On the second tier at the Nikon Theater
at Jones Beach, I settled into my seat for the big concert. My wife and I took
our kids to see My Chemical Romance and Blink 182 for the Tenth Anniversary
Honda Civic Tour. Though it was quite a while since I attended a show at this
arena, I have a long history at Jones Beach State Park.
My father was a World War II
veteran who worked for the Brooklyn Navy Yard for twenty years. Upon his
retirement, he got a job with the now-defunct Long Island State Park
Commission. He spent his time traveling back and forth between Robert Moses
State Park, Captree, and Jones Beach. During the summer, he’d take my brothers
and sisters and me to any of the fields at Robert Moses and leave us while he
went about his duties. I was the fifth child out of six, and my older sister
was well-equipped to keep a careful eye on us younger ones while we splashed
around in the waves.
It was comforting to see Dad stop
by in one of the park vehicles to check on us. He’d have a worried expression
on his face, wondering if we were having a good time and if there was any
danger of leaving us alone. Back in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when we
visited our summer paradise, a tradition was born.
I remember riding with Dad in a
green, state-owned truck as he went about his routine. He seemed important
wherever he went, and he loved what he did immensely. It was the environment,
the ocean and the dunes, which made him inhale deeply and smile as he scanned
the horizon. I always sensed that he felt lucky to be so close to nature and to
visit such a beautiful place each day. As he was not a wealthy man, his
appreciation for the parks is his legacy for his family.
My wife and I make it a point to
take our kids to the beach in the warm months. During winter, we eat bagels and
drink coffee and juice while watching wild deer from inside our parked car at
Robert Moses. When friends are in town, I bring them on a tour of the area, and
I convey what I know about each location as I recall what my dad taught me. The
iconic water towers, the lengthy bridges, the bathhouses, all fell under his
purview. My father helped maintain these landmarks. His fingers touched steel
beams and stone, which tens of thousands see each day during summer.
All that was part of my childhood
is present still after my father’s passing. The striped umbrellas, boardwalks,
concession stands, saltwater taffy, and the amphitheater are as enduring as my
precious, early memories. As I sat in the fold-down seat at the Nikon Theater
last Saturday with my family, I was host to a stadium full of strangers. My
life took root in this very place. In the waters to my left, boaters awaited a
musical performance. Overhead, clouds winked with a suggestion of rain, and to
my right, beachgoers bid farewell to the sand and the ocean for the evening. I
sat back and imagined that among the wavy crests of sand dunes, in the inky
shadows stretching wide, my father was smiling, and at home in the park he
loved so dearly.
By Michael J. Kannengieser
Photo by M.J. Kannengieser
