Palisades Park (54 page)

“Dominguez says to me, ‘Jesus Christ, man, thanks.’ There’s a raw recruit on my right who’s seen the whole thing, and he says, ‘Good work, man,’ and reaches out to shake my hand. I take it and start to say something, but before I can finish there’s another loud wail, and—”

He paused, staring at something a thousand miles away.

“The recruit just—explodes. In a red fog. Some goddamn mortar shell just—tore him to ribbons. The concussion threw me to the ground, and when the smoke cleared I opened my eyes. I’m covered with blood and skin and—guts. And my hand’s still holding something.

“I look down and see—I’m still holding the recruit’s hand. His arm’s been severed at the elbow. And I’m holding it. I’m covered in blood and bile and bits of intestine, and
I’m holding his goddamned arm.
” His face was harrowed; anguished. “I started to scream. Had to be carried off the field. They tell me I didn’t stop screaming for twenty minutes.” He gazed down at his hands twitching in his lap. “My hands haven’t stopped trembling since.”

Eddie, overwhelmed, could only say, “Oh, Jesus, Jack—I’m
sorry
…”

On the tiny television screen, the silvery image of one of the wrestlers slung the other across his shoulders, then threw him to the canvas. Jack got up suddenly, went to the TV, and switched it off.

“So that’s the joke,” he said. “I save my buddy’s life—another guy gets blown to hell for congratulating me—and I come apart as completely as if the mortar hit
me.
What a riot, huh? The psych detachment tried to patch me back together, and they did to a point, but—a soldier who can’t hold a gun isn’t much use to the Army, and I was due for rotation soon anyway, so they sent me home with a couple of medals that don’t mean shit.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie said. “You saved Dom’s life. You’re a hero.”

At that there was fire and shame in Jack’s eyes. “For Chrissake, don’t use that word!” he snapped. “All those stupid comic books I used to read—all the heroes would save the girl, fight battle after battle, month after month—and me, I save one person’s life, then crack like an egg!”

“Comic characters aren’t
real,
Jack, you know that.”

“Then how about the men I served with? All those guys who climbed hill after hill, charged into the thick of it, saw shit a hundred times worse than I saw—and went right back on the front lines the next day! But me,
I
fell apart.” He sank into a chair. “I couldn’t take it like they could. I cracked like an egg,” he repeated, breaking down into sobs.

Eddie came over, stood in front of him, and said: “So what?”

Jack looked up, uncomprehending.

“So fucking
what
that you cracked? Everybody’s got their limits, Jack, and you reached yours. After charging up hills into enemy fire for—what, over a year?—you save your buddy’s life, see some poor bastard die horribly in front of you—and you broke down. Hell, I might’ve done the same.”

“No you wouldn’t. Not you.”

“Bullshit,” Eddie said. “I worked on planes that had the tailgunner’s brains splattered across the canopy. The first time I saw it—had to hose it out, like cleaning out a horse stall—I threw up in the toilet. I did that every day for the next week. Now, that’s nothing compared to what you went through. I was never tested like you were, Jack, so I don’t know where my breaking point would be—but I’m damn sure I’ve got one. Everybody does.

“Heroes don’t have to go
on
proving they’re heroes, like Sergeant York or Superman,” Eddie said gently. “Once is all it takes. You’re my hero, Jack.”

Jack looked gratefully into his father’s face—and began to weep. Eddie squatted down and draped his arms across Jack’s shoulders, comforting him as he had when as a boy he’d come home after falling off his bicycle, or sporting a bloody nose after a fight with a bully. He let him cry then, and he let him cry now. Eddie knew that he himself had kept too many things bottled up inside him for too long, and he wouldn’t let Jack do the same. “Let it out, son,” he said gently. “Let it out before it poisons you.”

*   *   *

On a sunny, breezy day in June, within the elegant nave of the Epiphany Catholic Church in Cliffside Park, Toni and Jimmy—she in a white taffeta wedding dress, he in a black suit and red tie—stood expectantly before the altar as Father Joseph Manz told them, “Please join your right hands together.” Then, to Jimmy: “Repeat after me: I, James Robert Russo, take thee, Antoinette Cherie Stopka, for my lawful wife—”

Jimmy looked into Toni’s eyes and repeated, “I, James Robert Russo, take thee, Antoinette Cherie Stopka, for my lawful wife … to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health … until death do us part.”

Father Manz turned to Toni, had her recite the same vow, then declared, “I join you together in marriage in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

He sprinkled the couple with holy water, then took the wedding ring from the outstretched palm of Jimmy’s best man, his brother Tim.

“Bless, O Lord, this ring, which we bless in Thy name, that she who shall wear it, keeping true faith unto her spouse, may abide in Thy peace and in obedience to Thy will, and ever live in mutual love. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Manz sprinkled the ring with holy water in the form of a cross, then handed it to the groom, who placed it on the third finger of Toni’s left hand and said, “With this ring I thee wed and I plight unto thee my troth.”

“In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen.”

After this came the Nuptial Blessing, followed by Mass for the bride and bridegroom. During the processional to the altar, Toni had been too overwhelmed and elated to take much notice of who was sitting in the pews; and once at the altar she had been facing first the priest, then Jimmy. Now, during the Mass, she was able to look out into the congregation and pick out familiar faces on the bride’s side of the aisle: Minette Dobson, Bunty Hill, her father, Lehua, Aunt Vi and Uncle Hal and their kids, Grandma Marie … and beside her grandmother, someone she had not seen for eight years.

Her mother.

Adele was now forty-two years old, but Toni was surprised to see how little she had changed. Her hair was still long, wavy, and blonde—Miss Clairol might have had something to do with that—and she looked stunning in a creamy pastel sweater and halter-neck dress with a full circle skirt and matching hat. Even from here Toni could see the proud, pleased smile on her face, making Toni suddenly happy that she had invited her.

Later, at the wedding reception, Toni, Jimmy, and the rest of the wedding party stood in a receiving line at the door, shaking hands with guests as they entered. When it was Adele’s turn she cupped Toni’s hand in hers and said, “You look so beautiful, honey. Thank you so much for inviting me.” She kissed Toni on the cheek and moved on. “I’ll see you later,” Toni called after. Adele smiled and nodded.

An hour later, after the toasts and the dinner and the cutting of the cake, Toni was able to mingle with the guests, going from table to table to chat briefly at each one. She spoke first with her father, Lehua, Jack, Minette, and Bunty, but made a point to go next to the table where Adele sat with Grandma Marie, Uncle James and Uncle Ralph, and their families.

Toni sat next down to her mother, took her hand and said, “I’m glad you could come. You look pretty beautiful yourself.”

“Thanks. It takes a lot more work than it used to.” Adele laughed, then said, “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you since … I left.”

Toni blinked. “It isn’t?”

“I saw you perform at the Steel Pier last year,” Adele said. “I was in the crowd. You were amazing, Toni, just amazing. I was so proud of you.”

Surprised, Toni said, “Well, thanks. Were you and Lorenzo playing Atlantic City too?”

Adele laughed. “I haven’t been with Lorenzo for years. I’m performing solo now.”

“Solo? As what?”

“A magician—a lady magician. I met one years ago, at Palisades, and never forgot her. There are some of us around—Dell O’Dell, Suzy Wandas, Celeste Evans…”

“I had no idea there were any at all.”

“We’re a select few. Like lady high divers.” She leaned in to Toni. “You’re a born performer, Toni. You got that from me.”

Toni found herself bristling at that. “You never wanted me to dive. You didn’t think it
was
ladylike.”

“I know. I was so foolish, I’m sorry…”

“Dad and Bunty are the ones who encouraged me,” Toni said, “and now
you’re
trying to take credit for my success?”

“No—no, honey, I didn’t mean to imply that—”

Toni stood.

“I’m sure you’re a great magician, Mom,” Toni said in a sudden fit of temper. “You’re terrific at making yourself disappear.”

“Toni…”
Adele said plaintively.

But it was too late—Toni had turned on her heel and was walking, quickly but coolly, on to the next table.

Marie put a hand on her daughter’s arm consolingly. “She’s under stress. It’s her wedding day.”

“No, she’s right,” Adele said quietly. “I do a great vanishing act. So great”—her eyes misted over—“she’ll never forget it.”

23

Palisades, New Jersey, 1962

I
N 1956
P
ALISADES’ PUBLICIST,
Sol Abrams, engineered what was arguably the grandest public relations stunt in the park’s history: a fifteen-hundred-pound circus elephant water-skiing on pontoons, towed across the Hudson by motorboat to promote the park’s April opening. The sheer audacity of it landed the elephant in newsreels, magazines, and newspapers across the country. But the best publicity by far the park ever received was a gift that arrived in March of 1962 from Swan Records, singer Freddy Cannon, and a young songwriter named Chuck Barris:

Last night I took a walk in the park

A swingin’ place called Palisades Park …

“Palisades Park,” intended to be the B side of Cannon’s single, was a breakout hit, quickly rising to number three on
Billboard
’s music charts. The bouncy, up-tempo tune, punctuated by the sound of a calliope and the rattle and roar of a real roller coaster, told of a young man who comes to Palisades looking for girls and rides the shoot-the-chute beside a cute one, with whom, in short order, he finds himself holding hands.

It was a story that had played out countless times at the real park, and its breezy rhythms captured the spirit of excitement, fun, and romance that generations of teenagers had come to associate with Palisades:

You’ll never know how great a kiss can feel

When you stop at the top of a Ferris wheel

When I fell in love … down at Palisades Park.

Even music fans who had never before heard of Palisades Park could identify with it, and the song quickly became an international success—selling two million copies by the end of that summer—and was welcomed with open arms by Irving Rosenthal as the sweetest “gag” he never had to pay for. He invited Cannon to sing “Palisades Park”
at
Palisades Park over the Fourth of July weekend, where thousands would turn out to hear him.

And by this time, Palisades Amusement Park had really become the “swingin’ place” of which Cannon sang. Starting in the mid-1950s, the Rosenthals began to capitalize on the burgeoning popularity of rock and roll, hiring local radio deejays Murray Kaufman, better known as “Murray the K,” and Bruce Morrow, “Cousin Brucie,” to host concerts on the free-act stage by such rising young stars as Bobby Rydell, Fabian, the Shirelles, Bill Haley and His Comets, Frankie Avalon, and a local Tenafly girl made good named Lesley Gore, singing her hit “It’s My Party.” For one season, singer Clay Cole hosted his own daily television show broadcast from Palisades, featuring bright new names like Chubby Checker (who performed the “Twist” for the first time on the show), Frankie Valli, Brian Hyland, and Neil Sedaka.

Palisades Amusement Park was not just popular—it was
hip.

But the park also continued to feature more traditional attractions like the Hunt Brothers Circus, the Little Miss America and Miss American Teenager pageants, as well as a variety of high-flying aerial acts that included Palisades Park’s own high-diving sensation, the Amazing Antoinette.

*   *   *

“Dawn,” Toni asked her daughter, “where’s your brother? Doesn’t he know we’re leaving?”

Seven-year-old Dawn looked up from playing with her Barbie doll, blew a long strand of reddish-blonde hair out of her eyes, and said, “I think I saw him take his go-cart out of the garage.”

Toni sighed. “I told him we were leaving for the park. Wait here.”

Toni walked out of the two-story white clapboard house she and Jimmy had purchased three years ago. Valley Place was a narrow, sloping street that ran from Undercliff Avenue to the dead-end of Hudson Terrace; reaching the curb she could hear the approaching rattle of metal wheels.

She looked up the street to see her son, Jeffrey, dark-haired, eight years old, hurtling down the hill on a go-cart he had built himself by hammering an orange crate to a plank, then nailing a pair of old roller skates to the plank—singing the theme to some puppet show he watched on TV:

“Supercar! Sooopercar!”
he cried as he rattled past her, then, just before reaching the fencing at the end of the street, veering to the right and skidding to a stop in front of the last house on the block. Toni worried that one of these days he would collide with a car turning right from Hudson Terrace, or jump the fence onto Route 5; thankfully most of the go-cart races he took part in were held on dead-end streets.

“Jeff, we’re leaving, put your cart away and get into the car!”

“Just one more ride down, Mom?”

“Mommy has a big tank of water to jump into, pal, so get in the car.”

Jeff pushed the cart past her, muttering, “I never get to have any fun.”

“We’re going to an
amusement
park, remember?”