October, 2002
Off the Roller Coaster
Previous Issues
Every year, my family takes a trip to the Jersey Shore.
It's our favorite time of the year, because we are all together. Just
us. We have a great time going to the beach and taking an occasional trip
to one of the nearby towns.
On our trip a few years ago, we'd spent a few days at
the beach when we decided to take a ride to Atlantic City. It was just
a 45 minute drive up the coast. While we were there, we walked out on
a pier that is the home to a small amusement park.
The year before, we had been to the same amusement park
and I had taken Justin and Matthew on a great roller coaster ride. The
coaster is right over the water, and as it swings you around its vicious
turns, you smell the salt air and feel like you are going to be tossed
right into the crashing waves. Jeannine, who loves roller coasters, couldn't
go on because she was sick at the time. So when we got there this year,
she was especially ready to go.
But when we got to the coaster, it was closed for repairs.
We were all a bit disappointed—the kids had great memories of their
last ride. But we remembered there was another, newer roller coaster just
a short way back on the pier. So we all walked down to that one.
We stood in line for a few minutes, then—wouldn't
you know—they closed that roller coaster, too. They didn't give a
reason—maintenance or something. It seemed like someone just didn't
want us to ride a roller coaster that day. So we resolved to go to Ocean
City the next day and try the amusement park there.
Ocean City, like Atlantic City, is a boardwalk town.
But rather than gambling casinos, it is filled with family-oriented shops,
candy stores, arcades, and a store with the best saltwater taffy anywhere.
Way at the end of the boardwalk is a nice amusement park. So after a few
hours on the boardwalk, we got to the park, purchased our tickets, and
began perusing the selection of roller coasters.
There was one that looked nice enough, slightly older
and tamer. But I noticed one across the park, and suggested we go try
it.
It was a roller coaster that had been installed just
that year. In fact, the Governor of New Jersey had been there to dedicate
it. It had individual cars that could seat two or three people—perfect
for Jeannine and the two older boys. I would keep Nicholas in the stroller
and watch from the side. Finally, after a year and a few days, Jeannine
would get the roller coaster ride she had been waiting for.
Nicholas and I found a comfortable place to stand and
wait. We'd be able to see the rest of the family as they plunged down
the first big descent, and we had the added benefit of being able to watch
Jeannine and the boys as they stood in line. We could see Matthew fooling
around, pretending to say his prayers before he boarded the car.
The three of them got in the car and chugged up the first
big hill. Then they flew down it, screaming and smiling all the way.
They climbed up high again, and I watched them as they
negotiated a few twists and turns. But then my attention was distracted.
I heard another car rushing down the hill. But somehow, it seemed different
from the other cars I had heard while Jeannine had been waiting in line
with the boys. It came from a different place, or maybe the screams had
a different quality. My head turned so my eyes could track the motion.
I caught sight of the car as it was nearing the bottom
of the hill. But what I didn't realize at the time was that this car was
going backwards. The mechanism that dragged each car up the first steep
hill had failed, and this car had been released near the very top. It
raced back down the hill, then—at about 60 MPH, we later learned—whipped
around a sharp, 90 degree turn that was intended for cars traveling 1/10
that speed. I watched as a woman was launched out of the car and high
into the air. She hit a vertical pole like a rag doll. And that was the
last I remember seeing of her.
This car was the one immediately following the one my
family was in. I didn't know that. So I assumed my family was next in
line for this fate. I started yelling, "Stop the ride! Stop the ride!"
People were screaming and running throughout the park. Soon after, I realized
that Jeannine and the boys had made it safely to the end of the ride.
So I grabbed Nick from the stroller and ran toward the spot where they
should be let out. When I got there, Jeannine and the boys were just sitting
in their car. The protective bar in their car—the exact same kind
of bar that had somehow allowed that woman to fly out—wouldn't release.
One of the park workers was trying to help them. Jeannine and the boys
didn't know what had happened. But as they looked down to the pavement
one story below, there was a sea of people standing motionless, all looking
in our general direction, their mouths hanging open in horror. Once the
protective bar was released, we took the kids and hurried them out of
the park.
We stood for a long time on the boardwalk, just holding
each other. We told the big kids what had happened, and they were mad
at the people who ran the park. They had to be mad at someone. We walked
along the boardwalk again. It seemed so strange that the people who didn't
know of the tragedy were still as happy and carefree as before. It was
like we had left a war zone, only to discover a party next door.
We later learned that a mother and her young daughter—who
was maybe ten—had been thrown from the roller coaster and killed.
A younger daughter, too small to ride, had been watching with relatives.
Their father had not been with them.
The next day was our last at the Jersey Shore. Some people
later asked us why we hadn't packed up and gone home. But instead we stayed,
and the strangest thing happened.
It was our best day at the beach ever. The weather was
gorgeous. The sand was wonderfully hot beneath our feet, the water refreshing.
The ocean wind that never stops blowing kept us perfectly comfortable
the entire the day. We watched as planes towing advertisements flew by,
as frisbees hovered, as paddleballs missed their intended paddles. We
dug in the sand, played with the waves and with our kids, and ran and
splashed until the crowds left and we had the beach almost to ourselves.
We were completely there that day, like we'd never been anyplace else
in our lives.
It is so hard to be, as the magazines and self-help books
say, in the present moment. There are so many things to think about, to
plan, to worry over. But the truth of it is, we are fragile little creatures
that can be flicked like fleas to an early demise at any moment, by the
forces of our planet or by those of mankind's creations. If you're not
looking at the sky and smelling the morning air and hugging your kids
and holding your wife's hand today, you might not get the chance tomorrow.
The practice of Aikido is about learning to be in the
present moment. When you have one-point, that's where you are. Right here.
Right now. It's not always easy. But sometimes, we have to take the little
reminders that a life span of 75.6 years is no sure thing. I once read
that nothing focuses the mind like knowing you will be hung the next morning.
Applying Aikido to your life is a far more practical method.
Many months after the roller coaster accident, we spoke to the man whose wife and child had died that day on the roller coaster. He said that he would have been there, but he had some things he had to take care of at work. He was going to meet his family at the shore in a few days.
Upcoming Events
Open Mat, Friday, October 4, 5:45-7 PM.
Beginners' Class, Wednesday, October 9, 7-8 PM.
Weapons Class, Wednesday October 16, from 7-8 PM.
Ran Tori Class, Wednesday October 16, 8-9 PM.
Open Mat, Friday October 18 from 5:45-7 PM.
Halloween Seminar with Leon Brooks Sensei, October 26 & 27.
Testing October 29 (7 PM) & 30 (7 AM).
Recent Testing
The following people tested in September for their next rank: For 4th
kyu, Baron Duffy, Christine Esswein, and Jessica Parry. And for 5th kyu,
Jeff Miller. Congratulations to all of you on your fine tests.
Halloween Seminar
Leon Brooks will be in Rochester again this year to instruct our annual
Halloween Seminar. Leon Sensei is the highest ranked student of Maruyama
Sensei, having studied with him for over 30 years. The seminar is scheduled
for Saturday and Sunday, October 26 and 27, with children's class on Saturday,
from 9-10, followed by general classes from 10:30 * 12:30, and 2-4. Lunch
will be served in the dojo. Class on Sunday will run from 10-12. The fee
for the seminar is $50, or $25 for single classes.
Do not say, "It is morning," and dismiss it with a name of yesterday.
See it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.
- Rabindranath Tagore