Coney Island was made of long wooden planks, stretching over the sand like a bridge to another world. We kids would sneak underneath it sometimes, giggling as we caught glimpses of young couples kissing and holding each other on beach blankets. But the real thrill for us was the beach, the rides, and the food.

Coney Island wasn’t just a beach, it was a playground. There were bumper cars and a giant Ferris wheel that seemed to touch the sky. There were two roller coasters, both made of wood, rattling and roaring in a way that was both terrifying and irresistible. We rode them over and over, our screams mixing with laughter and the music pouring from the boardwalk shops.

And oh, the food. Nathan’s hot dogs were a must. Always served in a soft bun with mustard and a pile of sauerkraut, they were the best hot dogs I ever tasted. We washed them down with cold sodas and cooled ourselves with ice cream, especially soft, custardy kinds that melted too fast in the heat but tasted like heaven while they lasted.

We played stickball in the streets during the day and roller-skated until the sun went down. We made up games and ran wild with the other kids in the neighborhood. There was a feeling of freedom and fun that I can still feel in my bones, all these years later.

It was, in so many ways, an innocent time. Not innocent in the grand scheme of history, we were living in the shadow of World War II, and the horrors of the concentration camps had just been revealed. Many American soldiers had died, and the world had changed. But for us children, growing up in America felt safe. Our streets were ours. Our summers were long. We didn’t yet understand all the heartbreak of the world.

What we knew was that summer meant fun. Summer meant songs and sandy feet and sticky fingers. Summer meant riding the subway to the sea, licking melting ice cream, and watching the sunlight dance on the waves. Summer meant being alive, young, and free.

And every now and then, when I hear Under the Boardwalk, it all comes rushing back, like the smell of the ocean, the taste of mustard, the thrill of the roller coaster, and the joy of being a kid in summer.

Some Nostalgic Music. Enjoy listening if you wish:

Want to start a chat about your summer memories: