The Keepers of the Midway: The People Who Saved Bushkill Park
A park is more than its rides. It is the hands that repair them, the voices that share their stories, and the hearts that refuse to let them fall silent.
A Family Bound to the Midway
Bushkill Park's survival is not a story of corporate rescue or government grants. It is a story of family — specifically, the Klein family, whose roots run so deep into the park's soil that they are inseparable from its identity.
John Klein's parents and grandparents met at Bushkill Park. Sue's parents did too. John and Sue's nephew, Matt Antonow, met his wife, Laura, at the park as young teens; they are now married with children who "volunteer" at the park — the fifth generation involved. John and Sue's son, Johnny, met his fiancée, Meagan, at Disney World. As Sue jokes, "Meeting at amusement parks runs in the family."
This is what sociologists call a "transgenerational place attachment" — a family whose identity becomes permanently woven into a specific geographic location. For the Kleins, the park is not a workplace; it is the cornerstone of their family tree.
John and Sue first became active in the 1980s. Sue worked selling tickets at age 16 while John hung out in the rink and on the midway. After they married, John — often on swing shifts in his off-park work — would visit the park at night for projects he "could not sleep away." This "midnight maintenance" became a hallmark of the park's preservation. Because the vintage machinery is unique, it requires a level of mechanical intimacy that cannot be found in any manual.
Their children, Corinne Pulliam and Johnny Klein, grew up inside the park's rhythms. At age 4, Johnny pulled a red wagon to deliver water to employees — an "informal apprenticeship" that taught him the park's layout and needs. At age 5, Corinne was entrusted with painting the floor of the original carousel, giving a young child a literal stake in the park's beauty.
When the park fell into its "coma" years after the 2004 floods, John and Sue worked anonymously and tirelessly at night — sanding rust, patching roofs, and triaging what could be saved from vandals and the elements. This "guerrilla preservation" ensured that when the time came, the gates could finally swing open again.
Elwood Smith: The Human Talisman
"He wasn't just pushing cars — he was the human guardian standing between the modern world and the ancient spirits of the creek."
Every park has its legends. Bushkill Park had Elwood Smith.
Born in 1902 — the same year the park opened — Elwood began visiting Bushkill in 1912 and, except for a single missed year, attended 87 summers. As a teenager, he worked for $1 a day. He left to deliver coal, then returned in 1965 when Mabel Long rehired him after his retirement. By age 97, he had operated the Haunted Pretzel for 34 summers, sitting in a well-worn green lawn chair as the ride's "Nerve Quieter" and personally pushing thousands of children into the dark. In 1999, he received a certificate of congressional recognition for his decades of dedication.
Elwood formed an inseparable bond with Corinne Pulliam, who was born in 1988. Despite an 86-year age gap, they shared a daily ritual of cold water and ice cream while Elwood unspooled decades of stories. In those moments, the park was not just an amusement site; it was an "intergenerational bridge" where the oral history of the 1900s was handed directly to a child of the 1990s.
Elwood was also the keeper of the Haunted Pretzel's secrets. The 1927 cars were nicknamed "Model A" for their Ford-inspired styling, and each car had a 40-pound cast-metal pretzel bolted to its front as a counterbalance to prevent light cars from jumping the track on sharp turns. The ride was almost called the "Fire Fly" because of the blue sparks that frequently flew from the electrified third rail.
And then there was the darker lore. The animated figure known as Annie the Witch, who presided over the ride during its "Witch Cave" era, drew from a chilling local legend: the tale of Libby Jane, a young woman who allegedly fell ill with paralysis after a mysterious encounter with an old woman named Winnie Snyder near the creek in 1872. This "hex" provided the eerie DNA for the Haunted Pretzel's atmosphere — and Elwood, the "Nerve Quieter," was the human talisman who stood at the threshold of the dark, ensuring that while the sparks might fly and the witches might whisper, every child would eventually emerge back into the light of the midway.
The Philosophy of Human Restoration
The Kleins' stewardship extends far beyond the mechanical restoration of iron and wood. It is fundamentally a project of human restoration.
John and Sue have intentionally opened the park's gates to those often marginalized by the modern labor market: high-functioning individuals with disabilities, retirees seeking renewed purpose, and local youth in need of a steady hand. The midway has become a "living classroom of empathy and resilience."
The Dignity of the Silver Helpers
For retirees in Easton and Forks Township, the park is a repository of childhood memories. Leaving the workforce can often lead to a loss of social identity. By welcoming older volunteers into daily operations, the park provides more than tasks — it provides a "reason for being."
Take Lois, a local retiree who has become a fixture of Saturday morning rituals. Her primary task of sweeping the midway is performed with a level of care that borders on the sacred. She has said this work "gives me something to wake up for." The park functions as a mental health sanctuary for the elderly, offering predictable routine and vibrant social connection that wards off the isolation often felt in retirement.
Mentorship and the "Internal Mechanics" of Youth
John Klein treats the maintenance of vintage kiddie rides as a metaphor for character building. He often tells his young apprentices: "If you can fix this, you can hold together when something tries to fall apart."
Marcus serves as a primary example. Arriving with little professional direction, he learned the trade skills necessary to maintain 20th-century machinery. Through John's patient instruction, Marcus transitioned from a hesitant observer to a skilled operator, gaining the "mechanical confidence" that now serves as the foundation for his professional future.
The park's formal partnership with the Children's Home of Easton is perhaps its most impactful social program. By providing foster teens with summer employment and volunteer roles, the Kleins offer a "stable harbor" for youth who have experienced significant upheaval. As one local report noted, "The park provides these children with a sense of ownership and history that they can finally call their own."
The "Klein Kids" Philosophy
Corinne Pulliam — now a pastor and mental health practitioner — brings a unique clinical and spiritual perspective to the park's mission. Her guiding principle, "We should embrace who we are and support each other," resonates with her belief that every person, regardless of struggle, has a place.
This commitment to diversity is why Corinne chooses to work with individuals and families of all races, abilities, sexual orientations, and backgrounds. Growing up in Easton and being raised by her parents, maternal grandmother, and great-aunt, she developed a deep sense of compassion and responsibility that guides her career today. Her background allows workers and volunteers to enter the park knowing they are supported by a framework of care that values their mental well-being as much as their labor.
Similarly, Johnny Klein has carried the "Bushkill work ethic" to Pittsburgh, where he applies the same drive and resilience in his professional role. By translating the park's values into corporate contexts, he works to increase love and acceptance within his own spheres of power. The stewardship practiced at the park is a "portable philosophy" — one that empowers individuals to foster inclusive, supportive environments regardless of geography.
A Living Legacy
The fifth generation of the Klein family is already learning to walk the midway. The "inherited seat" on the carousel or the Tilt-a-Whirl — the physical act of sitting in the same spot a parent or grandparent once loved — triggers a visceral rush of safety and belonging that bridges childhood and adulthood.
The specific olfactory blend of Bushkill — damp wood, gear grease, and frying sugar — acts as a psychological anchor. For many who grew up there, encountering these scents elsewhere in the world triggers an immediate, positive emotional return to the park.
And the park teaches a "joyful persistence." Watching the midway recover from a flood or seeing a rusted ride repainted provides a raw, positive lesson in rebirth. Children of the park learn early on that even when things are submerged or broken, they can — and will — be restored with enough grease, wood, and love.
As John and Sue often demonstrate, the park is a living archive. When their children return to help, they aren't just visiting a business; they are tending to the grounds that quite literally facilitated their family's existence.
📖Continue Reading
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General Mission & History — The big picture: why Bushkill Park matters and what we're building together.
Read the Mission & History → -
The Heart of the Midway — The full overview: from trolley park origins to the 2020 surprise reopening.
Read the Overview → -
The Keepers of the Midway — The Klein family, Elwood Smith, and the human stories behind the restoration.
Meet the Keepers → -
Rebuilding the Heart — Hilarity Hall, the Carousel, Mom & Pop's Café, and the art of mechanical stewardship.
Explore the Restoration → -
Floods & Resilience — How the park learned to "speak the creek's language" and outrun the water.
Read the Flood Story → -
Support Our Mission — How you can help preserve this historic landmark.
Join the Keepers → -
Further Reading & Resources — Articles, films, archives, and more for those who want to dig deeper.
Explore the Archive →
