It looms over the Riegelmann Boardwalk like a skeletal, rust-colored Eiffel Tower. People call it the "Eiffel Tower of Brooklyn," and honestly, the comparison isn't that far off if you ignore the fact that one is a global monument to romance and the other is a 250-foot tall piece of decommissioned amusement park machinery. We're talking about the Parachute Jump, the most famous former parachute jump ride in the world. If you've ever walked the Coney Island sands, you’ve seen it. It’s impossible to miss. But most people under the age of 60 have never actually seen it move, let alone ridden it.
It's a weird piece of history.
Originally built for the 1939 New York World's Fair in Queens, this massive steel structure wasn't even meant for Brooklyn. It was a Life Savers advertisement. No, seriously—the multicolored parachutes were originally intended to look like giant floating candy rings. When the World's Fair ended, the ride didn't just disappear into a scrap heap. Instead, it was moved to Steeplechase Park in 1941. For decades, it was the ultimate thrill. You’d get strapped into a two-person seat, hauled 250 feet into the air, and then—clack—you’d drop. A functional parachute would catch the air and drift you back down to the ground.
Then it stopped. Forever.
The Mechanics of a 250-Foot Drop
How did a former parachute jump ride even work without killing everyone? It’s a question that pops up every time someone looks at those thin metal arms extending from the top. Basically, it used a series of guide wires. Unlike a real military jump where the wind takes you wherever it wants, these chutes were tethered. You had a functional, open umbrella-shaped parachute that was held open by a large metal ring. This ensured the chute never collapsed.
You sat on a tiny wooden bench. Just a lap bar between you and the Atlantic Ocean.
The ride used 12 separate towers, or "arms," meaning 12 pairs of people could go up at once. It was noisy. The cables would hum in the wind. According to ride operators from the 1950s, the biggest issue wasn't the drop itself; it was the wind. If the breeze off the ocean got too stiff, the parachutes would tangle in the guide wires. When that happened, you were stuck. You'd just dangle there 200 feet up until the wind died down or a brave soul climbed up to crank you down manually.
Why the Screams Stopped in 1964
Steeplechase Park was the last of the "classic" Coney Island parks. When it closed its gates in 1964, the Parachute Jump went dark. It wasn't because the ride was broken, necessarily. It was a victim of economics. Maintaining a 170-ton steel structure that constantly needs painting to fight off salt-water corrosion is expensive. Really expensive.
After the park closed, the ride sat. It rotted.
The City of New York eventually took ownership, but they didn't know what to do with it. Throughout the 70s and 80s, it became a symbol of Coney Island’s decline. It was a giant, rusted middle finger sticking up from the boardwalk. There were dozens of proposals to tear it down. Developers wanted the land. Preservationists, however, fought tooth and nail. They argued it was a landmark. In 1989, they won. The Parachute Jump was officially added to the National Register of Historic Places.
But being a "landmark" doesn't mean it’s a ride. It’s just a statue now.
The Modern Life of a Dead Ride
If you go to Coney Island today, the Parachute Jump looks better than it has in half a century. In the early 2000s, the city spent millions sandblasting the lead paint off and repainting it that iconic "International Orange" (the same color as the Golden Gate Bridge). Then came the lights.
In 2006, a $2 million LED system was installed. It doesn’t drop people anymore, but it puts on a hell of a light show.
There are always rumors about bringing it back. Every few years, an engineer or a developer claims they have a plan to make the former parachute jump ride functional again. But here’s the reality: modern safety codes make it almost impossible. The original design relied on "controlled' gravity. To make it legal today, you'd have to install so many secondary braking systems, computer sensors, and heavy-duty restraints that you’d basically have to build a brand-new tower inside the old one.
Plus, the insurance? Forget about it.
Other Famous Parachute Towers
While Brooklyn has the most famous one, it wasn't the only former parachute jump ride. These things were a bit of a fad in the mid-20th century.
- The Chicago Riverview Park Jump: Similar in scale, it was a huge draw for the "world's largest amusement park" until it closed in 1967.
- Knott’s Berry Farm: They had the "Sky Jump." It was a similar concept but used more modern cables and was built much later, in 1976. They eventually closed it in 1999 because, again, maintenance on high-altitude cable rides is a nightmare.
- Six Flags Great Adventure: They had a version called the "Parachuter’s Perch." It was a staple of the New Jersey skyline for years.
Most of these have been scrapped. The Coney Island tower is the survivor. It’s the "Last of the Mohicans" for parachute-style attractions.
Why We Are Obsessed With Ruins
There is something deeply human about staring at a ride that doesn't work. It’s a ghost. When you stand under the tower at night, you can almost hear the ghost-screams of sailors on shore leave in 1944 taking their sweethearts for a drop. It represents a version of "thrill" that was simpler. No VR goggles. No magnetic launch systems. Just a big umbrella and a long way down.
The Parachute Jump survived urban renewal. It survived Robert Moses—the man who tried to pave over half of New York. It survived Hurricane Sandy, standing tall while the boardwalk around it was literally ripped to pieces by the surge.
It’s stubborn.
Today, it serves as a navigational beacon. Pilots use it. Boat captains use it. Locals use it as a meeting spot. "Meet me under the Jump" is a common phrase in South Brooklyn. It has transitioned from an adrenaline machine to a cultural anchor.
What You Should Do Next Time You’re at Coney Island
If you want to actually experience the history of this former parachute jump ride, don't just take a selfie from a distance. You’ve got to get close.
- Walk directly underneath it. Look straight up through the lattice of the steel. You get a real sense of the 1930s engineering. It’s all rivets and girders. No welds.
- Visit the Coney Island Museum. They have original seats and footage of the ride in action. It looks terrifyingly rickety by modern standards.
- Wait for sunset. The LED display is programmed to change with the seasons. It’s one of the best free shows in New York City.
- Check the base. There are historical markers that explain the transition from the World's Fair to the boardwalk.
The Technical Reality of Preservation
Preserving a 250-foot tall steel tower in a salt-air environment is a losing battle against chemistry. Oxidation never sleeps. Every few years, the City of New York has to commission a "structural integrity report." Engineers climb the tower—using the original internal ladders—to check for "pitting" in the steel.
The last major renovation involved over 8,000 LED nodes. These aren't just lightbulbs; they are networked computers that can be programmed remotely. Ironically, there is more computing power in the lights of the Parachute Jump today than there was in the entire Brooklyn Navy Yard when the ride was first built.
Is it a waste of money? Some say yes. They’d rather see that maintenance budget go to schools or subways. But for most New Yorkers, the Jump is priceless. It’s the soul of the shoreline.
Moving Forward: The Future of the Tower
The Parachute Jump will likely never drop a human being again. The liability is just too high. But as a piece of "kinetic architecture," it’s entering a new phase. There have been talks about using the structure for art installations or even wind turbines (though the latter is unlikely due to the vibration risks to the old steel).
Basically, it’s a 170-ton monument to the idea that Brooklyn knows how to hold onto its toys, even after they break.
If you're planning a trip to see this former parachute jump ride, go in the off-season. Go when the boardwalk is empty and the wind is whipping off the water. That’s when you can really feel the scale of it. It’s not just a ride; it’s a 25-story ghost that refuses to leave the party.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit:
- Best Photo Angle: Stand on the pier (Steeplechase Pier) at golden hour. You can frame the tower against the Manhattan skyline in the distance or the setting sun.
- Timing: The lights usually kick on about 20 minutes after sunset. Don't leave early just because the sun went down.
- Context: Visit the nearby Wonder Wheel (which is still a functional ride from 1920) right after looking at the Jump. It gives you a "before and after" perspective on how Coney Island manages its historic mechanical wonders.
- Documentation: If you’re a history buff, look up the 1939 World’s Fair archives online before you go. Seeing the original "Life Savers" color scheme makes the current orange tower look even more interesting by comparison.
The Parachute Jump is a reminder that some things don't need to "work" to have value. Sometimes, just standing there is enough.
Next Steps for History Buffs: Check the official NYC Parks website for scheduled maintenance closures of the plaza around the base. If you want to dive deeper into the engineering, the Library of Congress holds the original blueprints for the 1939 World's Fair structures, which offer a fascinating look at how they moved a 170-ton tower across the city via barge. For those on the ground, the Coney Island History Project, located nearby under the Cyclone roller coaster, often hosts guest speakers who actually operated the ride before it closed in the sixties.
