Today Kathy & I had lunch at Coney Island Grill. This is becoming our standard place of celebration—as in celebrating my recovery from an illness yesterday. I really enjoy the fast service, delicious loaded chili dogs, and far from obsequious ambiance. The restaurant tends to lighten the step of all ages—the restaurant (dating from 1926) gives even older younger folk the obdurate sense of being a competent survivor. “The business of life is celebrated here” is the resilient feeling bestowed.
As incongruous as this may be, I am reminded of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s book of poems: A Coney Island of the Mind (A New Directions Book, Copyright 1958). A friend of mine in undergraduate school, Ray Towler, read a selection (“Christ Climbed Down”) from this book during an internship high school class and landed in serious trouble. Ray later joined the armed services, but was killed while still in his youth in a car accident.
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