Carny kill

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It was one of those tourist traps that have turned the coast of Florida into a glittering facade. They hide the naked sight of the hundreds of thousands of voracious cash registers behind the tinsel. That way the innocent tourists won't be stampeded into running for cover in fear for their wallets.

This place was on the outskirts, on the tidelands, where acreage is cheap. It was a big, bristling, brawling take-off on the Disneyland idea out in Southern Cal. You might almost call it a steal.

It was owned and operated by an old carny man named Robert Cochrane, and he was a pretty canny Irishman. If Disney had a Jungle Ride, Cochrane had a Swamp Ride. The Swiss Family Robinson Tree House at Disneyland became the Tarzan House at Neverland. That was the name of the trap. Neverland. Remember Peter Pan's fun-andgames island?

Like most of those places that are designed for the tourist who wanders around with money falling out of his pockets, it looked fine on top, impressive. Then you start scratching the surface and the dirt you find under your fingernails is the same grime you'll find in any clipjoint.

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