Everybody goes to Coney Island nowadays, and yet probably not one man in ten thousand who goes there knows how the place ever got its name. The ancient history of Coney Island is quite interestin’. Some two hundred years ago the king of England granted a patent or deed of land on the southwest end of Long Island to an English woman belongin’ to a noble family. Embraced within this patent or deed of land was what is now known as Coney Island.
The lady who owned the land was of an enterprisin’ turn, and she tried to make it pay. She invited some of the Dutch from New York to settle on her lands near what is now Gravesend. There they raised cattle, and gradually the country around became divided into “boweries” or farms. But the farmers quarreled among themselves and there was soon the deuce to pay, and ultimately the little settlement of Gravesend wound up in a big row, and since that time there has been very little progress made in the place.
At the time of this row there stood on the edge of the marshes a rude hut which was inhabited by a man of the name of Cooney and his family–a wife and child–and a man named Schenck, who boarded with them. This Cooney used to spend all his time in fishin’, but as there was no Fulton Market to sell his stock in, he didn’t get any money for his fish–he had to eat all he caught, and as for clothes and fuel in Winter, he had to do the best he could for himself and family, or do without.
People used to wonder how on earth Cooney managed to live; but somehow he did manage–they all do–till one day when Cooney had walked over to Gravesend, or what there was left of it, on a stray job, a tremendous storm arose, accompanied by a terrific tidal wave, which swept everythin’ before it, includin’ the hut of poor Cooney, containin’ his family and the man Schenck. They were all washed out to sea, and were never seen or heard of more. Poor Cooney comin’ home found he had no home. Not a vestige of his hut was left; it was all wiped out. He couldn’t even tell exactly the spot where it had been.
From that hour Cooney was a helpless idiot. He used to wander round the spot where his little hut and family had been, and mope and mumble, and look at the sea as if expectin’ it to give back its dead; but the sea is not in the habit of givin’ back anythin’ or anybody. And one day Cooney himself disappeared. It is supposed that he was drowned, or drowned himself.
Generation after generation has passed since then, but the name of poor Cooney, the heartbroken, desolate idiot, is still preserved in the name of the most popular waterin’ place on the face of the earth.
There are other reminiscences of interest associated with Coney Island, such as in later years the story of George Green. Green was the pioneer hotel keeper of Coney Island, and his place, some twenty-five years ago, was much resorted to by Brooklyn politicians. Green was a character in his way; not bad-hearted, but bad-tempered, with a devil of a tongue and fist, and very free at usin’ both. He got into a row with a negro and pounded him to a jelly, for which he was sent to the penitentiary. It took a tremendous amount of trouble to arrest him, and for a while it looked as if Coney Island would prove more than a match for the entire civil force of the State. But at last seven constables captured Green and lodged him in jail, after which he was civil enough.
Mort Tunnison used to have a roadhouse in those days near the half-mile track; and Wyckoff had a bathhouse there, such as it was, for twenty years. Tilyou, Thompson and “General” Sam Bennett also had places there.
The principal land speculator in the early days of Coney Island was William Engeman. He started an old fashioned “ocean hotel” and built a carriage road over the salt marshes where the Brighton Beach racetrack now stands. Engeman had a long head on him, and may be regarded as the first man who ever developed or believed in Coney Island. He got his reward. He bought all he could hear and there, in little lots, and finally sold it at about a thousand percent profit on his investment.
Another man who saw a big thing in Coney Island was old Vanderveer. He was a bricklayer, but gave up his trade and went into real estate. He started a hotel and made a fortune.
Chow-chow Valentine also coined money. Chow-chow Valentine was the chief of the three card monte men, and for a while took in more money than he could spend.
Then Corbin and the rest came along, and now Coney Island is what it is, the greatest waterin’ place on the American continent.
[Editor’s notes: The above column is a brief scattershot of facts (and legend) about Coney Island. There are several theories about how the place got its name–the most plausible being derived from the Dutch word for rabbit–but this romantic tragedy of “Cooney” is an obscure version.
As far as I can tell, George E. Green was not a hotel keeper; he was the bartender at the Wyckoff House hotel, and married a Wyckoff daughter.
Mortimer Tunison’s roadhouse was on the Coney Island road. It was a frequent destination for people out for a carriage ride or sleigh ride. Tunison’s (often spelled Tunnison) place was known for its clam chowder. In 1879, widower Mort Tunison’s 23-year-old daughter Mary Ellen, “Nannie”, died of consumption. Tunison was devastated, and killed himself a few months later. His chowder recipe:
“Chow-Chow” Valentine was, improbably, a beloved character of Coney Island, as this article proves:]
