Yale Glee Club Brings Holiday Cheer To Train

There was a shampoo commercial back in the 80's in which a freshly showered Heather Locklear holds a bottle of Faberge Organics Shampoo.  She says that it was so good that she told two friends about it...and they told two friends, and they told two friends...and so on, and so on...

I know the feeling.  In December of 2015, I posted a silly video of me while working as a railroad conductor, musically "conducting " The Yale Glee Club aboard my train.  This video went viral and at this writing has over views on 3,348,126 Views on Facebook, and 52,321 people shared the video with their Facebook friends.  These numbers don't account for the thousands that watched/shared it on YouTube, or those who saw it on their nightly news programs across the globe.  Not bad for a silly video that I just wanted to post to a few Facebook friends.

Here's how it happened:

On December 4th, 2015, I was the conductor on the 2:45 PM Metro North train from New Haven to Grand Central Terminal in New York City.  A few minutes before leaving time, a swarm of college  kids headed toward the back of the train.  The rear two cars were closed, so I quickly opened them to accommodate the extra crowd.  We pulled out of  New Haven Station and I began collecting tickets.  I soon learned that the 80 students were on a single group ticket. I was directed to a gentleman who looked not unlike a professor.

"What group is this?" I asked.

"The Yale Glee Club." He responded.

Now I've had the legendary Yale Whiffenpoofs on my train before, as well as other assorted singing groups from Yale, but for some reason, it never occurred to me to ask them to sing.  But here it was, the holiday season...and I really wanted to hear a Christmas Carol.  I asked the professor (who turned out to be Jeffrey Douma, Yale Choral Director), if they would sing me a Christmas Carol.  He prompted them and they then sang the most beautiful version of "The Wassail Song" that I'd ever heard.  It sent shivers down my spine.  I thanked them for sharing their talents with me as they poured out of the train and into Grand Central.

Later that night I was boarding the 10:06 PM train from Grand Central to New Haven.  I heard  singing in the terminal, and sure enough, The Yale Glee Club rounded the corner, walked through the gates and down the ramp toward my train.  I quickly walked forward to the head of the train to open more cars.  On the way I chatted up some of the students.  I told them I had an idea for a Facebook video in which I'd say,"I'm the conductor, let me conduct."  They all laughed, and Dan Rubin, one of the Glee Club Presidents said, "Tell us that we're singing it all wrong and that you need to conduct us."  I loved that idea....but we still didn't know which song to do.  One of the students yelled "Carol of the Bells".  I knew this song pretty well from the dozens of Christmas CD's my wife continuously plays from Thanksgiving to December the 25th, so I said "I love it!"

When we pulled out of the station, I quickly ran through and picked up all the tickets. I then told my assistant conductor to take over the ship, I had something to do in the head end.  As I walked forward, I collected the group ticket from Professor Douma.  I asked for permission to borrow his glee club for a Christmas carol I liked to "Conduct".  He gladly gave permission and even offered to stand behind me to do the real conducting. "Okay," I said, even though I had no intention of using him.

This is what happened next:
I was floored by how amazing they sounded, and I was a little self-satisfied with my less than stellar choral directing.  You can see that I messed up at the end of the song when I raised my arm in a flourish, thinking the song was over, then realizing we weren't done.  I was a little embarrassed by this and briefly thought about yelling "Take two!"  But any subsequent execution would have lost the videos spontaneous feel.

I walked back to the rear of the train after the performance, and by the choral director Douma.  He asked me when he was needed to conduct the song.  "We already did it." I told him.

The next day I got an email from Greg Suralik with the video attachment.  I watched the video and was delighted...and a little abashed for being such a ham. I briefly thought about posting the video to my Facebook page, but I wasn't sure how well it would be received by my employer.  I decided that I better not post it in fear of getting myself into trouble.  I replied to Greg's email, saying it was great, but I was too chicken to post it.

That weekend, my family went up to visit my younger daughter at her college.  I hadn't shown anyone the video, but decided to pass my iphone around as I drove through Willimantic, and let them have a gander at it.  They all loved it.

"Dad, you HAVE to post this...you'll be on Ellen." said my daughter Caitlin.

I told my family of my trepidation about posting the video, and they all seemed to think I was being overly cautious.  Two days later, I sat at my computer, watched the video again...and decided to post it.  Almost immediately, people started "liking it" and sharing it.  By the time I got to work that day, I had something in the neighborhood of 250K views.  The next morning it was over 1 Million views then my phone started ringing.

I first got a call from a company in Los Angeles that wanted to buy the rights to the video from me.  They told me they'd give me a percentage of the profits.  I told them I didn't own the video, it that it belonged to a Yale undergrad named Greg. The phone continued ringing, we were asked to appear on Good Morning America (couldn't work out the logistics).  The next morning I did a radio interview with Vinnie Penn on a local radio station. Two local news stations interviewed me, one whilst following me down the aisles of my train with a camera.  The New York Stations set up a press conference in Grand Central, but my train broke down on my way in from New Haven, and it was cancelled. 

I became quite famous that Christmas season.  It seems the video went all over the globe. Passengers wanted to take selfies with me, I even got a few autograph requests.  Suddenly, my regular pizza shop stopped charging me for my daily slice of pizza, and friends I hadn't seen in years began calling and leaving messages.  I had hundreds of new Facebook friend requests.

 Months later I discovered I had a spam filter on my Facebook page and that I'd missed tons of interview requests from media all over the globe.  I also got love letters from Sweden and Hong Kong, but most were just thank you messages for brightening people's day.  I even got a special thank you from Lynda Carter, aka Wonder Woman. 

It really was a once in a lifetime chance meeting...or so I thought.  Here we are again a year later in 2016.  Again unplanned....it must be fate.

Paris Hilton

As all my fellow conductors know, my alter ego is "The Conductor to the Stars"; A near legendary railroad phenom, with an uncanny knack for spotting rail- riding celebrities. Because of this, coworkers are eager to share anecdotal stories of their brushes with fame with me. Mark and Bob, two Danbury Branch conductors, told me a whopper of a story in Grand Central last night:

"Hey Conductor to the Stars" Bob yelled from the platform on track 16. "You're not going to believe who we had on train Friday night."

I've been in a big celebrity sighting drought lately, and I felt an immediate pang of jealousy.

"I assume it was a celebrity?"

"A BIG celebrity," Mark said.

I didn't have time to play 20 questions, so I cut to the chase.

"Okay...Who was it?"

Mark and Bob shouted in unison:

"Paris Hilton!"

"NO WAY!" I yelled back. Now I was really jealous.

"Not only that," Mark said. "But she didn't have any money and I had to bill her,"(now he paused for dramatic effect,) "and then I had the cops take her off the train in Stamford."

"Get out of here," I said incredulously.

"No really," Bob said.

Bob then had Mark show me the "pink slip"(a billing form used when passengers have neither ticket or money). Sure enough, there on the form was written:

Name: Paris Hilton

Address: 200 Main St.

City: Hyannis, Ma 02530

Paris's signature was emblazoned across the bottom in big girlish loops. She'd even placed hearts over the "i" in Paris and Hilton.

"That's HOT!" I said, doing my best Paris Hilton impression.

'Not really," Mark said. He then 'fessed up' saying the story was only partially true. As it turns out, truth was much sadder than fiction:

"I was collecting tickets on my train, when I came across an old white haired lady, who was about 70 years old. I asked for her ticket, but she said she didn't have time to buy one, and that she didn't have any money."

"No problem," Mark said while handing her a pink slip, "Do you have any form of identification?"

The woman reached into her over sized purse and pulled out a clear laminated ID pouch. In the lower right hand corner was a photo of Paris Hilton lounging in a skin tight dress. In the middle of the pouch was an aluminum lid from a Jello pudding container. This lid was in place of an official seal or hologram.

"The woman looked clean," Mark said. "I thought she was putting me on."

When the woman finished filling out the pink slip, she handed it to Mark.

"M'am," Mark questioned patiently. "You're telling me that your name is
Paris Hilton?"

"Yes!" The old woman answered matter of factly.

"THE Paris Hilton?"

"Yes!"

(surrounding passengers began to roll their eyes.)

"And this is your picture on the ID?"

"Yes!" She was starting to get annoyed. "I used to be a model."

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence then, and Mark and Paris stared at each other down.

"Okay Paris," Mark finally said. "I'm going to have the police talk to you in Stamford."(Mark was concerned about the woman's mental stability and thought that maybe she was suffering from Alzheimer's or dementia.)

"Is it because I'm Jewish?" The woman asked. "Is that what this is all about?"

Mark said that he called the rail traffic controller and asked for police assistance. He explained that he had an old woman on board who claimed to be Paris Hilton and unless the hard partying had finally caught up with her...the last he knew, Paris Hilton didn't look like a 70 year old woman.

When the train arrived in Stamford, two MTA police officers were waiting.

"Is there a problem officers?" Paris asked.

"We'd just like to speak with you m'am. Maybe get your name and address."

"I already told the conductor...My name is Paris....Paris Hilton."

"Okay m'am...Can you please come with us?"

The officers each grabbed an arm and escorted Paris off the train.

Before stepping on the platform, Paris turned around and addressed the
entire car:

"See ya later...bitches!"

(Okay, I made that last part up...but wouldn't that have been a great exit line?)

In a New York Minute

WARNING: This post contains subject matter that some might find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.

In a New York Minute

By Don Henley

Harry got up

Dressed all in black

Went down to the station

And he never came back

They found his clothing

Scattered somewhere down the track

And he won't be down on

Wall Street

in the morning

Henry, my engineer, was in particularly good spirits that afternoon. His beloved Baltimore Orioles had just swept The New York Yankees in the latest home stand series and he was crowing, saying his birdies were going to go all the way to win the American League pennant.

"Notch it out to P-2," yelled a technician from the middle of the head car.

Henry cranked the throttle clockwise and we began to accelerate.

The test train we were running had just been refurbished, meaning that the railroad had to put a 1ooo or so miles on the equipment before they would accept delivery from the re-manufacturer.

We had no passengers on board, just me,Henry and maybe five or six electrical technicians. Each of them had a laptop computer, which in turn was connected to circuit boards hidden deep behind the train's cabinet doors. They asked us to make simulated station stops so they can make sure the train's computers were working as intended.

"B-Max!" Another tech shouted and Henry turned the throttle counter clockwise and the brakes slowed the train to a stop and we all lurched forward.

"Henry...How long until you retire?" I asked.

"P-4" interrupted a technician, and we began to rapidly accelerate through Westchester County.

"I've only got about another year... year and a half tops. My wife and I plan to...."

Whoosh, the emergency brakes suddenly came on and Henry jumped to his feet; "EMERGENCY-EMERGENCY-EMERGENCY," he shouted in the radio. His skin went pale white.

Ping! Scrape! Pang! Scrape! Ping!

A gut wrenching sound came up under the train.

"EMERGENCY!-EMERGENCY!-EMERGENCY!" Henry shouted again, "Some guy just dove off the platform in front of me.

He had a home

The love of a girl

But men get lost sometimes

As the years unfurl

One day he crossed some line

And he was too much in this world

But I guess it doesn't matter anymore

I dreaded this day since I hired on the railroad. I'd heard other conductor's fatality stories and I knew my day would come eventually, but it's something you can never really prepare for.

As is railroad protocol, it's the conductor's responsibility to go outside and find the victim. First, I called the rail traffic controller and got a hold on all four tracks. I then climbed down the train ladder and went outside. I walked slowly back along the ballast, looking beneath the train to see if we possibly dragged the guy. The only thing I found was some blood and pieces of flesh clinging to the third rail shoes.

After inspecting the equipment, I began to walk back towards the passenger station which was about 1/8 of a mile behind us (it takes long distances for trains to stop.) It was a bright sunny day and I remember thinking that the weather was in contrast to the horror that lay before me. In the distance I could see the figure of a man slumped in the gauge of the rail. The body was folded backwards on top of itself, almost as if he were going to be neatly placed in a drawer somewhere. My stomach began to knot.

In a New York Minute

Everything can change

In a New York Minute

Things can get a little strange

I had just about reached the station when I saw a police car and a fire engine pull into the parking lot. They were immediately followed by a railroad trainmaster (supervisor.) After a brief interview, the trainmaster told me to go back to the train and await further instructions.

I had forgotten about Henry, and how upset he looked. When I got back to the train I discovered him having heart palpitations. I called the trainmaster and soon an ambulance was carting him off to the emergency room for observation. He was later released. Engineers are the silent victims of these fatalities/suicides and though now retired, I'm sure he still relives this incident in his sleep.

And in these days

When darkness falls early

And people rush home

To the ones they love

You better take a fool's advice

And take care of your own

One day they're here;

Next day they're gone

Watch 'The Gap!'

About a year ago, my friend "Ron"(not his real name) left the conductor ranks and switched over to the cushy life of an engineer. After spending a year in class, he recently graduated, qualified and became an official big "E." I bumped into him the other night and asked how he liked his new occupation."

"Oh, it's great," he said, "I love it."

"I bet you don't miss dealing with the passengers?" I asked.

"Oh I'm still dealing with them," he said. "Wait till you hear this one..." .

Ron went on to to tell me about a drunk woman that was on his train the previous evening. He said that she spent the better part of the ride pacing, barefoot, up and down the aisle of the head car and talking to herself. When the train pulled into New Haven (the last stop) she staggered up to the head end of the train and pounded on the the engineer's cab door.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Ron opened the door...

"Yes?"

"Are you the conductor or the engineer?"

"I'm the engineer."

"Well then...Why didn't you stop the train on the platform?"

"M'am, we have a 10 car train tonight, and this is an eight car platform. If you had listened to the announcements, you would have known that you have to walk back two cars to exit."

"Oh yeah!"

Now the woman seemed stumped, not sure of what to complain about next....

"Why is the floor on this train so filthy?"

"Well m'am, It's late in the day and the car cleaners haven't had a chance to mop the floors in a while. And besides... it isn't very sanitary for you to walk these floors barefoot."

Ron walked off the train and down the platform, but the woman was right on his heels.

"Hey, who taught you how to drive?"

When Ron turned around, the woman was pointing to the gap between the train and the platform.

"Look how far the train is from the curb!...I'm going to write a letter to the railroad and complain about this!"

Somehow Ron kept his compusure...

"You do that m'am, and, whatever you do, don't forget the part about the train being too far from the curb."

It's Not Easy Being Me

Dear Saint Anthony
Please look around
I lost my knapsack
And it can't be found
Please help me find it


Grand Central Terminal, Monday, April 23, 2007, 4:15 PM

SNIFF! SNIFF!

There it sat, an abandoned navy blue knapsack, planted smack dab in the middle of the Hudson News emporium.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

The store is huge. In addition to newspapers, it sells almost every magazine in print, paperback books, warm soda and snacks.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

A candy-laden cashier’s booth sits at the hub of the store. Here, no less than four Pakistani cashiers impatiently scream out… “Next!”.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

Red dots form into headlines, then scrawl across the “Fox News Channel” ticker tape that circumnavigates the store’s wood paneled ceiling.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

Television sets hang in the room's four corners, blaring Bill O’Reilly's “fair and balanced” opinions in surround sound. He's interrupted by a Special Report...another insurgent bombing in Iraq.

I eye the cashiers suspiciously.

SNIFF! SNIFF!

A bomb-sniffing German Shepard is now upon the knapsack. He stands on his hind legs, poking his long nose inside the zipper of the bag.

SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF!

“That’s it boy,” says a Metro North Police officer, now pulling up on the leash with one hand, while dragging the bag across the floor with the other.

SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF!

The harried commuters seem oblivious to the dramatic scene that is unfolding before their eyes. I know what they’re thinking; I can see it on their faces… “What kind of idiot would leave a bag in the middle of Grand Central?”

SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF! SNIFF!

I step forward.

“Ah, excuse me officers…that bag …it’s mine.”

SNIFF! SNI…

The German Shepard lifts his snout from the bag, looks up at me and tilts his head.

“Yours?” The officer seems incredulous at first, and then, with a slight smirk on his face again asks, “YOURS?”

“Yeah, Yeah, I know,” I said, “I was in here about 10 minutes ago buying a soda. I was carrying my briefcase and this knapsack and I guess I just forgot…”

“It’s just kind of ironic,” said the officer. “Of all the people to leave a bag behind, (like Vanna White, he runs an outstretched hand up and down the length of my uniform) it’s a conductor. Ha! Ha!”

“Yeah, I know… I’m a knucklehead.”

I could feel my face turning red from embarrassment. I quickly grabbed my bag and tried to make a hasty exit. I almost made it out the door when I heard the officer shout…

Hey! Conductor! I need your name and employee number for my report!

So much for the quick exits.

This was the third time in as many weeks that I left my gym bag behind. Two weeks previous to this experience, I left my bag on the train in New Haven. Luckily, a mechanic found it and turned it into “Lost and Found.” The same day I recovered the bag, I left it on the train again.

My wife often asks, “How is it that you can remember the most trivial of trivia, but you can never remember where you put your stuff?”

“It not easy being me,” I say with a sigh. “It not easy being me.”

SNIFF! SNIFF!

PUT ON MY BLUE SUEDE SHOES...AND I BOARDED THE TRAIN

From the Associated Press
BOULDER, Colo. (AP) - February 2, 2007 - Singer-songwriter Marc Cohn will return to Colorado for concerts in three cities next week, his first performances in the state since he was shot in the head during a carjacking attempt in Denver nearly a year and a half ago.

Cohn will play in Boulder, Breckenridge and Aspen, according to his Web site.

In August 2005, Cohn was shot during a botched carjacking. Joseph Yacteen, 27, pleaded guilty to attempted first-degree murder in the shooting and was sentenced in October to 36 years in prison.
Cohn, 47, told The Daily Camera he feels some anxiety about his return: "The truth of the matter of is, and I'm well aware of it though it's hard to convince your brain, the chance of anything like that happening again, especially where it's already happened once, are pretty slim."

Cohn, who's married to ABC News anchor Elizabeth Vargas, had a hit with "Walking in Memphis" and won a Grammy in 1991. His latest album is due out next summer, his first since 1998 and fourth overall.

That's good news!

Several years before this horrible carjacking, I met Marc Cohn on my train. He and his 5-year old son were returning to New York after a weekend in Connecticut. His son was seated across from him, using his dad's legs as a highway for his "Hot wheels" cars. When I collected his ticket, I said something original like:

"Marc Cohn, right?"

"Yep" he said.

The traffic on Cohn's leg came to a stand still, as his young son looked up at me in wide-eyed amazement.

"I really enjoy your work."

"Thanks!"

Marc's son now sat frozen, staring up at me with his mouth agape.

I saw you singing backup for Carly Simon when she did her free concert in Grand Central.

Yeah, that was a lot of fun.

I put Marc's tickets in my pocket and moved on to the next passenger. I could feel Marc's son's eyes glued to me as I walked away. It was then I heard the boy utter this memorable line:

"WOW dad!... You know the Conductor?"

I guess celebrity is a relative thing.

Rail Security

(The opinions expressed below are mine alone. I do not speak for the railroad or other railroad employees.)

Recently, WTNH reporter Alan Cohn filed an investigative report in which he left his briefcase on a Metro North train. The purpose of this excercise was to see if anybody would notice an unattended bag, and if they did would they report it (see link):

http://www.wtnh.com/global/video/popup/pop_player.asp?ClipID1=1251420&h1=Question%20of%20security%20on%20Connecticut%27s%20trains%20-%20story%20by%20Alan%20Cohn&vt1=v&at1=News&d1=260534&LaunchPageAdTag=News&activePane=info&playerVersion=1&hostPageUrl=http%3A//www.wtnh.com/Global/story.asp%3FS%3D6116787%26nav%3D3YeX&rnd=5950280

As you can see in this video, nobody noticed the briefcase. It has been my experience, however, that people do notice, and they do say something.

I am regularly summoned by concerned passengers who have spotted unattended bags/packages. The conversation usually starts with ... "Conductor, I may be paranoid, but..." I assure the passenger that they're right to be concerned and then I check the bag out. Ninety nine percent of the time, the bag owner is in the lavatory, or moved seats to talk to a friend. After finding the bag owner, I usually lecture him/her about leaving their bags unattended. "We live in different times," I tell them.

If nobody does claim a bag, things get a little dicey. If we had to call the police everytime we found an unattended bag, we'd be delaying a lot of trains. So, the rules of thumb are:

Does the bag look suspicious?

Are there exposed wires?

Are there batteries attached?

Is the bag/package wrapped in duct tape?

Is there an oily surface?

Was someone seen putting the bag on the train and then leaving quickly?

Did this person look nervous or agitated?


If the answer to any of these questions is "yes" we call the MTA police.

Occasionally the railroad police set up a card table in Grand Central and inspect commuter's bags. In my opinion this is a big waste of time. They check one person out of a million, and because of profiling concerns, they have to check a cross section of commuters, whether they look suspicious or not.

I agree with James Cameron, The Commuter Council President. Cameras on trains will only be useful after the fact. Better trained officers and train crews (we are given some training) should be the first line of defense. Besides, history has shown, suicide bombers don't leave their packages unattended.

What's blue, white and read all over?

http://www.nhregister.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=17641297&BRD=1281&PAG=461&dept_id=566835&rfi=6

September 13th, 2001

It was dusk when my train rolled round the curve in the South Bronx and headed over the blue railroad bridge that traverses the Harlem River into Manhattan. It’s from this vantage point that an engineer gets his first glimpse of the Manhattan skyline. Directly ahead he can see The MetLife Building. To the east stands the art-deco crown of the Chrysler Building. The needle of The Empire State Building rises further to the south, and just beyond that stood the twin towers of World Trade Center. But not this day…this day was different. It was September 13th, 2001, and the world had changed forever.

This was my first trip into the city after the terrorist attacks and because of a morbid curiosity; I craned my head out of train’s cab window to see what had become of the city I’ve come to love. The first thing I noticed was an acrid smell that had permeated the September air. A haze had settled over the twilight sky and gave a strange beauty to the sun as it set over the Hudson River. I scanned the horizon, searching for the spot where the towers once stood only to find angry plumes of white and black smoke billowing in the distance.

It had been an easy run from New Haven that day. The train was half full, and the commuters, (normally a loud and boisterous lot) were unusually quiet and subdued. They seemed shocked from the events of the previous days and not their usual selves. When we reached Grand Central everyone was strangely polite and they didn’t push their way off the train as they normally do. It seemed that everyone had slowed down and maybe appreciated just how precious life is.

When I entered the main concourse in Grand Central, I noticed that the building services department had hung a huge American flag from the center of the terminal’s famous teal and gold-leaf ceiling. A random passenger (who obviously had operatic training) put down his briefcase and looked up. He then spontaneously broke out into the most beautiful version of The Star Spangled Banner that I had ever heard. It was like something out of a corny 1930's movie, but I'll never forget it.

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.O say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet waveO'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I gave him a round of applause and wiped a tear from my eye. I continued on to find that a kiosk/bulletin board had been erected in one of the terminal’s corridors. It was covered with flyers and pictures of missing people from the Trade Center Buildings. Most gave a description of the missing person and what floor they work(ed) on in the Trade Center. I noticed that most worked for Cantor Fitzgerald, the firm that suffered a direct hit from one of the hijacked planes. Bouquets of flowers and prayer cards littered the floor beneath the kiosk. Several people stopped to read the heart-breaking messages that were posted there. Nobody walked away dry-eyed. The missing were old and young, rich and poor, black and white and yellow. It seemed the terrorists did not discriminate.

Loud crowds, taxis, car horns and construction, these are the sounds of the city, but that night all was quiet…too quiet. Todd, my engineer, recommended we go the nearest White Castle burger joint for a bite to eat. I had never been to a White Castle before (or since) but their tiny burgers are part of New York legend and I was eager to try them.
The restaurant was on 5th Avenue, across the street from the Empire State Building, and when I looked up I saw that it was illuminated red, white and blue. Along 5th Avenue, the merchants had left burning candles in front of their businesses to pay tribute to those who had lost their lives in the attack. In the distance I could see the same ominous clouds of smoke that I had spotted earlier in Harlem. Now the clouds loomed closer and looked even more threatening. The odor wafting through Midtown now smelled toxic, as if plastic was burning. It was starting to get to me.

After picking up donuts at Krispy Kreme in Penn Station, (we were on a health kick that night) Todd and I headed up to Times Square. If the sound of silence was eerie earlier, here it was down right frightening. The usually festive lights of Times Square now seemed garish and inappropriate in this time of mourning. The crossroads of the World was virtually empty, and the few people who were there were looking up at the Fox News banner that wraps around the building on 42nd Street. Others watched Peter Jennings deliver a special report on the giant TV screen that's displayed on the 1 Times Square building. Nearby, a street peddler sold T-shirts that read: I survived 9-11. Although tacky, in some way it was comforting to see that capitalism was still alive and well. Todd bought a T-shirt for “ posterity sake.”

On the way back to Grand Central we passed several newly installed concrete Jersey barriers that now surrounded the terminal. Vanderbilt Avenue, which served as Grand Central’s taxi stand, was cordoned off and filled with a large variety of police vehicles.
On the way to my train, I passed several camouflaged covered, machine gun toting, National Guard members and police in riot gear. I remember thinking that things would never be the same.

When I set up my train for the way home, I set aside two cars exclusively for the exhausted emergency workers at Ground Zero. These cars were filled with firemen, EMTs, police officers, ironworkers, clergy members, doctors, nurses and Red Cross volunteers. Some of them had been at the site for more than 24 hours, either digging through rubble or offering care and comfort to the rescue workers. Their clothes and shoes were covered with the white powder, which they tracked on the floor of the train. These cars soon filled with the smell of wet plaster and smoke that was imbedded in the clothes of these workers. Most told me that the images on television did not do justice to the immense destruction they encountered. They used the media’s new favorite word: “Surreal.” One ironworker had a new digital camera and he showed me some of the pictures he had taken. It was the first time I had seen a digital camera and I was very impressed

When my assistant John and I began loading the train, a group of five college-aged, bearded Pakistani/Indian looking men walked past us and boarded the rear car. They did not look unlike the photos of the terrorists that graced the cover of the New York Post that day and I must admit that John and I were a little panicked. So were our passengers. As soon as the five men boarded, several people gathered their belongings and got off the train. On the way out they asked us the departure time for the next New Haven train.

One of our company trainmasters (supervisors) stopped by our train to ask how things were going. We told him about the five guys that just boarded and how we had several worried passengers. The trainmaster asked if they had box cutters or in any way acted suspicious. We said that; "no, we hadn't seen box cutters," and "no, they hadn't acted suspicious," but that we still felt uncomfortable. He told us that there was nothing we could do, we were racial profiling.

Almost immediately after pulling away from the block in Grand Central, one of the five guys pulled out a camcorder and started videoing out the window. He was taping the Park Avenue Tunnel that leads out of Grand Central. John asked the guy to please stop taping, especially in view of the events of the past few days. The guy said that it was very important for him to tape and he refused to stop. John came and told me what had happened. I deemed this as “suspicious activity” and called for the police.

The police pulled these guys off the train in Stamford for questioning. I later found out that they were architecture students from India and that they were only interested in the design of Grand Central.

They picked the wrong week to do it.

On the way home I looked out over the sea of cars in each of the station parking lots. I wondered how long these cars had been sitting there, and if their owners would ever return. Unfortunately, many of them never did.