Just finished reading Mary Trump’s Too Much and Never Enough. She writes about how her grandfather, Fred Trump, destroyed the fabled windows of Steeplechase in Coney Island in order to prevent it from being declared a landmark. I suspect his behavior never caused him remorse, ever. But I have a Steeplechase-memory, an “I wish I could go back in time and change” memory.                                                                                                                              

     It was a stormy winter day in 1958. Two 9th grade classmates and I trained to Steeplechase. We went on a ride that was all about the effects of centrifugal force. We were spun around faster and faster. Then it came to a sudden jarring stop. Most of the riders happily screamed,  but a few threw up. Seems this was par for the course. We got off the ride and saw such a sight: a very short dignified old man, in a white uniform, wearing a large white walrus moustache, was sweeping up. We turned to leave and were simultaneously stunned and confused. He was on the other side of the ride! Took us a few seconds to get it. Twins! Two old twins making up the vomit crew. We doubled over in loud laughter. We laughed at them. Both kept working, never looked our way.                

 

     For years I got a lot more laughs when I described these men, but slowly I began to realize that they were just working, just making a living. I began to conjecture about their life story, and increasingly, felt and feel shame and remorse.