Sunday, August 26, 2018

The Dangling Conversation

Scene: two 15 year old girls sitting down on the Stratford Station platform today. They had their legs dangling over the edge just as our train was pulling onto the platform. Luckily our engineer had quick reflexes and applied the brakes in time.
Me (agitated): Girls, What were you thinking? You could have gotten your legs chopped off...or worse!
Girls: We’re sorry!
Random guy across the aisle: Hey, At least you’d get great parking spots.
Me: Do you know how many people get killed out here doing stupid things like that?
Girls: We’re sorry!
Girl’s mother: Conductor, I have their tickets.
Me: And where were YOU when your daughters were dangling their legs off the platform?
Girl’s mother (defensive): Well...I TOLD them to stand up.
Random guy: ...and don’t forget, you’d get disabled rate on train tickets.
Ugh!
I still haven’t figured out if the random guy was being a jerk or was trying to make a point.

Wednesday, August 08, 2018

Bridging Generations

Yesterday, while crossing a footbridge at a beach here in Maine, we came upon a cute little 10 year old girl leaning over the wooden railing watching her father trolling for crabs in the water inlet below. The name “McDonough” was emblazoned across the back of the softball shirt she was wearing. I get ridiculously excited when I meet other people named McDonough, so I couldn’t wait to strike up a conversation. “What’s your name?”I asked, in the most non-pedophile voice I could muster. “Caitlin” she said. “Wow! My daughter’s name is Caitlin McDonough.” She smiled, but I could tell she wasn’t as taken by this fact as I was. “Where do you live?” I asked next, even though my wife was giving me that “you’re kind of being creepy” look. “Boston,” she said. “Wow! my ancestors first immigrated to Boston.” Caitlin smiled and turned back to look over the bridge as if to dismiss me. After putting our sand chairs away, I went back to the bridge and introduced myself to Patrick and Linda McDonough, Caitlin’s parents. They told me that the name McDonough is ubiquitous in Boston, “a dime a dozen” was the phrase I think Patrick used. They were very friendly, but I could tell they didn’t share my enthusiasm for finding distant relatives. I was a little disappointed, but before I left them to their crab pots, I told Caitlin that my daughter’s middle name was Aileen. Caitlin told me that her middle name was “Arlene”. I was now beside myself. I even think my Bean-town cousins were a little impressed by that.

Tuesday, December 05, 2017

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.












Monday, May 22, 2017

Only in New York

Eating Clam Chowder in the lower level of Grand Central tonight. A homeless black woman is staring at me from the next table.

 "Hey baby!"

 "Hi" (I give a nod and a polite smile)

 "Baby...is that a real smile?"

 "I'm being polite."

 "You know baby...I'm 61 years old and I don't look as old as you...ya know why?... Cause black don't crack!" (laughs)

 (I give a genuine smile).

 "Baby, You do know that Adam and Eve was black don't ya?"

 "Yeah...I suppose."

 "Give me a fistpump on that."

 (We fist-bump)

  "Baby...Did you know that God is black too?"

 "Hmmmm...I kind of picture him as being colorless."

 "Alright...Alright...I'm willing to go with dat...if you can find your way into giving me some money for a sandwich."

 "But you insulted me! I'm 55 and you said you look younger than me."

 ''Oh baby... don't worry about dat''

 I laugh, reach into my pocket and hand her a 10.

 "Thank you baby...now give mama a hug."

 I hesitantly stood and reluctantly embraced her.

 Passing commuters stared at us, the bedraggled conductor and his homeless, ageless, nubian princess.

 What a sight!

Monday, May 25, 2015

Los Intocables

I was standing against the wall in Grand Central on Saturday when a woman approached me and asked, "Habla Espanol?" I told her "Muy Poquito" (very little). She then pointed to the grand staircase and said something about "La pelicula" which I knew meant "movie/film" and I guessed that she was asking me a trivia question...which I love...even in a foreign language.

 "Los Intocables"? She asked hopefully. I took a couple of years of Spanish in high school and college but I don't remember learning "Intocables"...but not wanting to disappoint, I gave her a pen and a piece of paper and said "escribe" (write). She grabbed my pen and drew a staircase and next to it wrote "policia" which I knew meant "police." It was starting to feel like a game of Pictionary on Univision, so I became overly-animated, turned to my coworkers and yelled "hey guys...Can you think of a police movie filmed on the grand staircase?" They all shrugged as if to say "No" ( which means the same in both English and Spanish.) The woman was starting to look frustrated with me and wrote in big letters "LOS INTOCABLES." I have a lot of bilingual coworkers, but none were standing with me, so I had to throw my hands up and say "sorry" (but I couldn't think of the Spanish equivalent for the word).

 As the woman walked away, I felt defeated, but then I remembered I had an iPhone in my pocket. I quickly Googled "Los Intocables" and the movie "The Untouchables" popped up. I then Googled "The Untouchables Staircase" and a shootout scene popped up on You Tube of Elliot Ness (Kevin Costner) shooting someone on  Chicago's Union Station staircase. I chased after the woman, wanting to say "No esta Aqui, esta en la Ciudad de Chicago!" But she was gone...I was crestfallen, then angry. I thought; what kind of person asks movie trivia questions in a foreign language? Then I remembered...I AM EXACTLY THAT TYPE OF PERSON;

  "Hey Pierre" I'd ask dismissively while pointing to the Eiffel Tower...'Rush Hour 3'?"


Friday, March 27, 2015

Rats!

Tonight in Grand Central at 25 track (Operations Office):

Operations Manager: Mr. McDonough, we need you and your engineer to bring 10 deadhead cars (no passengers) to New Haven. But there's a situation...A RAT has been spotted running around the south car in the engineer's cab.

Me: Like in the cab where I have to do the brake test?

Operations Manager: Yep!

Me: Like in the cab where I have to do the reverse move when we get to New Haven?

Operations Manager: Yep, that would be the cab... Oh, and don't leave your railroad bag on the floor. We don't want you bringing home any pets.

I half-expected the 4 guys in the office to suddenly burst out laughing...maybe an early start to April Fool's Day. Perhaps, I thought, one of them discovered my rodent-phobia from reading my blog post (below), and they were just having a little fun with me.But their faces remained stone-cold sober.

Radio transmission in New Haven:

"New Haven Station to Metro North train 5588  Do you have a rodent onboard?.  Over!"

"Metro North Train 5588 -Yes, sir...that's the story.  I haven't seen it...but I really haven't been looking. Over!"

"Metro North Station to 5588...I don't blame you. Over and Out!"

It wasn't easy backing up a train in New Haven with one hand on the emergency brake whilst waiting for Willard to spring into action. No rat appeared, but it was easily the longest reverse move of my railroad career.

http://bobbyderailed.blogspot.com/20…/…/of-mice-and-men.html

Monday, January 26, 2015

Snow Job!

So, I'm snowed in during a blizzard with nothing to do...and I started thinking about this poor neglected blog.  I'm sorry that I haven't written much, but it seems I get most of my writing frustration out on facebook now.  So, for those of you out there who aren't my facebook friend but still want to know what's happening in "The Conductor to The Stars" life,  I give you some of my recent facebook status updates:

24 January 2015

Three college girls with bloodshot eyes got on my train tonight. They all reeked of cannabis. I explained (no less than six times) that they had to transfer trains to get to Fordham, but their stoned brains couldn't grasp the concept of transferring to another train. I was starting to get a contact high, so I finally asked..."Have you girls been smoking pot tonight?" They all denied it, but their orange Cheetos stained fingers, and several empty strewn bags of Chips Ahoy told a different story. The next time I walked by them, they had sprayed cheap perfume on themselves. Now they smelled like cheap perfume AND pot. Not a good combo.

17 January 2015

So, this happened tonight:
Me: Tickets please...(now reading the young guy's college ID)... "Mr. Trepod."
Him: Here you go conductor (hands over ticket).
Me: "Trepod"...kind of like tripod.
Him: Yeah, that's what all the girls tell me....
Me: Well played sir, well played.  I bet you use that line all the time.

Him: Not enough.
 
30 December 2014





You can almost see Sting thinking..."Don't stand so...Don't stand so...Don't stand so close to me.

Yes, one of the joys of being a railroad conductor is having friends in high places...mostly the Broadway Theatre catwalks.  Over the years I have befriended several Broadway stagehands, and they are great at hooking me up with backstage tours when I visit a show.  On this night, my family and I saw "The Last Ship" which starred Sting (he also wrote the musical score).  I saw him on stage before the show
and asked if he'd take a photo with me.  He was a little reluctant, but he enthusiastically took a photo with my wife and daughters.  He even took his hat off for them.







27 November 2014

Happy Thanksgiving to all!  Let the; "Hey! You look just like the Conductor from The Polar Express" season begin.



24 November 2014
Note to self: Never go to Shoprite on a Tuesday, which is "Senior Day"...especially on the day before a snow storm...two days before Thanksgiving....again. It was like shopping in God's waiting room.

8 November 2014
Conductor Bobby's tip of the day: Hey Kids! When it's 2AM and you are so drunk that you can barely walk, stumbling home in the middle of the tracks is not your best option. Take the 18 -year old doofus we nearly ran over on my train early this morning. I had to climb off my train and give him a stern talking to. After ten minutes of negotiating, doofus finally agreed to climb aboard our train and we carried him to the safety of the waiting arms of the MTA police in Stamford. Don't be like doofus...call a friend, call a cab, walk home along the mean streets of Greenwich, Connecticut.


20 October 2014
I met comedian Jim Gaffigan tonight at a book signing for his new book, "Food" at Barnes and Noble at Union Square, NYC. He is portraying my father in the upcoming Michael Almereyda Film called "Experimenter." It's about behavioral psychologist Stanley Milgram and my father's participation acting as "The Learner/Victim" in the infamous 1961/62 experiments done at Yale University.  The film premieres at The Sundance Film Festival January 25, 2015.



03 October 2014

It's not often that a McDonough passes a bar. Congratulations to my niece, Attorney Emily McDonough!





 
 
 
 



Thursday, October 09, 2014

Fair, Fear, Fare

I had an Asian woman get on my train in West Haven today and she handed me this ticket. Her English wasn't very good, so I explained in a very LOUD voice (I'm not sure why) that the ticket was, "NO GOOD!...IT'S AN ADVERTISEMENT!" I don't think she believed me...but she paid anyway...maybe out of fear.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Who's on first?

Early this morning on the carpool ride home:

 Engineer: Hey Bobby, that song on the radio... Isn't that Bachman-Turner Overdrive?

 Me: Yes it is. Here's a trivia question for you... BTO is a spin-off of what other group?

 Engineer: Hmm...I don't know.

 Me: "The Guess Who."

 Engineer: I told you, I don't know.

 Me: No...I'm saying it's "The Guess Who."

 Engineer: (now getting annoyed.) I told you...I DON'T KNOW!

 Me: What are we, Abbott and Costello?

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Coincidence?

I'm convinced that there is something or someone other-worldly guiding my connection to the Dr. Stanley Milgram's 1961/1962  "Obedience to Authority Experiments."  Perhaps my father's spirit is leading me...whatever or whoever it is, it's starting to weird me out. Here are some examples:

Back in 2006,  I wrote a post on this blog called "Shocking" about my father's involvement, acting as the Learner/Victim in Dr. Stanley Milgram's  infamous behavioral psychology experiments done at Yale University. In the post I explained that my father had died of a heart attack in January 1965,  just before my third birthday and two and a half years after these experiments were completed. I further explained that the only record I have of how my father moved or sounded is through watching a documentary of the experiments titled "Obedience to Authority."

Coincidentally, on the opposite side of the globe, around the same time I had written my blog post,  an Australian Psychologist named Gina Perry was doing a radio documentary about Milgram's experiments, and she wanted to talk to anyone connected to them in any way.  She found my above mentioned blog post while searching on Google and she emailed me and asked for an interview.

Some months later, Perry flew to the U.S. and interviewed me at an inn in the heart of Yale. During the interview,  she recorded me retelling the story of my family rediscovering my father's involvement through a 1974 segment on 60 Minutes titled "Following Orders".  During the course of the interview, I gave her some leads of people to talk to, namely the names of Harold Clifford's children (he was one of the subjects in the Milgram experiment) who Coincidentally had lived across the street from me growing up.  I also gave her the name of Bobby Tracy, my coworker, whose father coincidentally happened to fill in for my father in a few of the experiments.

Perry then asked if I knew the where-abouts of John Williams, the other main actor in the experiments (the instructor in the white lab coat).  She mainly wanted to know if he was still alive.  I told her I didn't know.

Perry spent the next year scouring the entire U.S. looking for John Williams (kind of like finding a needle in a haystack), and she finally found Williams' son living in Florida. Williams' son told Perry that she was unfortunately too late, his father had died the previous year.  He also told her that he didn't know much about the experiments but that his uncle, Mark Williams (his father's brother) would know more. 

Mark Williams?  That's a familiar name...

Coincidentally, this same Mark Williams was my daughter's high school Social Studies teacher.  I immediately called Mark and said, "You're John Williams brother?"  I would later invite him out to lunch to meet Perry along with Bobby Tracy and Judi Lampner, the daughter of the late Aaron Aronow, a former New Haven Alderman, who was  one of the subjects of a variation of the experiments and vocal critic of  Milgram's professional ethics.  Judi COINCIDENTALLY teaches school alongside a friend of mine.

By this time, Perry had turned her award winning radio documentary into a book titled "Behind the Shock Machine." and was visiting the U.S. on a press junket.  I connected her to Sandi Kahn Shelton, a journalist friend of mine who writes for The New Haven Register. Shelton wrote a wonderful front page article about Perry's book, the experiment and of me discovering my father through it.  Along with the article was a spooky photo taken of me
by Arnold Gold, the newspaper photographer.  In the photo, I'm standing in the basement of Yale's  Linsley -Chittenden Hall in the area where the experiments were originally conducted.  I'm looking up into the light with eerie green shadows behind me.

On the day the newspaper article was published, I ran into retired Metro North photographer Frank English on my train.  Frank lives in Manhattan and had been visiting friends in Connecticut.  I hadn't seen him in a long time, so we chatted and caught up on each other's lives.  I wanted  Frank's opinion on the picture that ran in that day's newspaper, so I showed him the front page and Gold's eerie color photo of me.  Frank was impressed with the shot and asked me what the article was about.  I told him he'd probably never heard of Milgram or the experiments but... Frank smiled and let me continue...then he said that he knew the experiments and Dr. Milgram very well.  COINCIDENTALLY his brother Ed English produced and directed the original "Obedience to Authority" documentary back in 1962.  He immediately called his brother and told him my story.

Fast forward to three weeks ago, and Gina Perry emailed me and said they're making a movie about the Milgram experiments titled "Experimenter."  I told Perry I'd love to get a part as an extra in the film since I have become somewhat of a "Zelig" to this experiment. 

I looked up the IMDB page on the movie and found it's written and directed by Michael Almereyda.  I Googled "Almereyda" and discovered he's also a professor at the Tisch Film School at New York University.  I sent him an email and asked him for a cameo part in the film.  I waited a week and didn't get a reply.  I decided to call NYU and COINCIDENTALLY Almereyda picked up the phone.  He told me that he got my email, but it was too late, he had already wrapped up filming and was now editing the film.

About a week later Almereyda, emailed me again, saying that by some odd COINCIDENCE,  he had to re-shoot a scene, and asked if I'd like to come to New York and film a cameo.

 Of course I would.

On Sunday, I went to New York for my film debut. I was seated in a small room waiting along costar Sasha Milgram, Dr. Milgram's widow. She kept staring at me and telling me that I look just like my father.   Almeryeda then entered the room, introduced himself, and we spent the next 20 minutes making small talk.  I told him about all the weird coincidences, Gina Perry's documentary/book, The Cliffords, Mark Williams being my daughters teacher, retired railroad photographer Frank  English and Ed, his movie directing brother, Etc.

Amereyda told me that he'd love to talk to Ed English and ask him some questions about the original documentary.  I told him that I'd try to get him in touch with Frank, but that I hadn't seen him in a couple of years.

Coincidentally, guess who was on my train last night??? Yep, Frank English.  Too weird!

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Backwards-thinking

On my train home tonight, a middle-aged man startled from a drunken slumber and hazily looked around in a panic. He spotted me from the corner of his eye and yelled, "YO CONDUCTOR...WHY IS THIS TRAIN GOING BACKWARDS?" I walked over to where he was seated and patiently explained that the train wasn't going backward, he was, in fact, sitting backward. I guess my explanation was too difficult for his pickled brain to grasp, as evidenced by him poking his sleeping wife who was seated next to him and yelling "HONEY THE TRAIN IS GOING BACKWARDS!" His wife was leaning forward with her face plastered to the pleather headrest in front of her. She managed to slowly unpeel it, then rolled her blotchy red face toward me, one eye open, drool running down her chafed chin, then slurring, "Why the train going backwards mister?" I again tried to explain, now pointing, that we weren't going backward, it was just that they were facing opposite the direction of travel. The husband looked at me expressionless, sat silent for a moment, then asked, "Did you pull some kind of trick on us or something?" At this point, I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Yes, yes I did. I'm a very tricky guy." Then I walked away.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Stress is...

Stress is...

Being a conductor on a six car train full of drunk and disorderly passengers at 2am...then discovering there's an electrical problem and the doors on your train won't open when you reach the first station.


When we got to Stamford, I ran through the train trying different door panels while calling my engineer on my radio to see if he had the "door override" button pushed. Then I call the Rail Traffic Controller and tell him the problem. Large piles of Passengers are standing at the doors looking at me like I am an idiot, so I try... to make an announcement to tell them what is going on, but the volume is too high and all they hear is the high pitched squeal of feedback. My engineer calls, telling me to check all the circuit breakers, the RTC calls to tell me to check all the door panels. I finally find a single door that will open and a mob of drunken college kids stampede toward that one door. Just as they try to get off, another pile of drunks try to pile on...both lots tell me I'm an "F-ing idiot" and want to know why I don't simply open the doors. The MTA police are now on the scene and they want the train number, my name and employee number. Simultaneously, pods of people gather, wanting to know; "how long will we be here? Should I call a cab? Hey conductor, why don't you open the F-in' doors already? " I try to make another announcement, but all they hear is "SQUEACK!" Luckily, the RTC tells me there's an empty train 10 minutes away. We eventually key 3 doors open and transfer passengers to that train.

Monday, May 19, 2014

Lost and Found II: Koala goes "Down Under."

On Saturday, I came upon a sobbing, heart broken, 5 year old girl while collecting tickets. Her father explained that his daughter dropped her favorite stuffed animal, a koala bear named GG, while switching cars just as the train was pulling out of New Haven Station. Apparently the little girl sleeps with "GG" every night, and dad feared a sleepless night in NYC. I took the dad's number and promised the little girl that I'd do my best to find GG when I returned home.

That night, as we pulled into New Haven, I discovered GG laying face down in the gauge of track 12. I took this picture of the bear, and texted it to the dad. Father and daughter were both greatly relieved. Turns out "GG" originally belonged to dad when he was a child.

I made arrangements for the family to pick GG up at the New Haven Ticket Office on Sunday, and I'm glad to report that the little girl and Koala are happily reunited.

Sunday, February 02, 2014

An open letter to my passengers


Dear Passengers,

Please put the pitchfork and lanterns down.
 I come in peace

First, let me explain that the train crews are on your side.  We are not the enemy… We really do want your trains to be on time…really we do.  But there are these things called signals, speed limits and speed restrictions, and we have to adhere to them…it’s the law.  And now we have these pesky Federal Railroad Administration agents looking over our shoulders, and they’re in “Deep Dive” and there’s no sign of them coming up for air.  Besides, we hate to be late for our coffee breaks…  It makes us cranky.
They say the foundation of every great railroad starts at the track bed, and ours has fallen into disrepair.  Some years back, someone thought it would be a great idea to replace wooden railroad ties, which had been in place since the Lincoln Administration, with newfangled concrete ties.  The idea was that concrete would last forever and would be virtually maintenance free.  Well, as it turns out, forever meant 10 years. Without proper drainage concrete ties dissolve like Alka Seltzer tablets in a 10 ounce glass of water, and before you can say “plop, plop, fizz, fizz” the concrete melted into mud holes.  Soon the ride into Grand Central became more frightening than “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride”...and this is the basis of our current problems. 

 You can’t blame train crews for the bad track bed… can you? 
You want to talk train cleanliness?  Yep, we’re all for that too, especially when we have cockroaches the size of Smart Cars crawling into our railroad bags.  “They” say they can’t dump the toilets or give the trains a thorough cleaning since the turn times are too tight.  Yeah…we’re not buying that excuse either.  If Jet Blue can clean a jumbo jet on tarmac in Newark, I’m pretty sure a car cleaner can spot mop an M8 car in Grand Central.

Communication?  I know this has always been a big point of contention, but your conductor can only inform you if he/she has been informed…and with the advent of Twitter and social media, the riding public is way ahead of us.  For instance, I learned about the derailment in Bridgeport from a passenger a good five minutes before I heard about it on the railroad radio. But communication is a two way street...and sometimes you folks just don’t listen.  Here is a transcript of a conversation I had with a passenger last Thursday night just after I finished making announcements that the whole railroad had been shut down and that there would be an indefinite delay:
Passenger: Conductor, can I get on another train?
Me: No, sorry the whole railroad is shut down.

Passenger: Then can I get on a train going in the opposite direction?

Me: No, sorry, no trains moving, indefinite delay.

Passenger: So... how long will it be?

Me: Indefinite delay...meaning we don't know how long.

Passenger: I KNOW what indefinite means.

So, as enjoyable as it is to verbally berate your conductor, or however thrilling it is to give the finger to your engineer when he pulls into your station 15 minutes late, remember…WE’RE NOT THE PROBLEM!  Could we apologize for the delays a little more frequently?  Sure we could!  Could we be a little more pleasant? Certainly!  But remember, we’re human too folks, and you are far from the first or last person that day to growl at us…call us hurtful names… or refuse to pay for this “terrible service.”  In addition to this, we have our regular cast of drunks, fare beaters, and deviants (some are even fellow employees).  As humans, we may get defensive or become apathetic and shut down.  We need to work on that.

Here’s what I propose for incoming Metro North President Joe Giulietti:

Dear Joe,
I know we don’t know each other very well, but you always struck me as a very nice guy.  I remember that your cat and my cat came from the same litter, so that means we’re practically related, so I hope you listen to the following suggestions:

First, I would like you to propose a “Quality of Life Initiative" like Rudy Giuliani did in NYC.  A lot of our problems have to deal with perception, so treat the trains like 42nd Street AND CLEAN THEM UP! I'm far from a neat nick, but even I'm disgusted by the condition of our trains. The floors are filthy, the bathrooms haven't been dumped and they're without toilet paper. Too many cars have roaches crawling around, so treat the roaches like Rudy treated the peep shows...make them disappear.
Second, with all these new cars...why are there still seating shortages? Even Bloomberg put seating in Time Square....and that's "The crossroads of the world."

Third: Communicate-Communicate-Communicate! It's like pulling teeth to get information out of the RTC's sometimes (i.e. Where is our connection?') How can we do our "Community Policing," if we're not informed? Even the passengers know more than we do...at least they have Twitter to tip them off.
Fourth: Whatever happened to car inspectors actually inspecting trains before departure? I know they used to do it...doesn't seem like it happens anymore. Like they say...if you fail to prepare, you prepare to fail.
Yours truly,

Bobby
So you see commuters, we train crew members really do care.  Now if you’d only put the pitchforks down!!!
 

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Full Moon Fever 10/18/2013


Train 1575: My train is held in Fairfield because the traffic is stopped ahead due to a trespasser walking in front of an Amtrak train. He refuses to get off the tracks. MTA PD have to remove him.

 Train 1572: I plug my iphone in to charge and hide it under a seat across from my cab. Someone steals it (yes...again). Thanks to the "Find my iphone" app, and the MTA PD, phone is found sitting in a garbage can at Stratford train station later last evening. I guess an iphone4 is too passé.

 Train 1988: A woman gets on the train and seems to have misplaced her 21 year old schizophrenic daughter. I spend the better part of the ride calling the rail traffic controller with a description, hoping they find her in Bridgeport (they didn't).

I realize that my hand-held radio is missing, and go to use the radio in the engineer's cab.  Up ahead I see three guys sitting on a bridge abutment drinking beer.   I yell "Watch out!", and the engineer blows the horn, and throws the emergency brake on.  The men scurry to solid ground and we narrowly miss them.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Metro North Derailment and Collision 5/17/2013







Lest we think that train collisions on the New Haven Line are something new; here's a picture I pulled out of the family archive. My grandmother Bridget "Bessie" Linehan McKernan was injured in this wreck in Milford, CT, Feb 1916. Nine people were killed, and the injured were treated at Laurleton Hall High School, which was set up as a make-shift triage center. It is rumored that Bessie's hair turned white overnight.

Friday, April 26, 2013

Aaahoo!!! Werewolves of Norwalk

4/24/13:

Somewhere around South Norwalk *Sheila, my assistant conductor, entered the head car of the train to collect tickets.  Just as she entered, a well dressed male in a business suit quickly darted into the lavatory.  Once the man was safely locked inside the bathroom, frightened passengers began complaining to her that he was "a crazy man".  They said that before she entered the car,  he'd been pacing wildly, screaming nonsensically, spitting and punching the head rests and kicking the seats.

After waiting several minutes, Sheila knocked on the lavatory door.  The door swung open violently, and a sweating, glowering man howled;

 "HERE'S YOUR TICKET BITCH...NOW SUCK MY DICK!"

I was in the back of the train collecting tickets when all of this transpired, and I didn't learn about it till my engineer called me on my radio.

Me: What's up?

Engineer:  Bobby, I just had two woman knock on my cab door and they said there's a crazy guy up here, screaming and swearing and they seem pretty scared. 

After hearing this,  I immediately attempted to call the Rail Traffic Controller, but my hand-held radio is fickle, and it suddenly decided to stop transmitting.  I tried another radio in the cab, but that wasn't working any better than my hand-held.  I walked back a car and tried another radio, and that wasn't working great either.  I finally asked my engineer to call for police assistance.  The Rail Traffic Controller (RTC) said that the police would be waiting for us in Stamford, some 10 minutes away from where we were.  Ten very looonnnggg minutes away from where we were.

I walked forward to evaluate the situation, and in the distance, I saw a crazed man leaving the lavatory.  I could see him prowling the aisle, waving his arms frantically, and howling in the air at no one in particular.  He burst open the barrel end door and charged right at me. He was clearly enraged and sweating profusely....almost cartoonishly...kind of like Ted Striker in the movie "Airplane."

I stood in the aisle to block the path of this charging wild beast.

"May I help you?"  I asked in my best non-panicked professional voice. 

"YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK UP!" He growled.

He pushed past me and leapt into a seat. He again began violently punching and kicking the seat in front of him.

I finally found a radio that worked and called the RTC and updated him on the situation.  I  explained that the man was acting violently and that he had reportedly spit on some of the passengers.  The RTC instructed me to hold the train in Darien and wait for police assistance.

A few minutes later (it seemed like an eternity), a Darien police officer arrived.  I explained the situation to the officer and warned him that the man was wild, and dangerous and that he should proceed with great caution.  The cop waited for backup (good move on his part).  Two more officers arrived. 

I escorted the three officers to the seat where the man had previously been sitting.  Surrounding passengers pointed to the lavatory, then said in unison... "HE'S IN THERE!"

Sheila and I evacuated the passengers from the area surrounding the lavatory while the officers pounded on the door.

 Again the lavatory door swung open violently and the officers reached in and grabbed for the crazed beast and tried to pull him from his den..  The suspect growled and pounced out of the lavatory, swinging wildly and fighting back with all his might.  The officers now had him in their grips, but he flipped and flopped and tried to break free from their clutches. All four of them tumbled into a seat across from the cab. 

"Stop fighting, or we're gonna tase you man," warned one police officer.

 This seemed to enrage the wild man even more. 

One of the cops, a female officer, pulled out her taser gun....

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK, the taser shouted.

 "YOU BITCH!!!"  The wild man shouted back.

 CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!!!  The taser howled again.

 "YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!!! The crazed man howled back.

Two MTA cops arrived and they quickly jumped into the fray.  The five officers finally subdued the man, and carried him out to the platform where they wrestled handcuffs onto to his paws...I mean wrists.

Two MTA detectives boarded the train and took statements from witnesses. Most were cooperative, some were apathetic.  One guy pulled out his iPhone and stealthily recorded Sheila and I as we checked in on one another.

After several minutes, the detectives released the train and we were back on our way. We made it to Grand Central on time (thank you very much).

I think a lot of passengers were shaken up by what they just witnessed.   A few stopped Sheila and I and said they were sorry that we had to deal with the situation.  Others thanked us for getting the him off of the train.  I think a lot of them had the previous week's event in Boston in the back of their minds.

 "Imagine a man acting that way after what went on in Boston last week." said an elderly woman.

Another guy groused; "What's going on with Metro North?  Last week I was delayed on a train while the FBI looked for Boston bombers.  This week I'm delayed by a lunatic."

Later, I told some of the passengers in the rear of train what had transpired in the front of the train.  One of these commuters is an NYPD officer and he said that it sounded like the guy was in a "PCP rage."  He said that's what drove Rodney King to behave the way he did. 

I still don't know what transformed this seemingly normal businessman into a beast.  His  actions were totally unprovoked. But I'm working on a theory...

Tonight, I looked up into the sky and noticed that the moon was full. "That explains a lot." I said to my engineer.  "I'm thinking that maybe that guy was a werewolf."

I flashback and watch him pace the aisle of the train like a caged animal. The sweat pouring down his face, the foam gathering in the corners of his mouth...the deepening five o'clock shadow.

I climb up into the engine,  I howl at the moon and begin to sing to the tune of "Werewolves of London." 

AAAHOO!!  Werewolves of Norwalk.



*name changed to protect the innocent

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Donnybrook

Ahhhh...St. Paddy's Day.  Nothing makes me prouder of me Irish heritage than puddles of green vomit, and a good ol' donnybrook on a commuter train.  St. Patrick would be so proud.

http://gothamist.com/2013/03/15/st_patricks_video_psa_reasons_not_t.php

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

"Geronimo!!!" A Roller Coaster week in review.



October 16th:  A guy boards my train in New Haven and when he opens his wallet, I see a yellow "Post It" note glued to his credit cards.  It reads; "New Haven Taxi 777-7777".  I find this funny. I don't always remember phone numbers...but I'm pretty sure I could remember this one.

On my go- home train, the emergency window in the "quiet car" is making a racket.  The weatherstripping around the glass is loose and the pane is rattling like crazy.  My passengers look annoyed.  Like MacGyver, I quickly grab seat checks out of my pocket and shim the small pieces of cardboard between the glass and the rubber gasket that surrounds it.  The window goes silent and the passengers cheer. I'm the hero of quiet car.

October 17th:  I meet up with author/journalist Sandi Kahn Shelton at Starbucks.  She is interviewing me for an article in The New Haven Register .  The story is about my father's participation in the famous "Obedience to Authority" experiments by Dr. Stanley Milgram.  Milgram conducted these experiments at Yale in 1961-1962 to observe how obedient people were when following orders from an authority figure.

Between sips of her iced tea and my Grande Vanilla Chai Latte, Sandi tells me how much she loves my blog and writing style.  She is one of my favorite writers, so this is a HUGE compliment.  It's a wonder that my big head fits through the door of the coffee shop. We agree to meet at Yale's Linsley-Chittenden Hall (where the experiments were conducted) the next day for a photo shoot to accompany the newspaper article.

Wednesday evening- October 17: My train hits a trespasser and I have to go out and search for the body... And that's all I have to say about that.

October 18th:  I wake up with a knot in my stomach, remembering the previous evening's activities.  I get a call from a counselor from the railroad's employee assistance program.  She says she's sorry that I had to go through the trauma and asks if I want to come in and discuss my feelings.  I thank her for the offer, but tell her that this is my third fatality in my 26 years on the railroad...and that I think I'll be okay.  She encourages me to take three days off (regular procedure whenever crews are involved in a fatality) and I tell her that I will. 

They say that railroaders average three fatalities in their career.  This was my third and hopefully last fatality. I'm done.

After breakfast, I drive to New Haven and get stuck behind a Connecticut Transit Bus, then spend the next 10 minutes staring into the eyes of Attorney Jonathan Perkins, a personal injury lawyer whose giant face is plastered on the back of the bus in an advertisement for his law firm.

Attorney Perkins was on my train one day this past summer, and I told him that his head was much smaller than the buses advertise.  He laughed...well he kind of laughed.

I search for Linsley-Chittenden Hall and find it right smack dab in the middle of Yale's old campus.  It's a beautiful Gothic looking building, all brownstone, decorative spires and Tiffany windows.  I've never been here before, but know that my father's experiment was done somewhere in the basement of the building.  I walk down a set of dimly lit steps to the basement which befits a medieval castle.  I open heavy wooden doors but can't find a room that looks like the experiment lab.  There are no plaques on the wall  designating it as the site of the Milgram experiments (due to the unethical nature of the experiments, Yale is not exceedingly proud of it). I find an office upstairs and ask a secretary if she knows exactly where the experiments were conducted.  She says she thinks they were done "at Berkeley...out in California".  I tell her that, "no...the experiments were done somewhere right beneath your desk."

  "Really?" She says.

I go back outside to wait for Sandi and the Register photographer and I hear someone shouting "GERONIMO!!!.....GERONIMO!!!"  I instinctively start looking up at the tops of nearby buildings waiting for someone to jump (when I was a kid, we always yelled "Geronimo!" before jumping off of something...I'm not sure why.)

 "GERONIMO!!!"  I look across the street toward the sound of the shouts and notice a drunken Native American standing in front of a brownstone building that I recognize to be "The Skull and Bones" tomb. "GERONIMO!!!" he shouts again, now shaking his fists.

 I recently read that the notorious Skull and Bones Society (a secret Yale fraternity that counts several U.S. presidents and Supreme Court justices among its members),  has the famous Native American warrior's skull deposited somewhere inside this tomb.  Understandably, Native Americans want the skull back to give it a proper burial.  

.  I meet Sandi and Arnie (The Register photographer) and Arnie takes several shots of me somewhere near where the experiment was conducted (I never found the exact location). He keeps having me look up toward the ceiling light and I don't understand why. A few days later, I see this spooky...but very cool picture plastered on the cover of The New Haven Register. Photography is all about shadows and light.

October 19:   I drive up to the Connecticut State Library in Hartford to do genealogy research.  One of those big car carrier trucks catches fire just ahead of me on I-91, and I see giant plumes of smoke about a quarter mile up the road.  The conflagration shuts down the highway and I sit in traffic for 90 minutes.  I finally make it to the library, and find that keeping busy takes my mind off of the Wednesday evening's activities.  Searching for dead people in files, microfilm, and computers is fun.  Searching for real dead people is not.  The irony isn't lost on me.

October 21:  Sandi's article appears on the front page of The New Haven Register.  I'm exceedingly pleased with how it turned out, so I link the article to my facebook page.  I then spend the better part of the day checking my status updates waiting for people to comment.  I laugh at how narcissistic this behavior is...and ask my wife if she thinks me a narcissist.

 "You think?" She answers sarcastically.

October 21:  I'm finally back to work, and they have me covering the 1:15AM train out of Grand Central.  This train is always entertaining...and so dysfunctional that it should have its own blog.

When I start collecting tickets, I notice a 20-something African American couple making out in the middle of the train.  By the time I approach to get their tickets, the man is standing in front of his girlfriend and his belt is unbuckled.  His pants are riding down around his thighs and they're about to commence a sex act.

"WHOA!!!" I say. "Pull those pants up...You can't do that here."

The guy pulls his pants up and buckles his belt.  He and his mate apologize and they assure me it won't happen again, but as soon as I turn my back, I hear the belt unbuckle and he's standing up in front of her again.

"What did I just tell you?" I shout.  "Pull your pants up or I'm going to have you arrested." 

Now the woman apologizes, saying they just got engaged and they can't help themselves.  By now the surrounding passengers are shaking their heads in disbelief.  

Halfway through the ride, I notice the amorous couple have moved their seats to the head car of the train, which is now devoid of passengers.  I contemplate confronting them again (I assume they were back at it)...but it's 2AM, and there's no one else around. It's been a tough week, so I decide a "don't ask-don't tell" policy is the best way to go.

Ahhh!....Young love.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

SHOCKING!!! (Again)

Due to the recent article in the New Haven Register, I am rerunning this post which originally appeared in March of 2006:



Something shocking happened to my brother John one Sunday night in 1974. He was at his girlfriend’s house watching the CBS news show 60 Minutes and half paying attention to the screen when correspondent Morley Safir started a segment titled “Following Orders.” Safir introduced the piece by showing black and white footage of a psychological experiment that was conducted at Yale University. John was about to turn the channel when he noticed that one of the men in the film looked exactly like my father. My father had died nine years previous to this broadcast, so he was perplexed. He jumped off the couch in order to get a closer look.

As Safir narrated, the film showed a short, stocky and bespectacled man. He was middle-aged and wore suspenders. He was seated in a stark white room while a man in a long white lab coat attached electrodes to his arms. When he finished connecting the wires he asked the man if he had any questions or concerns.

Man in suspenders: About two years ago I was at the Veteran’s Hospital in West Haven.
While there, they diagnosed me with a heart condition…nothing serious, but as long as I’m having these shocks…how strong are they? How dangerous are they?

Man in lab coat: No, although the shocks may be painful, they are not dangerous.

THAT GUY IN THE SUSPENDERS IS MY FATHER! John shouted. He called home and my mother answered the phone.

Mom: Helllooo!

John: Mom, quick turn on 60 minutes. Daddy is on there…and they’re electrocuting him.

Mom: What are you talking about?

John: It’s some kind of psychological experiment and every time he gets a word association question wrong… they shock him.

Mom: Oh THAT experiment (as if my father had been in several experiments.) Yes, I vaguely remember him doing an experiment at Yale about 12 years ago.

The shocking truth is that in 1961 through 1962, my father, who worked as head auditor for The New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad,(predecessor to the railroad I work for) took a part time job with a Yale professor named Dr. Stanley Milgram. The railroad did not like their management employees taking part time jobs but my father had nine mouths to feed and was employed at Yale for about a year.

Milgram, a social psychologist, took out an ad in the New Haven Register that offered to pay volunteers $4.00 for one hour's work, to participate in a psychological experiment at Yale University in a study to investigate memory and learning. Participants were told that the study would look at the relationship of punishment and learning. Volunteers would work in pairs; one would be the teacher, the other a learner. The two men would draw straws but it was fixed that my father (a confederate) would always draw the short straw and be the learner.

My father was strapped to a chair and electrodes were attached to his arms. It was explained to the teacher that the electrodes were connected to an electric shock generator and that the teacher was to shock my father for every wrong answer he gave in a series of word association questions.

The teacher was then brought to a separate room and sat in front of the shock generator. The machine had about 30 switches. The switch farthest to the left read 15 volts (slight shock) to 450 volts (severe shock). The switch farthest to the right was simply marked XXX. Every time my father got a question wrong, the learner had to give him a shock that increased in severity with every wrong answer (in reality, my father never received any shocks). My father’s groans and screams were pre-recorded and played each time the teacher gave him a shock. Many of these teachers expressed concern for my father’s well being, some even protesting about continuing, but the researcher in the lab coat urged them on.

Milgram’s results were shocking. He found that 65% of participants, even after hearing my father’s screams, zapped him all the way to the last switch. This study proved that everyday normal people could cause pain and suffering to another person under the right set of circumstances (think Nazi Germany). This experiment is still talked and written about today. Just last year The New York Times ran a piece on it, after US soldier Lynndie England said that she was innocent of Iraqi prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib, because, she said, “I was just following orders.”

Shortly after the 60 Minutes broadcast, Dr. Milgram, who then chaired the Psychology Department at City University of New York (CUNY), appeared on the Phil Donahue Show. He had finally released the findings of the experiment and had written a book about it. It was titled, “Obedience to Authority.”

As we watched the show, we were all in a state of shock. They ran the footage of my father being strapped to the chair and we could hear his protests when the teacher started flipping switches and doling out discipline.

“Let me out of here!” He cried, “You can’t keep me here! Let me out!”

We still weren’t certain if my father was really getting shocked or not. We wondered if this might have had something to do with the fatal heart attack he suffered less than three years later at the young age of 49. After the show, my mother contacted CUNY and asked to speak with Dr. Milgram.

The next day our phone rang and I answered it. The man on the other line said, “Hello, this is Stanley Milgram, is Mrs. McDonough in.”

Dr. Milgram could not have been more pleasant. He told my mother how much he enjoyed working with my dad and he reassured her that he was unharmed in the experiments. He sent my mom an autographed copy of the book that was inscribed:

To Mrs. James McDonough,
I thought you might like to have a copy of this book.
As you know, your late husband was part of the
research team at Yale University. It was a pleasure
to work with him, and he was a very fine man.

Sincerely,
Stanley Milgram
April 1974


After her conversation with Dr. Milgram, my mother rented the 8mm reel to reel version of the “Obedience to Authority” movie so we could all watch it at home. We gathered in our living room as my brother Jimmy set up the projector and hung a white bed sheet from our living room wall. I really didn’t remember much about the movie, probably because the quality of the projector was so poor. It had no audio and the picture was grainy (perhaps the sheet just needed washing.) I do remember making some great shadow puppets on the wall though.

My father had died just two weeks prior to my third birthday and I have no recollection of him. We used to have an 8x10 picture of him that hung over the TV in the den of my mother’s house. This picture was an icon for me, a photo of someone from the past, not known but idolized. Much like the pictures of Jesus, Pope Paul and John F. Kennedy that my grandfather had hanging on the walls in his house next door. When anybody spoke of my father this was the picture I had in my mind’s eye.

In 1994, I read in the newspaper that Yale's Sterling Library acquired Milgram's Obedience experiment archives from Alexandra Milgram, Dr. Milgram's widow (he died in 1984 at 51 years of age).   I wanted to get a video of the “Obedience to Authority" movie, so I contacted the archive librarian at Yale who in turn referred me to Penn State University since they now own the rights to the film. The librarian at Penn State told me that they normally only sell the video to institutions of higher learning and that they never had an individual request a copy for home use before. He said he could sell me a copy, but the going price was $1000.

I explained to the librarian that I was the son of one of the experiment’s main participants and I just wanted a copy for the family archives.

The librarian told me that under the circumstances, he would talk to Mrs. Milgram, and see if they could give me a break on the price of the video.

I was shocked, when a few days later I received a call from the librarian at Penn State. Mrs. Milgram said that I could have a copy of the movie for free, as long as I paid shipping and handling. The video arrived in the mail a few weeks later.

Unlike the 8mm home movie we had watched, this video was crystal clear. The hair stood up on my neck as I heard my father speak for the first time (he sounded nothing like I suspected). I had never seen his picture taken from behind before and I inspected his bald spot. I had to laugh when I saw that we had the same smile and mannerism. I pushed the play button over and over again as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

Recently, I had a middle-aged woman on my train, a Yale name tag hung from her neck. We began talking and she told me that she was a psychology professor at the University. I asked her if she was familiar with the Milgram experiment.

“Of course,” she said.

I then launched into the story I’ve just told here and how I received a copy of the video from Milgram’s widow.

“How strange,” the psychologist said, “ that the only memory you have of your father is that of him being a victim.”

“Shocking really,” I said.


For more information on the “Obedience to Authority” experiment, please visit:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W147ybOdgpE or stanleymilgram.com