The Orlando Sentinel from Orlando, Florida • Page 96

A FEW MOMENTS WITH King Kong The giant ape is on (he prowl at Universal Studios Florida By Barbara Stewart II Kong is not naive and apple-i cheeked, like the sintrintr dolls at 1 nisnpvV "It's a Small World He has nothing hut contempt LJ tafor Shamu, who will roll over for 4 fir '1 i i feet in circumference. He flares his nostrils, big as a manhole cover. He looms, 4 stories high. He inhales, he roars, he grabs for the tram and its load of jumpy tourists. His fingers tall as kids who cower on the tram curl and reach for the prey in the tram.

Almost but not quite. Kong is itchy. But his computer calls the shots. The big-wig Universal execs are unaccountably opposed to making tourists dead. The computer controls the movements of Kong's arms and legs and facial muscles.

It sends word to a computer that talks with the tram's computer. Kong comes close enough to feel the shudder of the tram but he does not actually touch it. This is tough for computers. It's what took Kong so long to get going. A telephone pole falls amid sparks and fire.

The tourists feel the heat of the flames and the wind from the blades of a helicopter that shoots at Kong. The tram clangs past Mama Leone's, known for its giant mounds of lasagna, and a Broadway poster 'Brown Sugar: Boils with Clive Barnes, New York Times." The cop in the tram gasps, "We're safe." Then bam! Kong again in all his excess: The long fibers of his 800-pound fur coat, enough fake fur to make a fur wedding dress for the SunBank building. The 6-inch-long teeth, the dark gullet, the angry folds and creases of his gorilla face. The muscular pectorals with 1-foot wide nipples. The whole six tons of plastic and fiberglass.

Kong roars and lifts the tram and drops it 20 feet. Kids shriek and press close to their dads. Finally the tram pulls into Roosevelt Island. Tourists applaud, gather up the kids and go on their way. But Kong big guy, working stiff is still there.

Twelve more hours before he can call it a day. Glumly, he hangs from the Queensboro Bridge. He mutters darkly to himself. He is now in a very bad mood. He waits.

Any moment another tram will round the bend. Barbara Stewart is a writer for the magazine. i 'r troutU ihc town a dead fish. Kong is a New Yorker. He is rude, he is pushy, he is mad as hell.

He is very big and swarthy. Every day he elbows his way into Manhattan to try and grab a mouthful of tourists. Every day he comes close. But close is no cigar. Every night he slogs home on the train to a bungalow in Queens.

Only he does not ride the trains. He steps on top of them. Mornings, at 9 sharp, Kong drags himself past the pillars of Penn Central. He swallows a cup of deli coffee light, two sugars and situates himself on the Queensboro Bridge. There he dangles, waiting for prey.

He is in a bad mood. As usual. The tourists come. This is, after all, Universal Studios Florida, which ardently encourages these people. The men have grins and lug cameras.

The women wear baggy Bennuda shorts and have a tight grip on yammering little kids. Kong grinds his teeth. This time he will get them. The tourists, game for a good scare, wind through the Kongfrontation subway station. It is dark.

It is subterranean. The walls are covered with graffiti painted by a New York City graffiti artist a real one that Universal flew down. Channel 9 WWOR broadcasts news on a TV set mounted on a wall: "Kong on the Loose: A Nation Stunned! Monster or Madness?" The tourists blithely plunk onto the tram's seats. The tram is going to evacuate them to Roosevelt Island, off the island of Manhattan. Below the tram is a newsstand, a Kahn's hot dog cart, Barolli's deli with a windowful of salamis.

The street is hemmed in by soot-covered apartments. There are beer cans on tables behind curtains on windows. Steam rises eerily through a grate in the street. A bag lady lies under the train walk. Kong hovers silently.

Very soon now. A New York City transit cop is at the i il iiiPl- PHOTO COURTESY OF UNIVERSAL STUDIOS Kong, in a perennial bad mood, angrily confronts a tram. His fingers tall as kids who cower on the tram curl and reach for the prey. wheel. She has billowing blond hair subdued by a police cap.

The cop is edgy. She steers the tram smack into Kong's hand broad as a tenement kitchen, with hairs a half a foot long on the knuckles. Ah. Kong stares menacingly. His yellow-brown eyes blink and roll.

He snarls. He stretches his mouth, 3 6 FLORIDA MAGAZINE SEPTEMBER 2, 1990.