The Wander List

You certainly don’t need to leave Manhattan for a freak show. But if you’re interested in an old-timey freak show, hop the A train to Coney Island.

Everything you’ve heard about Coney Island is true, namely that it’s weird. The place seems lost in time, with hand-painted signs, a wooden boardwalk, unmanaged crowds and freaks for hire.

The first brow-raiser we encountered was a game called Shoot The Freak on the boardwalk. A haggard, step-right-up carny shouted at us from his bullhorn, “Shoot tha freak, ya freaks! Why watch someone have fun when ya can shoot tha freak and have fun yourself?”

Odd, but we stepped closer. The “freak” turned out to be a young man in padded clothing standing in a graffitied alleyway. Onlookers paid up to $20 to shoot him 75 times with a paintball gun. The freak stood woefully still — an easy target — except for once when he removed his helmet to wipe away paint that splattered in his eye. I’m pretty sure he was crying. “He’s fine,” the carny assured everyone. “Shoot tha freak!”

Yikes! No thank you. We moved along to the carnival, home to the famed Cyclone roller coaster, a small Nathan’s hot dog cart, and oddities such as the giant rat (an armadillo, one customer guessed) and the headless woman (an optical illusion, my husband was convinced). We pressed our faces against the  trailer window to see a woman’s body in a wheelchair, hands moving, no head in sight.

We were freaked-out by the time we reached Sideshow by the Seashore, a museum where two-headed babies and three-legged women make a living. I couldn’t bear the thought of Jackie Tripod breaking down in tears; the old-school signs outside were entertaining enough for me.