Buddies Amusement Park

Hey everyone, welcome back to *Brooklyn Echoes*, the podcast that keeps the borough’s legends and memories alive. I’m your host, Robert Henriksen.

In the vibrant, gritty Brooklyn of the 1960s and 1970s, where neighborhoods like Flatlands, Marine Park, and Sheepshead Bay buzzed with stickball games on asphalt streets, fire hydrants gushing cool relief on hot summer days, and the distant rumble of the Belt Parkway carrying families to and from the beaches, there was a magical oasis for kids: Buddies Amusement Park, also fondly known as Fairyland or simply “Buddy’s.” Tucked at the bustling corner of Flatbush Avenue and Utica Avenue, this compact kiddie haven wasn’t the sprawling spectacle of Coney Island; it was an intimate, neighborhood gem that opened in 1952 and became a rite of passage for generations of Brooklyn youth until its closure in 2002. For kids aged 10 to 18 during those decades—amid the era’s transistor radios blasting Motown hits, Vietnam War protests echoing from TV sets, and the city’s fiscal crises casting long shadows—Buddy’s offered affordable thrills, a dash of independence, and a sense of wonder right in their backyard. Admission was cheap, often just a few dimes scraped from allowances or bottle returns, turning a mundane weekend into an adventure filled with mechanical whirs, cotton candy scents, and the laughter of friends under colorful lights.

The park spanned just a couple of acres, a fenced-in wonderland squeezed between busy avenues and residential blocks, where the skyline was still low enough to see open fields and distant houses from the top of a ride. In the early 1960s, a wide-eyed 10-year-old might hop on the B41 bus or bike over from nearby Kings Highway, tickets clutched in hand, drawn by the siren call of the mini rollercoaster’s clattering tracks. This pint-sized coaster, with its gentle hills and turns, was the park’s crown jewel—nothing like the death-defying drops of the Cyclone, but thrilling enough to make hearts race and elicit shrieks as it zipped around a compact loop. Kids would line up repeatedly, daring each other to raise their hands on the drops, the wind whipping through hair styled in beehives or afros. Nearby, the Helicopter ride lifted young riders in spinning choppers, offering bird’s-eye views of the neighborhood’s brownstones and corner bodegas, a sensation of flight that felt revolutionary in an age before widespread air travel. For tweens around 12 or 13, the Supersonic Rocket and Jet Action Whip added speed and spins, the Whip snapping cars around corners with a jolt that left stomachs flipping and giggles spilling out.

As the day heated up, water-based fun beckoned with the motor boats chugging through a shallow pool of “real water,” where kids steered their own vessels, bumping gently and splashing amid the summer humidity. The Midget Racers let aspiring drivers zoom around a track in mini cars, fostering early dreams of Grand Prix glory on Brooklyn’s concrete. These rides, about 10 in total, were simple by today’s standards—no high-tech hydraulics or VR—but they sparked imagination, with painted facades of rockets and race cars fading under years of sun and rain. Safety was lax: loose lap bars, no height checks beyond a quick glance, adding an edge of excitement that modern parents might balk at. For older kids, say 14 to 16 in the late 1960s, Buddy’s evolved into a social scene. They’d arrive in groups after school or on weekends, pockets jingling with quarters for the arcade—a dimly lit haven with around 40 games that predated the home console boom. Pinball machines clanged with silver balls ricocheting, Skee-Ball lanes rewarded precision with tickets for cheap prizes like plastic rings or stuffed animals, and early video games like Pong in the ’70s drew crowds, kids cheering high scores while sipping sodas from the adjacent snack bar.

By the 1970s, as Brooklyn grappled with blackouts, inflation, and urban decay—graffiti-covered subways and empty lots dotting the landscape—Buddy’s remained a bright spot, a resilient escape where families could forget the headlines for an afternoon. A 15-year-old might spend Sundays there with grandparents, a tradition carried over from the ’50s, starting with a hot dog from the on-site stand slathered in mustard and onions, then hitting the carousel for a nostalgic spin amid calliope music. The park hosted birthday parties under string lights, with cakes sliced on picnic tables and kids racing from the bumper cars—electric dodgems that sparked with each collision—to the Ferris wheel for twilight views of the changing borough, where new high-rises began encroaching on the horizon. Teens in bell-bottoms and platform shoes flirted in line for the Tilt-A-Whirl, sharing transistor radio tunes, or competed in the arcade on emerging hits like Space Invaders toward the decade’s end. It was inclusive too: drawing diverse crowds from Italian-American enclaves to growing Caribbean and Jewish communities in Flatlands, fostering a sense of unity in a divided city.

What made Buddy’s special wasn’t just the rides; it was the community vibe. Operators knew regulars by name, tossing extra tickets or free spins to wide-smiled kids. Block parties sometimes spilled over, with live music from nearby festivals blending with the park’s mechanical symphony. In an age before malls and multiplexes dominated leisure, this was where independence bloomed—teens biking across avenues unchaperoned, learning to budget quarters, and creating memories that outlasted the park itself. Tragedies and changes marked the era too: a fire in the ’60s forced rebuilds, and by the late ’70s, rising costs and suburban flight thinned crowds, but Buddy’s soldiered on.

Today, long after its gates closed in 2002 to make way for a Petco and Burger King, Buddy’s lives on in Brooklyn lore. Nostalgic Facebook groups buzz with scanned photos of ticket booklets from the ’70s, stories of first kisses on the rocket ride, and laments for lost innocence. A faded “Welcome to Fairyland Kiddie Park” sign still peeks from behind the modern storefronts, a subtle nod to history that sparks conversations on walking tours or family reunions. Documentaries, YouTube montages, and articles in local papers like Bklyner keep the memories alive, evoking a time when amusement was local, unpolished, and pure. For those who grew up there, Buddy’s wasn’t just a park—it was a portal to joy in the heart of Brooklyn’s golden, gritty years, a reminder that even in a changing city, some thrills never fade.

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