Miss July

Miss Late Night train, July 2008:

Favorite activities: Partying! Partying! and Partying!

Guilty Pleasures: Little black dresses. Stiletto heels.

Favorite Books: Um...You mean like reading and stuff?

Favorite TV show: Sex and The City.

Foods I crave: Jello shots.

Ambition: To not sleep past my station stop. Oh yeah...and end world hunger.

Turn ons: Bar Cars, Long Island Ice tea.

Turn offs: Mean conductors, gravity, sobriety.

Ideal man: Jim Beam, Johnny Walker and this guy:

Photo credits: Adam Welsh. Jamie V.

The Week in Review

Monday, July 7:


Train 1388- I'm alarmed because my engineer dumped the train (put emergency brake on) just west of Larchmont Station. Two trespassers had set up a video camera on a tripod in the middle of track #4...our track. The idiots grabbed their tripod and jumped out of the way just before our train came sliding by. Police were called and dispatched. I'm sure this guy's video is now on YouTube.



Tuesday, July 8:



Train 1388: A Blonde haired, blue eyed, Greenwich business woman(with an evident sense of entitlement), lay across three seats on this standing room only train. I asked her to sit up, pointing out all the standing passengers in the vestibule area. She reluctantly sits up, but when I go to open the doors at 125th Street, she lie back down again. I returned, and again asked her to sit up. She does...kind of,(she was still leaning to one side.) Whenever this happens, I try to find the biggest, smelliest,meanest looking passenger I can find, and escort them over to the newly opened seat. This night, however, I couldn't find anyone smelly enough. I had to settle for big and mean looking.

(Side note: I've been trying to figure out the whole lay/lie/laying/lying thing. Forgive me if I used them incorrectly.)



Train 1495-Two guys were blasting rap music on their cellphone/mp3 players. I told them they needed to use their headphones or turn the music off. They called me a "hater" and said that no one was complaining,and I should "mind my business." I told them that it was my business and threatened to have them removed from the train. In a final act of defiance, they turned the music up before turning it off. When they exited the train at Fordham, they called my assistant conductor a few choice names. He returned the favor.



Train 1495: Guy gave me a $100 bill for a $2.25 fare. He was the third guy that day to give me $100, and I was unable to make change. I pawned him off on my assistance...he had plenty of change. I've never had a $100 bill in my wallet, and I wonder what I'm doing wrong.



Train 1500:-A Brooks Brothers clad guy from Fairfield (a wealthy town) stinks to high heaven and is smelling up his entire end of the car. I wished he'd been on train 1388. I would have seated him next to the Greenwich woman.



Wednesday, July 09:

Train 1388: -The train is packed to the gills. I climb over passengers doing my best Bugs Bunny impersonation: "s'cuse me, pardon me, s'cuse me, pardon me...pass the popcorn."



-My assistant conductor was missing. It seemed he'd been delayed on his previous train, filling out a police report in Westport. "Allegedly" he had a passenger who was high ("allegedly") on angel dust . He was "allegedly" crawling on the floor and grabbing at unsuspecting passengers. Westport police were called, but they had a tough time removing suspect from train (he had super human strength). They eventually wrestled him to ground and carried him away. "Allegedly".



Train 1495:-Old Mexican woman is playing Salsa music on her radio. I love Tito Puente, but I ask her to turn it off. She doesn't understand a word I'm saying and gives me a big,gold toothed smile. She must have eventually got the message, because just as I'd begun to mambo, she turned the music off.



Thursday, July 11:



Grand Central 1am : Standing in Grand Central, I watch as the MTA police strap a drunk guy, who was nearly comatose, to a gurney and wheel him away. Nearby, two drunk college guys lay flat on the floor and arm wrestle. People step right over them, not seeming to notice. It's like Cindy Adams says..."Only in New York kids...Only in New York."



July 12, Train 6557: There's a free Bon Jovi concert in Central Park and the train is PACKED. A middle aged guy with a bad toupee, pulls me aside and complains that the young woman sitting next to him is loudly yakking on her cell phone. I told him that I'd talk to her. I approach woman, but before I could say a word, she yelled "it's a free country and I can talk on the phone if I want... Nobody else is complaining," she says. She then asked the couple seated across from her if she was bothering them. They say,"Yes, you are a little loud."

I asked the woman to be courteous and move her conversation to the vestibule area. She refused, and went right on yakking. I went back to original complainant and told him there wasn't much I could do. "We're in kind of a gray area here," I said. "We suggest that people converse in the vestibule area. It's really not a removable offense." Complainant claims I'm intimidated by the offending passenger because she's black. He then stormed away. He later apologized.


-Just another week on the rails.-

Connecticut Magazine, May 2008

In case you missed it, here's an article that ran on the last page of Connecticut Magazine's May issue:

http://www.zwire.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=19835301&BRD=2329&PAG=461&dept_id=484827&rfi=6newsid=19835301&BRD=2329&PAG=461&dept_id=484827&rfi=6

Conductor's Log: 07/06/08

0100 hrs: While boarding the train in Grand Central, conductor (me) observes a severely inebriated male passenger trot toward the train. He trips over his own feet, goes airborne and belly flops onto the hard concrete platform. Conductor bites lip to keep from laughing.

0115 hrs: Train departs Grand Central.

0120 hrs: Female with a "Jesus-Christ is the real thing" T-shirt, tries beating the fare by using her father's monthly commutation ticket (she had strategically placed her thumb over the gender marker.) Conductor decides girl's T-shirt is ironic.

0125 hrs: A group of drunken Yankee fans board train at Harlem-125th St. Station. They're all around 40 years-old and sporting Yankee caps and shirts. They loudly discuss their team, as if they're members of the Steinbrenner family. "We're bringing up two new pitchers from the farm team," one says, and the others nod their heads in agreement. One, a foul mouth woman, screams :"We just picked up a f---ing catcher!"


0130 hrs: Something loud (maybe a rock) hits the train as we travel through the South Bronx. I call my engineer on the radio and ask if he hit something. He says he didn't. I return to collecting tickets and a concerned passenger asks if we hit someone. I calm his fears by saying..."I hope not."

0134hrs: A woman passenger complains that she's hungry and asks where she can buy a pretzel with mustard. I tell her that she just left New York City, the pretzel with mustard capital of the world. "They're kinda hard to find in the suburbs" I say. She sticks out her lower lip and pouts.

0135hrs: Male passenger offers me his McDonalds' french fries in lieu of a ticket. I decline, but tell him he might be able to broker a deal with the pretzel lady.

0140hrs: Male passenger with a heavy Spanish accent, complains that while in the lavatory, "That sommaofabitch" (now pointing to a drunk guy a few seats away) took his seat and drank his beer!" I briefly contemplate chastising the beernapper, but think better of it, and walk away.

0213hrs: A disheveled African-American woman boards train and says she doesn't have a ticket or money to ride the train. She wants to get to the shelter and asks if I could let her ride. My Catholic guilt kicks in, and I tell her to take a seat. Minutes later, I smell a strange odor... similar to an electrical fire or burning plastic. I look out the window for signs of smoke but don't see anything. I then check the heating vents which sometimes flame up. I see nothing.

0220hrs: Train reaches Stamford and the homeless woman thanks me for the ride. As she steps off the train, I notice that the burning plastic smell follows her.

0221hrs: I ask my trainman if he knows what smoke from a crack pipe smells like. "Yeah," he says..." like burning plastic."

0222 hrs: I realize I have a crazy job.

A shocking coincidence!

Last night, after collecting our tickets, a coworker and I sat down and began chatting. Somehow the conversation veered toward Dr. Josef Mengele, the notorious Nazi physician who performed human experiments on his concentration camp prisoners. I mentioned that my father was involved in the famous "Obedience to Authority" experiment by Dr. Stanley Milgram, some 46 years ago. The experiment tried to explain why normally decent people could commit attrocities against their fellow man. My coworker said he'd never heard of the experiment, but he'd be sure to check it out online. I wrote Milgram's name on a slip of paper and handed it to him. Before sitting down again, I reached for a copy of yesterday's New York Times which a passenger had abandoned on a nearby seat. There, on page 4, was a small photo of my father being shocked in the Milgram experiment. The paragraph below suggested that reader's check out more pictures from the experiment here:
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/06/30/science/070108-MIND_2.html

What a coincidence!

P.S. After initially posting this story, I found that my niece Cara had emailed me a link to the full Times' story. Read it here: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/01/health/research/01mind.html?_r=1&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&ref=science&adxnnlx=1215014801-9b5D6WBSmP/0eSbGVGiGqw

A word from Dan

Hello everybody,
I would like to thank everyone who voted for my entry in Animation Magazine's 7th Annual Pitch Party Contest. Although I did not win the big prize Rocket did come in Second Place in the Online Voting section of the contest. Your vote made a big difference!
Thank you all so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to vote for me. It is very much appreciated!!!
Rocket and I will be working hard to get out there to a screen near you in the future!
If you would like to see who did win the contest the link is:
http://www.animationmagazine.net/article/8541
Dan

Vote for Dan...and Rocket!

While growing up, my older brothers teased and harassed me mercilessly, so I felt it only right that I pass these torture methods on to my nephew Danny, who is only seven years my junior. It wasn't all taunting and wrestling matches though, we also spent a lot of quality time together coloring or drawing pictures at my mother's kitchen table. Being older, my motor skills were more advanced and I took perverse pleasure in comparing my more detailed drawings against Danny's rudimentary ones (this infuriated him!).

As Danny got older, his sketches got better and better and I eventually stopped showing him my artwork all together. By the time he reached Junior High, his creations were incredible and we all knew he'd be an artist someday.

Dan and his wife Jasmine are now successful graphic artists in New York
City. He enjoys his job, but his first love has always been animation. He is now looking to create cartoons for television and for the past two years has submitted ideas to the Animation Magazine Pitch Party contest. Submissions are reviewed by a panel of judges and voted on by you the online community. The winner gets a meeting with the head of a major studio (i.e. Dreamworks, Nickelodeon etc.) to pitch his/her idea for possible future development.

This is Dan's submission this year:



Please go to:

www.animationmagazine.net/pitch_party_08_vote.html and Vote for Dan...and Rocket! Voting deadline is TUESDAY, JUNE 24th.

This was last year's submission..."Ghengis Conroy":

The staff of Animation Magazine voted "Ghengis Conroy" best submission of '07. Unfortunately, it didn't win the online voting poll (somebody must have had a lot of relatives out there). Hopefully this year, with your help, Dan can garner enough votes and win the contest.

I like to think that Dan's drive and creativity is the result of some deep seated sibling rivalry (yeah, I know he's technically not my sibling...but close enough). Maybe, in some small way, I'm responsible for his talent. If so...I couldn't be prouder.

"It was a dark and stormy night"

Last night we had a severe thunderstorm and we lost our power. Just as the lights went out, our younger daughter called home from a friend's house.

"Dad...Can you come and pick me up at Taylor's house?"


"Right now?" I asked.


Just then a big bolt of lightning flashed nearby and I heard static on the phone line.


"Well...yeah." She answered.

"Alright," I said, "but I'm going to wait for the storm to die down a bit."

My wife had been going from room to room lighting candles when she overheard my phone conversation.

"You're not going to go and get her now...are you?"


(Baa-BOOM! A loud clap of thunder shook the house.)



"I'm a man's man" I explained, " A manly man who's not afraid of danger. In fact, if you look up 'Manly Man' in the dictionary, you'll see my picture:




Manly Man-n-: A brave man that laughs in the face of danger. See photo at right.





"Yeah,"My wife said, " You're a manly man...at least till a little mouse goes running by. Then who do you come calling for?... ME!"

"Hey," I said. "Even Superman has Kryptonite."

My older daughter walked into the room at this point and heard our conversation.

"Good one dad!" She said. "That comment should go on one of your blog posts."


"Good idea," I said.

I grabbed my keys and ran out of the house and into the dark and stormy night. My wife nervously watched out the front window, then turned to my daughter and said:

"That manly man just pulled out of the driveway without his headlights on."

Palindrome

In my college years, I worked part time at Sears in Orange, CT in the paint department. One day, while filling in at the candy counter, Sally and Emma, two highly educated coworkers, called me a "palindrome". I didn't know what a palindrome was but figured I'd been insulted. I sought out several of my fellow employees and asked what the word meant, but to further antagonize me, Sally and Emma had coached everyone and instructed them not to tell me.The only answer I got was "Bob, you're definitely a palindrome, but we can't say why." I was livid. When I got home I ran to the dictionary and looked it up:

pal·in·drome n.
1. A word, phrase, verse, or sentence that reads the same backward or forward. For example: A man, a plan, a canal, Panama! 2. Bob!

I was reminded of this story today, because my friend Jamie sent me this belated "Bob Day" video:

Reality TV Plott

This lovely young lady got on my train last night in Stamford. She was carrying a boquet of six helium balloons. I wished her a happy birthday, but she said it wasn't her birthday. The balloons were a gift from the students in her dance class. The kids were congratulating her on being one of the finalist on the Fox reality TV show "So you think you can DANCE."

I give to you, Lizz Plott:




I asked Lizz if she won the competition but she said she couldn't tell me since the series is still running and it's against FOX policy to divulge the results. I told her about the other reality TV stars I've met over the past few years.

" I once had Evan Marriott from Joe Millionaire on a busy morning rush hour train. He's real tall and was sprawled out across five seats. I had to tell him to take his cowboy boots off the seat." (a big railroad no-no).

She didn't seem impressed by this story.

"I once was on the escalator in Grand Central with Ereka Vetrini from season one of The Apprentice. We had a nice little chat...she was a real sweetheart."

She still looked unimpressed, but I continued:

"I have this blog...and I write a lot of stories about celebrities I've met on the train. I was thinking about doing a piece on reality TV stars and I was wondering if I could write about you and maybe take your picture."

She seemed less than enthused with my idea, so I whipped out my camera phone and showed her the Gwen Stefani picture (Yes, again). I then mentioned how Justin Long didn't want me to take his picture and I inferred that she didn't want to be like him...did she?

She finally agreed.

Lizz asked if I knew of a place near Grand Central where she could watch the show since it was coming on at 8PM and she wasn't going to be home in time. I recommended a deli on Lexington Avenue that has a quiet backroom with a big television. It was then I knew that she must not have won the competition.

I checked the "So You Think You Can DANCE" website today... She didn't advance. I guess appearing on "Derailed" is a good consolation prize.

What about Bob?

Folks, I must say... I'm a little hurt. As most of you know, Monday, May 26th, was "Bob Day"(a day to celebrate the ultimate OK guy), and yet, I didn't get a present, greeting card or phone call from any of you (Okay, my sister Sheila called, but she was three days late.)

I know what you're thinking... "He's really more of a 'Bobby' than a 'Bob'." but if truth be told... I go both ways (label-wise, that is).

I blame my identity crisis on two sources:

1. Emmett:

My parents, having already named their previous eight children, gave the awesome responsibiltiy of tagging child number nine (me), to Emmett, my oldest brother. For some reason, he took a liking to the name Robert and overruled all his younger sibling's more creative suggestions.

2. The nuns

At home and in my neighborhood, I was always called "Bobby," but in St. Lawrence Grammar School, nobody was allowed to use nicknames. There were no Billys, Kathys, Pattys or Bobbys; only Williams, Kathleens,Patricias and Roberts. This inhumane policy led my classmates to refer to me as "Robert"(a dreadful name) or the much more heinous "Rob." (No wonder I hated that school.) When I reached 9th grade, I went to public school. On the first day of class the teacher passed around a sign-in sheet, explaining that we were to write down the name we preferred to be called...even nicknames were fine.

"What freedom!" I thought.

I took out my #2 pencil and started to write "Bobby" but somewhere around the second "b" the graphite froze to the paper. I'm not sure what happened, but for some reason, I began to feel too mature to be called "Bobby" (such a youthful sounding name.) Sure, Bobby Kennedy pulled it off, but he was a great touch football player, and I was strictly second string. He also had the advantage of coming of age in the 1930's when children had all sorts of dopey names. When kids of my generation heard the name "Bobby," they immediately thought of the freckled, youngest boy in the Brady Clan.

Back to 9th grade; I finally lifted pencil from paper, leaving "Bob" in the designated box. Before I knew it, teachers, classmates, friends, girlfriends , were all calling me "Bob." It's amazing how the name steamrolled. Lately, I've been regretting that day. I'm not sure if it's middle age, but suddenly, I want to be "Bobby"again. I think Dr. Phil would say my regression to "Bobbyhood" is due to a Peter Pan Complex, and that I don't want to grow up. But then again, what does Dr. Phil know?

I was inspired to write this post today by a bird. I am somewhat of an amateur bird watcher, and this morning, for the first time, I spotted a "Bobwhite" by the side of the road. This got me to thinking...I wonder if nuns call these birds "Robertwhites?" and did they get any greeting cards on May 26th?

The New M-8's

The good folks over at "Stationstops.com" (see link at right) have produced a great video on the new, New Haven Line M-8 prototype. Check it out here:

Innovations on the 6:12

I have to give the passengers on the 6:12 PM train to Bridgeport a lot of credit; they're an innovative lot. Take these two fellows for example:

With the high price of gasoline, our trains are more crowded than ever. Commuters are lucky to find seats on our off-peak trains, never mind during the rush hour. This is why this gentleman's idea is brilliant:

My friend here knows that if he arrives late, he'll never get a seat, so...he brings his own. He told me that toting this chair through the city is a drag, but it's better than standing up or squishing between two smelly commuters. When his ride is over, he simply folds the chair back up and slides it back into the canvas bag. He throws the bag over his shoulder and away he goes.

I like this idea. I'm thinking of carrying a bunch of these chairs around with me and possibly renting them out. I could start a squad of train cabana boys. Maybe we could even branch out and sell drinks with little umbrellas in them.

My next passenger's innovation is more high tech:



No, this is not LeVar Burton on Star Trek, it's just one of my passengers wearing a pair of EZVision eyewear glasses, and though they're not "virtual reality"...they're pretty darn close. My friend here showed me how they work. The glasses and earphones are plugged into an iPod that is placed in his lap. A strap pulls the glasses tight to the head so all outside light is blocked out. This gives the viewer the sensation of sitting in a movie theater, stereo sound and all. Hey, maybe me and the cabana boys can sell $10 buckets of popcorn.

What will they think of next?

*I'd like to thank these gentlemen for allowing me to use their images for this post.

A day at Yankee Stadium with my family...Priceless

Today my wife and I took our daughters to the Bronx for their first New York Yankees' game. Recently, I'd been given two free tickets from a friend and all I had to do was shell out $95 (plus shipping and commission) for two additional tickets from StubHub (believe it or not, my wife was able to buy two tickets for seats next to our original two). This, coupled with the fact that my family gets free train rides on Metro North, made me feel like I was getting a real bargain. The weather was picture perfect...this was adding up to be a great day.

Then, I got to the stadium...

Outside the ballpark, I noticed a street vendor selling hot dogs. I suggested that we buy our franks here instead of paying exorbitant prices inside the stadium. My wife gently reminded me that this was our daughters' first time at Yankee Stadium and buying hot dogs from a stadium vendor was part of the whole experience.

Four hot dogs bought from stadium vendor= $20 + tip

Sometime around the third inning, the people sitting in front of us came back to their seats with a big cup of french fries. "Dad," my younger daughter said, "will you take me to get french fries?"

Large fries (add cheese) = $8.50

Three sodas in souvenir cups = $18

One pretzel = $5

As is baseball tradition, we sang "Take Me Out to The Ball Game" during the 7th inning stretch. This made me hungry:

Bag of Cracker Jacks = $6 (It was really $5.75, but being a big spender, I let him keep the change.)

I started to mentally add up what I'd spent and it was beginning to affect my enjoyment of the game. Then, someone walked by with "Dippin' Dots" in a little souvenir Yankee helmet. "Bob," my wife said. "should we get the girls ice cream?"

Two cups of "Dippin' Dots" in little souvenir Yankee helmets = $13

Like most teenage girls, my daughters are crazy about Derek Jeter. After the game, as we were leaving the stadium...

"Dad, can we get Derek Jeter T-shirts?"

Yeah, I know I could have just said "No" but I've been putting in a lot of hours at work lately and I'm suffering from overtime guilt. Besides, the Yankees just won...

Two Derek Jeter T-shirts=$45

Oh yeah....then there was the newspaper, magazines, Dunkin' Donuts run and beverages for the train ride. You can add it all up if you like, I just don't have the courage.

The next time someone offers me "free" Yankee tickets, I just might have to decline... I don't think I can afford it!

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

One of the perks of being a conductor is...

Last night I had a group of 24 Fairfield University co-eds on my train; one more beautiful than the next. They were posing for photos and I asked if I could take a picture for my blog. They were thrilled.

Now, if only my wife was:

Me: (Trying to be casual.) Hey hon...Look at this picture I took last night.

Wife: Hmmm.

Me: (A little nervous now) Yeah, they were just these crazy college girls going down to a club in the city. It was one of the girl's 21st birthday. I thought I'd put it on the blog... you know just to demonstrate how the trains are full of beautiful women.

Wife: And you expect me to buy that?

Me: Well...Yeah!

Wife: Perv!

Me: No, really... Pretty women are a big part of the conductor experience.

Wife: You realize that you're old enough to be these girls' father?

Me: ...You really know how to hurt a guy.

The star to the conductors?

It must be "Topsy Turvy Day." My union secretary just sent me a link to a blog where a celebrity writes about his experience with Metro North conductors.

http://www.newsgroper.com/christopher-walken/2008/04/24/if-you-are-one-final-two-internets-please-make-your-way-forward

AN INTERESTING HISTORY LESSON

Jamie, a friend and coworker, always sends me the most interesting emails. Here's an
abbreviated version of the latest one:

The US standard railroad gauge (distance between the rails) is 4 feet,8.5 inches. That's an exceedingly odd number.

Why was that gauge used?

Because that's the way they built them in England, and English expatriates built the US railroads.

Why did the English build them like that?

Because the first rail lines were built by the same people who built the pre-railroad tramways,

and that's the gauge they used.

Why did 'they' use that gauge then?

Because the people who built the tramways used the same jigs and tools that they used for
building wagons, which used that wheel spacing.

Why did the wagons have that particular odd wheel spacing?

Well, if they tried to use any other spacing, the wagon wheels would break on some of the old,
long distance roads in England, because that's the spacing of the wheel ruts.

So who built those old rutted roads?

Imperial Rome built the first long distance roads in Europe (and England ) for their legions. The
roads have been used ever since.

And the ruts in the roads?

Roman war chariots formed the initial ruts,which everyone else had to match for fear of
destroying their wagon wheels. Since the chariots were made for Imperial Rome , they were all
alike in the matter of wheel spacing. Therefore the United States standard railroad gaugeof 4
feet, 8.5 inches is derived from the original specifications for an Imperial Roman war chariot.
Bureaucracies live forever.

So the next time you are handed a Specification/Procedure/Process and wonder 'What horse's
ass came up with it?' you may be exactly right. Imperial Roman army chariots were made just
wide enough to accommodate the rear ends of two war horses. (Two horses' asses.)

Physics 101

This afternoon an elderly, white haired passenger stopped me and asked a question.

"Conductor, what do you call the guy who drives the train? Is he a motorman?"

"No," I said. "On the subway they're called motorman. Here they're called engineers."

"Okay then, my colleague and I have a question about the engineer."

I thought I was going to hear a complaint about where the engineer had spotted the train on the platform, and I was mentally preparing an answer.

"I know it's kind of an oddball question," he said, "but we're wondering...Is it harder for the engineer to accelerate when the train is packed full of passengers?"

"Hmm," I said. "That's an interesting question. I'd have to say no."

I tried to look learned and knowledgeable as I expounded on my theory. "You see, these trains are extremely heavy," (I had no idea what I was talking about, but I wasn't going to let that stop me) "and the added passenger weight is negligible to the train's performance."

My passengers looked pretty impressed with my explanation and they thanked me for my time and expertise.

I knew I'd shoveled the BS pretty deep, and feeling guilty, I walked up to the head car and knocked on the engineer's cab door. "Hey Mark," I said, "a passenger just asked if it's harder for you to accelerate when the train is full versus when it's empty."

"A crowded train is much more sluggish," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "That's what I thought."

I then swallowed my pride, walked back to my inquisitive passengers, and told them what the engineer had said.

"Yeah," they said. "That's what we thought. It's basic physics."

From Savin Rock Park to Lighthouse

Don't ask me why, but this morning, while taking a shower, I started singing "From Savin Rock Park to Lighthouse." If you're not from Connecticut, or you're under the age of 85, I don't expect you to know this song. It's about the trolley ride from West Haven's Savin Rock Amusement Park (razed in the mid-1960's) and Lighthouse Point Park in New Haven. The song's origins are unknown, but I believe it was written in the early 1900's. It was taught to me by "Dick," my mother's gentleman friend, when I was but a youngster. He'd sit me on his knee (after one too many cocktails) and say "repeat after me":

(*Sung in an oompah-calliope style. Kind of like singing along to a merry-go-round.)


From Savin Rock Park

To Lighthouse

All for a dime

From Park Avenue

To Morris Cove too

Oh boy what a time

When we were kissin'

The motor was hissin'

Oh boy what a time

If you want a good trip

That's really a pip

Take the George Street Line

Down to Dinty Moore's

We go there because

There's corned beef and cabbage

And old Irish Stew

We sing the old songs

As well as the new

That's where I met

Sweet Rosie O'Grady

Down at Dinty Moore's

A few years back, someone wrote The New Haven Register and asked if anyone remembered the lyrics to this song. Me and a few 90-years olds were the only ones who did. Surprisingly, it seems there are a few variations to the lyrics. The trolley line (in my song, George Street) depended on what route the singer lived on. Also, not everyone remembered the protagonist's girlfriend as "Sweet Rosie O'Grady" or meeting her at Dinty Moore's (a restaurant, I presume.) This may have been a cultural lyric, possibly directed at New Haven's Irish community.

I'm not sure why Dick thought it important that I learn this song and I like to think that it was more than just the booze talking. Maybe he was psychic and knew that someday I'd have a blog and transcribe the lyrics for posterity sake.

If you remember this song or its history, I invite you to leave a comment in the section below.