In the early 1900s, a strange attraction drew crowds to Coney Island. It wasn’t a new roller coaster or freak show – it was a row of glass boxes, lined up like aquariums, filled with tiny, struggling babies. For the price of a ticket, people filed past to gawk at these premature infants, some weighing barely two pounds.

The man behind it all was Martin Couney, an immigrant with no official medical degree. The medical establishment dismissed him as a quack. Hospitals at the time didn’t want to waste resources on premature babies. Most were simply left to die.

Couney thought otherwise. He imported incubators from Europe, set them up on the boardwalk, and staffed them with trained nurses. He charged the public to look, but he never charged the parents. The show paid for the care. And it worked: over the decades, Couney saved thousands of children who otherwise would not have had a chance.

Born in Germany in the 1860s, Couney became fascinated with medicine at a young age, though he never earned a formal degree. He studied under European doctors experimenting with incubators and brought that knowledge to the United States in 1896. Traveling widely, he exhibited his “incubator shows” at fairs, world expositions, and amusement parks, including Atlantic City and Chicago. His goal was always the same: to prove that premature infants could survive with careful temperature control and attentive nursing.

Couney’s work was dramatic and sometimes perilous. He showcased babies born so early and tiny that they could barely breathe on their own. He relied on a corps of highly trained nurses who fed them, monitored their temperature, and kept them clean. Each success was a tiny triumph against the grim statistics of the day, and he saved infants who were often ignored by the medical establishment. Newspapers alternately called him a savior and a showman. At times, skeptical doctors accused him of exploiting parents or faking survival rates, but many of the children grew up healthy, proving the critics wrong.

By the time Couney retired in 1943, hospitals had finally caught up. Incubators were no longer sideshow curiosities but essential medical equipment. Within a few years of his death in 1950, neonatal care had become a standard part of modern medicine.

And here’s the twist: all of it traces back to one man who wasn’t a doctor, who was written off as a fraud, who set up shop beside the roller coasters and proved the skeptics wrong.

I should also mention why this story grabbed me in the first place. My own father was born at home, arriving suddenly at just six months and weighing only two pounds. The midwife, with no incubator on hand, placed him in the oven at 200 degrees to keep him warm – primitive, desperate, but it worked. The fact that he survived has always amazed me, and perhaps that’s why Martin Couney’s tale spoke so strongly to me. Because when you’ve lived with the miracle of a preemie who grew up to be your dad, you understand just how much one life can matter.

And maybe that’s something worth remembering here in Sullivan County too. Whether it’s babies in incubators, neighbors in need, or stray kittens on the porch – compassion often shows up in the most unexpected places. Couney’s legacy reminds us that progress sometimes comes not from authority or certificates, but from stubborn belief, creativity, and relentless care.

RAMONA JAN is the Founder and Director of Yarnslingers, a storytelling group that tells tales both fantastic and true. She is also the roving historian for Callicoon, NY and is often seen giving tours around town. You can email her at callicoonwalkingtours@gmail.com.