Rye Playland is an amusement park conveniently close to my grandparent’s home in Westport, CT, an easy and inexpensive place to take the grandchildren. Even though we only went a couple of times, I still remember it fondly, like for the following story.
On this particular visit, when I was perhaps 5 or 6 years old, my uncle wanted to introduce me to a real, adult roller coaster, either the Dragon Coaster or the Zyklon I don’t remember which). Rye Playland then was a ticket-based park: you purchased tickets that were redeemed at a ticket booth for the particular ride or attraction. Remember, no fancy digital ticketing system that you flashed your phone at: operationally simple, though I do wonder about the back-office accounting. Not my problem.
Our first attempt was foiled when the ticket-taker noticed my height and said, correctly, that I was too short to ride the roller coaster. After we walked out, my uncle had a plan:
Uncle: This time, I’ll lift you up as we pass the ticket booth, you’ll give him the tickets, and then we’ll be through.
Me: What? He’ll remember me and we’ll be caught!
Uncle: No he won’t, there’s too many people going through and he won’t remember you.
Guess what: it worked! Dumbfounded and yet excited, I got my first ride on a big-person roller coaster and utterly loved it.
Fortunately, my mom didn’t know about these shenanigans …. until I told her the story I was in my mid-thirties. She was apoplectic, almost frothing at the mouth in anger, envisioning her very young and very undersized son riding a roller coaster truly unsafe for him with an uncomprehending and irresponsible uncle. Absolutely pissed, furious, taking her anger out on me as if it was my fault, even as her very-adult son sat in front of her, alive and well.
Perhaps her fear of my injury or death explains why she was unhappy when I took up skydiving….
Image Credits
© Mika Tomzak, copied from Roller Coaster Data Base
