In the market place

Lately Grand Central has become a marketing Mecca...not that I'm complaining. Just before Christmas, elves were passing out free samples of "Bag O' Coal Popcorn" (chocolate covered popcorn). I got two bags.

Yesterday I picked up a free t-shirt from a women dressed as a big red ball. She was promoting a new ABC television show called "Wipeout" (Super Bowl Edition).

Today I was walking through Grand Central when eight blonde-wigged models slowly marched in formation through the terminal's main concourse. They circled the floor and then each of them struck a pose:

Okay...I get that they're pushing small laptop computers... but which brand? It's still a mystery to me. There were no signs, no t-shirts, no pamphlets, nothing to signify the brand. What a big waste of money! But I guess it's better than paying 3 million dollars for 30 seconds of Super Bowl commercial time.

Say it loud...I'm 47 and I'm proud.

Here is a transcript of the conversation my daughter and I had as I drove she and her sister to school yesterday. It was my birthday.

Daughter: So...Dad...How does it feel to be 47?

Me: Huh?


Daughter: I said...How does it feel to be 47?


Me: Eh???


Daughter: I SAID...HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE 47?


Me: Oh! Well...aside from the whole hearing thing...it's pretty much the same as being 46.

Look to the Cheesecake!

A

Can we celebrate this historic presidential inauguration with our favorite fatty baked good? YES WE CAN!!! (for 29.95). I was buying a coffee at Junior's in Grand Central today when I spotted these cheesecakes.

You would think that Junior's would also make an "Obama" Black and White cookie:

A black man on a white cheesecake...look to the cheesecake!

The Curious Case of John Ruggiero

Good Evening, I'm your host Rod Serling.

Submitted for your approval:

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. Case in point: A Mr. John Ruggiero, a middle aged railroad conductor from Connecticut, takes his wife on a Sunday afternoon date to the movies. They have purchased two tickets to see the latest Brad Pitt blockbuster, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"...little do they know...they have two aisle seats in... "The Twilight Zone."

First some background:

"The Curious Case of Bejamin Button" is based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, in which a man ( Benjamin) ages in reverse. He is born old, but for some reason his internal clock runs backward, so the more he ages... the younger he gets.

At times, the movie detours from the main narrative and tells a parallel story of a blind clockmaker, who has lost his son in World War I. The clockmaker's great masterpiece is the newly unveiled clock tower at The New Orlean's Train Station. The clock in the tower runs backward and serves as a memorial to the war dead, whose lives have ended much too soon.


Okay, this is when the story gets weird:

Conductor John really enjoyed the movie and when the lights came up in the theater, he checked his watch to see how long the movie had been. This is what he saw (this video is of John's actual watch):





If you missed it, the second hand is running counter clockwise.

John was understandably freaked out at what he saw. He's had this watch for 10 years and it has never given him a lick of trouble. He plans on bringing it to a watch repair shop for answers.

Serling:

"Einstein said that time is relative and it could never be totally understood. The same can be said for John Ruggiero and the time he spent in ...The Twilight Zone."

Plugged In

What the modern conductor's countertop looks like.

L to R: Cellphone, radio, Ticket Issuing Machine, Printer,Keurig coffee maker.

The 1/2 week in review

Monday, December 29:

It's a frigid morning as I back the 6:47 AM train out of the yard and onto the platform on track #8 in New Haven Station. The platform is usually packed with commuters, but this morning everyone is standing over on track # 14 platform...that's three tracks away. I toot the horn and glance over at the trembling, huddled masses, yearning to commute. They stare back at me, throw their hands up, mouth four letter words and begin racing for the stairwell. A minute later they file onto my train, most give me dirty looks, others grumble, a few ask:"What happened to the 6:40 train?" I try to look concerned, pull a schedule out of my jacket pocket and read:

1527
------
AM
6:40
------
WILL
NOT
OPERATE AND
12/30
12/29


I get on the PA and announce: "Folks, this is the 6:47 local train to Grand Central...those of you looking for the 6:40 express... search no more. According to the schedule...the 6:40 will not run today or tomorrow."

"UGGHHH!!!" The huddled masses let out a collective groan.

After leaving New Haven, Kathy, my assistant conductor, walks back to me and says:

"Bob, I need you to talk to a passenger in the head car. He insists that we're really the 6:40 train, and that we're lying about being the 6:47. He says we're running late and we're just trying to cover our tracks...I need you to talk to him."

I hand Kathy a schedule and say: "Give this to him and tell him to read the small print....the devil's in the details."

Tuesday, December 30:

Train 1531:

We pull into Riverside Station and "The Greenwich Country Club Member", stumbles onto the train. He's wearing a stained pair of sweat pants, Top Siders (no laces) and no socks. He's grossly overweight, disheveled and looks not unlike the homeless people who wander through the halls of Grand Central.

The New Haven Line has a regular cast of ne'er do well passengers, and one of them is this guy. I call him "The Greenwich Country Club Member," (hereafter called the TGCCM.) He is a tall, heavy, white haired man in his 60's. He regularly rides the Stamford local trains where he drunkenly pesters and verbally assaults other passengers. He rarely has the fare, and when a conductor challenges him, he'll say: "My good man...I'll have you know that I'm a proud member of The Greenwich Country Club." I guess he thinks we'll be impressed and let him ride for free. We don't.

About two years ago, the TGCCM took the cure (got sober) or possibly started taking anti-psychotic medication. Suddenly he was a model citizen. He began appearing on my trains in tweed jackets with ascots. He was polite, unassuming and quiet as a church mouse. He'd meekly board the train, sit in a corner and read the newspaper for the duration of the trip. It was a refreshing change.

But that was then, this is now. I don't know what happened, maybe he invested with Madoff, at any rate TGCCM has fallen off the wagon. After boarding the train today, he immediately starts fighting with Kathy, the assistant conductor. He has a canceled Senior Citizen ticket and he insists that it has never been punched. Kathy wants me to throw him off, but I don't want to delay a rush hour train and offer to bill him instead. He reluctantly fills out the form, then dismisses me with a wave of a bloated hand.

Everyone files off the train in Grand Central, and I notice TGCCM milling through the cars and picking up newspapers. I momentarily think of asking him to get off the train. A relief crew will soon be here to yard the train and I want to close the doors. But then I figure that this will start a fight and I decide to let him be....big mistake.... (to be continued.)

Wednesday, December 30:

Train 1531

When my train reaches Grand Central, a group of passengers run up to me. "Conductor," one says, "A guy in the rear car just fainted. He stood up, then dropped like a ton of bricks." I run to the last car and find a seated 47 year- old man whose skin is pale white and he's staring out into space. His pupils are dilated and he's sweating profusely. "Sir," I pull on his arm, "Are you alright?" No response. I begin to panic and run to the radio to call for medical assistance. The only problem is....I suddenly can't remember my train number or who I'm supposed to be calling:

Me: Train 1529 to District U...uh, I mean train 1571 to District L...I'm here on track 109 and I have a medical emergency."

District L dispatcher: Track 109? You must be train 1531.

Me: Uh, yeah. Train 1531 has a medical emergency. I have a guy here and I think he's having a seizure or something.

District L: We'll send somebody right over.

I run back and find that the stricken man has gotten off the train and is staggering down the platform. I chase after him..."Sir...Sir...are you alright?"

"I think so," he says.

"I have medical personnel on the way. Why don't you take a seat?"

The man takes my advice and sits back down on the train. The paramedics arrive a few minutes later. The paramedics ask if he has eaten breakfast and he says that he only ate a banana. He says he was feeling weak and when he stood up he must have fallen back down and hit his back on his chair's armrest. He says it knocked the wind out of him.

I give the paramedics all the train's pertinent information and I'm released. While walking down the platform I run into Paul, a fellow conductor who yards my equipment. Paul seems annoyed with me. He is from Queens and he peppers his language with colorful expletives.

Paul: Did you leave that fat gray haired F--K on the train yesterday?

Me: You mean "The Greenwich Country Club Member?"

Paul: You know what that F--K did? Huh?

Me: No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me.

Paul: That fat F--K put newspapers on one of the seats and took a big sh-t.

Me: Oooohhh!!!

Paul: That's right. The fat F--k took newspapers, put them on the seat, took a dump, and left a big pile of steaming sh-t right there...he stunk up the whole car. I gagged...I actually gagged.

Me: I guess those Greenwich people are wrong. Their sh-t does stink.

Paul: That disgusting fat F--k-piece-a-sh-t. I shoulda had him arrested.

Me: Well....sorry about that..... Um...Happy New Year?

Paul: The disgutin' fat F--k-piece-a-sh-t.

Train 1538

Susan, one of our regular passengers, meets the train in Stratford and hands David (my assistant) two small wrapped packages. One is marked "David" the other is marked "Bob." I open the package and find a beautiful hand painted egg ornament. This is the first time I've been given a Christmas gift by a passenger and I'm genuinely touched. I'm reminded that there are still nice people in the world and I forget all about the TGCCM.

Happy New Year!

The Archer

Today marks the 12th anniversary of my mother's death. Not a day goes by when I don't think of her and miss her...especially during the holidays. I dedicate today's post to her memory. Merry Christmas!

Like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story," I begged my mother for a BB gun at Christmastime. But like Ralphie's mom...and every other mom for that matter, she'd always counter my pleas with the standard answer from the mother's handbook... "No, you'll shoot your eye out." I considered my mother's opinion to be knee jerk and reactionary and her argument weak. "No," I'd say, "I 'm not like other boys...I'm going to be extra careful."

"No," she'd say again, "you'll shoot your eye out."

Frankly, my mother's firmness surprised me, she was usually such a pushover. I mean, just that summer I'd called her up at work and asked if I could buy two rabbits from Mr. Chickla, a rabbit breeder who lived down the street.


"No," she said, "They'll mate and multiply and before you know it, we'll be up to our eyes in bunnies."


"But Ma," I said innocently, " I'll make sure I get brother and sister rabbits."

I could tell from the guffaws of laughter on the other end of the line that Rabbits must be incestuous critters. Who knew? My mother got such a chuckle from my naivete, that she let me get the rabbits and then told this story for the rest of her life .

Back to the BB gun...When I turned thirteen. I went on a scorched earth campaign to get that "holy grail of Kiddom," and when Christmas rolled around, I thought I'd finally received it. There, under our tree, was a slim, wrapped cardboard box...just the right size for a BB gun. Finally, I thought, my mother had come to her senses. I could take the suspense no longer, and ripped open the package and found...a bow and arrow set???

In the box was a green fiberglass bow, with three steel tipped arrows. It wasn't a professional grade set, but it wasn't exactly kid's stuff either. I didn't understand my mother's logic.."Oh yeah" I said sarcastically as I inspected the arrow's steel tips, "This is much safer than a BB gun." This sarcasm proved prophetic...here's what became of the three arrows:

Arrow 1: Went though the 2nd floor window of a house one block over-


I began my archery career by shooting arrows into our wooden garage door. After putting a few dozen holes in door and breaking a square window or two, I began shooting for distance. When I reached 50 ft or so , I drew back the bow string as far as it would go. The bow bent from the strain and my hands began to shake. I released the string and watched as the arrow flew high in the air...it flew over the garage, over our backyard fence, over the treetops and then SMASH!!! It shattered the glass on a second story window of the house behind us. When I saw what I had done, I high tailed it back inside the house and ran straight into my brother Brian (8 years older than me). "You could have killed somebody," he said. "you better go over there and apologize and offer to pay for the window." But I was way too chicken to own up to my mistake and I never did retrieve the arrow.


Arrow 2: Narrowly missed impaling an old woman-

I don't know what my friends and I were thinking, but one day we took the bow and the two remaining arrows over to my friend David's backyard. For some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to shoot arrows straight up into the air, and then run for cover before anyone us got skewered in the head by a falling arrow. David,the youngest of our group, didn't want to be shown up by the older boys, so he really pulled back hard on the bow string, and his arrow took off like an Apollo rocket.

When we came out of hiding, we couldn't find the arrow, but after searching for five minutes or so, we spotted it sticking straight out of the tilled dirt of Mrs. Rinaldi's garden... and only about a foot away from the bent-over Mrs. Rinaldi. The old woman had been so intent on tending to her tomato plants, she didn't notice or hear the descending missile whizz by her ear. OOPS!!!

Arrow 3: Flooded my mother's basement-


After what we later called the "Rinaldi incident", I thought it best to retire my bow and the last remaining arrow. Then one winter day, I grew bored and found the hidden bow and arrow atop a rafter in our basement. I took a piece of abandoned wood paneling and drew a target on it, then propped it up against one of our radon-laden cellar walls. The very first arrow I shot went wide right and missed the target completely. Instead it pierced a copper pipe that lead out of our water meter... PSSSTTTT! It was a geyser. The water shot out of the pipe and spat across the length of the basement. Like the fabled dutch boy who put his finger in the dike, I grabbed a piece of duct tape and wrapped it around the pipe. The water pressure proved too great and the water sprang forward which in turn made the tape shoot across the basement. There was about an inch of water on the floor before I finally found the water main and shut the valve off. I vaguely remember hearing complaints about how expensive the plumbing bill was.

My mother was ticked off by the holes in her garage door and the flooded basement. I told her that a BB gun would have been a much safer gift. Cheaper too!

Thanksgiving

Lest I forget to be thankful that I have a good job...or any job for that matter (especially in this economy) here are a few reminders:



I took these photos a few weeks back, when Metro North was holding a "Career Fair" in Grand Central. The line of prospective employees ended here in Vanderbilt Hall:

But it was a long...

long....

long...
...line.

These resume bearing applicants were literally wrapped around the block and the building. The head of the line was in Vanderbilt Hall (42nd Stand Park Ave.), but its tail ended somewhere around 45th Street and Vanderbilt Ave.

I was once told, that at any given time, Metro North has 2500 applicants for each of their open conductor positions. After seeing this crowd...I believe it.

The next time I hear one of my ungrateful coworkers say "This job sucks," I'll show them these pictures and say... be thankful...be thankful.

Cute joke

I usually ignore jokes sent to my email box, but I must admit...this one is cute:)


Two Red Indians and an Irishman were walking through the woods.
All of a sudden one of the Red Indians ran up a hill to the mouth of a small cave. 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!' he called into the cave and listened closely until he heard an answering, 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Woooooo!
He then tore off his clothes and ran into the cave.

The Irishman was puzzled and asked the remaining Indian what it was all about. 'Was the other Indian crazy or what?’ The Indian replied 'No, It is our custom during mating season when Indian men see cave, they holler 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!' into the opening. If they get an answer back, it means there's a beautiful squaw in there waiting for us.

Just then they came upon another cave.
The second Indian ran up to the cave, stopped, and hollered, 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!' Immediately, there was the answer. 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!' from deep inside.

He also tore off his clothes and ran into the opening. The Irishman wandered around in the woods alone for a while, and then spied a third large cave. As he looked in amazement at the size of the huge opening, he was thinking, 'Hoo, man! Look at the size of this cave! It is bigger than those the Indians found.

There must be some really big, fine women in this cave!' He stood in front of the opening and hollered with all his might 'Wooooo! Wooooo! Wooooo!' Like the others, he then heard an answering call, 'WOOOOOOOOO, WOOOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOO!' With a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face, he raced into the cave,tearing off his clothes as he ran.

The following day, the headline of the local newspaper read...............

You'll like this




NAKED IRISHMAN RUN OVER BY TRAIN!!!

Love Train

If I had a dime for every time I've seen this happen on my late night trains...I'd be a rich man.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1084723/Couple-arrested-having-sex-crowded-train.html

A gift from Hunter, age 8

Click to enlarge

It's against Metro North policy to accept gratuities or gifts from our passengers, but yesterday, while working a Stamford local train, a young artist named Hunter, age 8, presented me with this drawing. Of course I bent the rules a bit and accepted his wonderful gift.

Hunter is a 3rd grader and a big railroading fan. He said he recently visited The Danbury Railroad Museum, and a month ago went to Metro North's Open House at the diesel shops in Croton-Harmon, NY. There he inspectied all of our rolling stock and told me all about the inner workings of the Genesis engine (pictured above). He then went into great detail, explaining the engineer's stand, the train throttle and independent braking system.

Maybe he'll be my engineer someday.

A note to Hunter and other rail aficionados, tomorrow night (Tuesday November 11th, 10PM) The History Channel starts an eight-part series called "Extreme Trains." It's described as *"a series that tracks amazing locomotives that have helped shape America and continue to deliver today."

*Frazier Moore, AP Television Writer

Letters...I get letters...I get lots and lots of letters

I'm amazed by how many strangers read this blog and then email me. I'm honestly thrilled and touched that readers take the time to write comments and questions. Here's a sampling of one recent correspondence I received:


Bobby,

I love your blog, it's awesome to get the perspective of an insider on the MetroNorth trains. Next time I see someone puke on one of the late night weekend trains, I'll email you a picture.

You should start a feature on your blog called "ask the conductor". Here's the first questions to start you off:

When did the conductor announcing the stops start using the words 'platform' and 'express' as verbs. For example, instead of saying, "the train will run express to Stamford. The rear car will not reach the platform, please walk forward," the conductor will say, "the train will express to Stamford, the rear car will not platform, please walk forward."

In my book, the words express can be used as a noun or adjective, and the word platform can only be used as a noun. I guess using fewer words and insider lingo shortens the announcements and lets you get your job done faster, but as a nitpicky anal retentive rider, it drives me nuts.
thanks and a keep the war stories coming!
-Peter D.

Peter,

I think you answered your own question in the last paragraph.
Yes, fewer words do shorten the announcements and let us get our jobs done faster. Though, it's true that some conductors like the sound of their own voice (I've been accused of this) and their announcements go on like Shakespeare soliloquies, most like to keep their speeches short and sweet and to the point. Hence the "rail speak."

I recently heard this announcement: "This is Grand Central Station. Our last and final stop." This really got under my skin, because it's both redundant (last and final) and incorrect. Grand Central is a "Terminal" not a station, a qualified conductor should know that.

I'm hesitant to start an "Ask the conductor" feature, mostly for fear that rail buffs will start asking technical questions. I'd rather they visit sites like railfan.net or railroad.net

P.S. Keep the late night train puke pictures. I've seen enough to last a life time.

Continental Drift

Train 6550:

Yesterday afternoon, I collected a ticket from an old woman who was on an outbound New Haven train. She had grey hair and was dressed all in black. She reminded me of my friend's old Italian grandmother.

"Conductor," she yelled as she flagged me down, "Why is New Haven so far today?"

"New Haven is no further than it usually is," I said, "and we're on schedule."

"Oh, but the rides so long."

"Maybe it's because this train makes all the stops between Stamford and New Haven. You must normally take an express train, and skip a lot of the stations that we're making today."

"No," she shook her head. "New Haven is definitely farther today."

"Do you normally ride the train with family or friends?" I countered. "Good conversation can make the ride go by faster, you know."

"No" she said." "I always ride alone."

"Hmm" I tried to look pensive. "As far as I know, New Haven is still 72 miles away from Grand Central. Nothing has changed"

"Then why is the ride so much longer today?"

I briefly thought of saying something sarcastic like:

This morning a giant fissure opened up in the Harlem River, and due to plate tectonics and continental drift, New Haven has moved 20 miles to the east. This makes the commute 25 minutes longer. We just haven't had time to change the schedule yet.

But she seemed like a sweet old woman, I didn't want to be mean.
I finally gave up and said,"I don't know."

Why didn't I think of this answer in the first place?

Station Stops for iPhone

Chris, the administrator over at "Station Stops" has recently released "Station Stops for iPhone"on the iTunes App Store.

Chris writes:

'Stationstops for iPhone’ allows you to tap on your Metro-North station and immediately find the next regularly scheduled trains departing to or from Grand Central Terminal on the Hudson, New Haven, or Harlem Lines.

As the entire timetable is on the iPhone in a database, internet access is not required – which was an important requirement since I so often need the information while on a subway.

Find the full story here:

http://www.stationstops.com/2008/10/23/stationstops-for-iphone-now-available-on-itunes-metro-north-grand-central-schedule-iphone-app/

Aussie Radio Star

Jerry Lewis might be popular in Paris, and David Hasselhoff big in Germany, but I'm huge Down Under (get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about Australia.)

A year ago, I got an email from an Australian psychologist named Gina Perry. She was enrolled as a "mature student" at the University of Melbourne and doing her Master's thesis on Dr. Stanley Milgram's "Obedience to Authority"experiment. She also was in the process of producing a radio documentary for ABC (The Australian Broadcasting Company) about the experiment and the lasting ramifications on those who took part-volunteers, experimenters and their loved ones.

While doing research, Ms. Perry stumbled upon this blog and a post I had written in March of 2006 about my father's involvement with the Milgram experiment. "I thought your piece about you discovering your father had been involved was wonderful and very well written," she wrote. She then asked if I'd be willing to partake in an interview for her documentary. I reluctantly agreed, saying that I was only two years old when my father died and I didn't think I'd be much help. She responded, saying anything I could contribute would be a valued addition to her program

The experiment was performed in 1961 and finding volunteers wasn't an easy task. Most participants, like my father, had gone on to their "great reward". I think Ms. Perry was desperate, so I agreed to help her
.
Ms. Perry flew to the U.S. to do research and conduct interviews in California, Florida, Ohio and Connecticut. After exchanging several emails, we met at the Yale Club in New Haven on an unseasonably cold March evening.

The Yale Club is a basically a no frills bed and breakfast in the middle of New Haven, but it's just down the street from where Milgram conducted his experiments, so it was perfect for our meeting. We stole away to a dusty lounge where she placed a small digital recorder on an end table next to me and then proceeded to pepper me with questions.

This past Saturday, the documentary was broadcast on ABC in Australia:

http://www.abc.net.au/rn/radioeye/stories/2008/2358103.htm

I encourage you to click on the link above and listen to the documentary in it's entirety. If you just want to here my contribution, slide the play bar over to the 8-10 minute mark (depending on your media player). In fact, I command you to listen. BZZZZZZ!!!!!!

A seedy week in review 9/21-9/28

09/21-Conductor's Lounge, Grand Central:

A group of us were sitting around a table in the conductor's lounge, drinking coffee and decompressing by telling war stories from the previous week. Somehow the conversation turned to women (as it always does) and how many sexy ladies have been riding the trains lately. That's when one of the conductors said that he'd recently been caught staring at a woman's cleavage.
-
"How long were you staring?"
-
"Too long."
-
"How long is too long?"
-
"My wife says that I can stare for three seconds... five seconds if I don't have my glasses on. Any longer than that ...I'm a pervert."
-
Another conductor said he recently was standing over a buxom woman while she rummaged though her purse, looking for her ticket. He said she had a low cut blouse on and he couldn't help but stare down at her cleavage. The woman looked up, caught him leering, and said..."Honey, you're not gonna find the ticket down there."
-
09/27/08, Train 6500
-
A drunken middle aged businessman boarded the train with a "Leg Show" porno magazine under his arm. He staggered down the aisle, stopping occasionally to show the centerfold to anyone who would look in his direction. Finally, he spied a cute college girl and he sat down next to her. He began flirting with her and started flipping through his magazine, showing her the pictures. I could see she was disgusted, and after several minutes, she screamed:
-
"I'm a lesbian...Leave me alone."
-
"That's okay," he said, "I'm a lesbian too."
-
He then went into graphic detail, saying what he and lesbians have in common. That's when I stepped in, saying that the lady obviously didn't want to be bothered and that he should move his seat. He reluctantly agreed and walked back to the rear of the car, where he found a whole new group of people to pester.
-
09/28 Train 6537
-

A Stepford wife was sitting in a four seater with an aluminum foil covered sheet cake lying on the seat across from her. The train was crowded, but there were still some seats available. I didn't say anything at first, but by Westport the train was packed and we had several passengers who were standing. I walked by the woman and saw that her cake was still on the seat; "Mam," I said,"please take the cake off the seat. We're very crowded," I then pointed to the five people who were standing in a nearby vestibule.

I moved on and continued to collect tickets, but when I returned (some five minutes later) I found seven people standing, and the woman's cake still on the seat.
-

"Mam, please remove your cake, others would like to sit here."
-
"No," she said as if annoyed, "I asked if anyone wanted to sit here and they said no."
-
"We still have five station stops to go," I said. I'm sure someone will want to sit here."
-
She still refused to move the cake.
-
"Listen," I said, "Either you take the cake off the seat, or I'll have you and the cake removed from the train."
-
It was starting to drizzle out, and I envisioned her standing on the platform, cake in hand, while the song MacArthur Park played in the background:
-
Someone left the cake out in the rain

I don't think that I can take it


'cause it


took so long to bake it


And I'll never have that recipe again


Oh,no!
-
She finally picked up the cake and placed it in her lap.
-
"This is unbelievable," she huffed.
-
"You're unbelievably rude," I countered.
-
At Stamford, a young lady boarded the train and sat where the cake had been. She seemed happy to find a seat and I was happy that she found one. There's nothing worse than fighting with a customer about opening up a seat and then nobody sits there.

A blood splattered week and 1/2 in review.

9/10-Train 1583

A slim, handsome businessman got on the train in Westport and began pacing up and down the aisle as if he were looking for something.

"This train is clean" he said. "Too clean. I can't find a newspaper."

I went to my cab and gave him my copy of the New York Post.

-

"Thank you," he said, flashing a toothy smile...a very familiar toothy smile.

After racking my brain for several minutes, I realized why... this guy looked a lot like Senator Robert F. Kennedy.

-

When I approached to collect his ticket and he accidentally handed me his business card. It read "Save the Children" across its top and the words Mark Shriver-Vice President were printed on the bottom. That's "Mark Kennedy Shriver" as in the son of Sargent Shriver and Eunice Kennedy. As in the brother of Maria Shriver and brother-in-law of Arnold Shwarzenegger. As in the nephew of President John F. Kennedy and Robert F. Kennedy.

"Shriver!" I said. "I thought you looked Kennedyesque."

He smiled that toothy Kennedy grin again.

I told him that my name is McDonough, and that I grew up the the youngest of nine children in an Irish-Catholic-Democratic household and growing up, the Kennedys were like royalty to us. I then told him that my great grandmother's name was Catherine Kennedy.

"Hmmm" He said."Did you inherit the crazy gene?"

"That would explain a lot." I said.

I told him how I see his cousin, Ted Kennedy Jr. on the train from time to time, and how I once met his brother Tim at a Joe Lieberman fundraiser, some 25 years ago.

"Was Timmy nice to you?" He asked.

"It was a quick handshake...that's all."

Mark picked up his cell phone and called his brother while I was standing there. He left him a voice mail message:

"Tim, I'm here with a Metro North conductor McDonough. He says that he met you at a Lieberman fundraiser 25 years ago. He says that you were a real S.O.B."

Click!

I wanted to ask if we could crank call Governor Schwarzenegger next, but then I thought better of it. You see, I was hoping to get an invitation to Hyannisport... maybe play a little touch football with the clan. I didn't want to ruin my chances.

I'd recently finished reading "Symptoms of Withdrawal" a memoir written by Mark's cousin, Christopher Lawford. In this book, Lawford airs a lot of the Kennedy family's dirty laundry. I asked Mark if he'd read the book. He said he hadn't. I don't know about you, but if someone wrote a memoir about my family, I'd be the first one in line at Barnes and Noble.

By the way...I never got an invitation to Hyannisport.

9/15-Train 1388

Tonight the moon is full, and I suspect we'll get a few crazy passengers on the train. I'm not surprised, when on my second train, my assistant conductor says that he has a passenger in the head car who is talking to Jesus.

-

"Talking to Jesus...as in praying?" I ask.

-

"No...he's talking as if he's sitting next to him."

"Did he give you two tickets?"

"No, but if JC shows, I'll be sure to get his ticket. Savior or not, no one rides for free on my train"

I suppose that Jesus riding mass transit is possible (like in the Joan Osbourne song). I've seen paintings of him playing soccer in the junior leagues, so why couldn't he ride a train.

-

09/18 Train 1500

-

"Mam, this is New Haven...our last stop...time to wake up." I tapped the back of the intoxicated woman's seat and she groggily looked at me.

"New Haven," I said again, "Rise and shine."

-

I waited another minute or two, but she didn't budge from her seat.

-

"Mam, this is the last stop...We'd really like to get home."

-

She wiped some drool from her chin, and said "Yeah, yeah...I'll leave as soon as I find my car keys."

-

"You don't look like your in any condition to drive," I said. "You better call a cab."

"Oh, I'm not driving," she said, now clutching her keys. She then stood up and walked woozily to the vestibule area, and stood before a pair of closed doors.

-

"Excuse me," she said in a snotty tone. "Do you plan on opening these doors anytime soon?"

-

"Turn around," I said.

-

"Oh," she said. She then made an unsteady 180 degree turn and stepped out onto the platform and disappeared into the night.

-

09/19 Train 1388

-

There are some incidents that have occurred over the span of my railroad career that I'll never forget. This is one such incident.

(Note: I mention the race of the players in the following story for descriptive purposes only. No racial prejudice is implied or intended.)

Bill, my assistant, came running toward me.

"Bob, some guy in the rear car just punched another guy in the face."

-

I went running back to the rear car and found a short, muscular, white guy exchanging insults with a linebacker sized black guy.

I was assessing the situation while Bill filled me in on the details:

-

It seems that the white guy, who was very intoxicated, got on the train and started making rude remarks to two girls who were seated across from him. These girls were from Spain, and were vacationing in the New York area. They had never seen this guy before, and they were understandably upset and frightened. The girls had a male friend with them, a fellow Spaniard who was in his 20's. He politely asked the white guy to stop saying such horrible things to his friends. The white guy took exception to this, and allegedly punched the Spanish guy in the face. The Spanish man was meek and frightened and didn't retaliate.

A large black man, who was standing nearby, came to the defense of the Spanish trio, and it was about this time that I came upon the scene.

"You want to punch somebody?"Asked the black man. "Try punching me.

-

He (pointing to the Spanish guy) won't hit you back...but I will."

"What? You think I'm afraid of you? Said the white guy. "I'll kick your ass."

With that, the white guy ripped off his shirt, and displayed his muscular arms and torso. Nobody was impressed.

-

Like a boxing referee, I got between the two parties and told them to calm down. I next asked the Spanish man if he wanted to press charges. He said he did, so I called for police assistance.

"What? You think you're a tough guy? " Asked the black guy, now pointing as his fellow combatant.

"You're a big f-----g f----t!" Screamed the white guy.

-

I stood between these two guys for five minutes (a very long five minutes), waiting for Fordham Station, and the MTA police to arrive. Occasionally the name calling intensified, and it really looked like these two were going to go at it. To prevent this, I held the poles on either side of the vestibule, which virtually trapped the white guy between me and the doors. He started pacing like a caged animal.

-

I then told the black guy that the police were on the way, and I asked him to cool down. "You don't want to get yourself into trouble too, do you?" To his credit, he backed down and retreated to the rear of the car. The white guy, saw this as a sign of weakness and started tossing more insults, mostly questioning the black guy's manhood.

We pulled into Fordham Station, and the MTA police were waiting outside on the platform. I had to let them aboard, meaning that I had to put my arms down and key the door open. This, in effect, set the white guy free from the cage that I'd formed. He took advantage of his new found freedom and immediately ran back to the rear of the car, charging the black guy. The black guy made short work of him, swinging with three successive blows to his face. Blood squirt from his nose and mouth and splattered everywhere. He really folded like a cheap suit, and crumpled to the ground.

-

An MTA police officer, having just seen the black guy punch out the white guy, grabbed his arms and started to cuff him. By this time the white guy was back on his feet and started swinging again, seeing this, I jumped on the white guy's back and held him in a full nelson till Bill (my assistant), and another officer were able to cuff him.

-

When I pulled away from the white guy, my shirt and arms were splattered with his blood (slightly visible in photo).

Seeing the blood on my shirt and arms, an MTA police sergeant recommended that I go to the hospital for an "exposure test." Apparently, whenever a police officer or an EMT come into contact with another person's bodily fluids (involuntarily, that is), they get tested to see if they came in contact with the HIV virus.

-

I didn't really think I needed the test, but a second officer told me I really should go and have a doctor check me out. I reluctantly agreed and then spent the next 20 minutes being transported by ambulance to The North Central Bronx Hospital, where a doctor briefly looked me over. He asked if any of the blood got in my eyes, nose or mouth, or if I had any open wounds that that may have been exposed. I said "no" to all of the above. He then handed me some scrubs and told me to throw my shirt away. Next, he advised me to go home and take a long, hot shower."

-

I heard that later that night, when the car cleaners mopped up the bloody floor, they found a tooth. I doubt is was a wisdom tooth.

The more things change...The more they stay the same

Some things have changed over my 22 year on the railroad. For example, when I began I was always given the unpleasant assignment of working the smoking cars (the 3rd and 5th car from the west/south end of train, or any bar car.) It was difficult to see tickets through the clouds of smoke and I frequently came home red eyed and smelling like a wet ash tray. I jumped for joy when they banned smoking.

It's hard now to believe, but back in the 80's, Grand Central was a glorified marble urinal for the homeless, and it seemed that beggars outnumbered commuters.

Other memories:


Remember buying monster sized pizza slices from Zaro's? Each slice weighed five pounds.


How about drinking at Lindy's, or buying a cup of coffee at Eclair?


What about the giant Kodak Colorama sign that towered over the east end of the GCT concourse? I used to get excited whenever they changed the photo.

Remember leaving your bags unattended and not having to say something when you saw something?

In more recent years there have also been changes.


Remember the Railfone? These phones were installed on our trains, but they charged users $2.00 a minute. A year after they were installed, everyone, and I mean everyone, had their own cell phone and the Railfone was obsolete.

With all these changes, it's comforting to know that some things stay the same:

Rocky is arguably the most well known, and notorious passenger on Metro North. He rides all three lines and all the conductors know him. I've known Rocky since he was a crazy, mixed up teenager. Back in the day, he used to dress as a male, but he slowly began to change. First came the Tina Turner wigs, then the platform shoes. He eventually graduated to hot pants with "boy toy" plastered across the back.

I remember him telling me of one memorable Thanksgiving, when he he "dressed up" for his grandmother. It nearly killed her.

He was on my train last week and I asked if I could take his picture (bottom) and post it on my blog. He agreed, but said that I was crazy to put a picture of a cross dresser on the Internet. He was dressed in a micro mini, a thong, and was wearing 12" stiletto heels when he said this...and I'm the crazy one!


Another old friend visited last week:

This is why my wife doesn't want me wearing my work boots in the house. You know, eggs, larvae, etc...

I was working a Stamford Local when a passenger spotted my friend here,"ROACH!!!" he screamed. I'm no Entomologist, but I was going to correct him and say that this is technically a water bug (at least this is what my New York co-workers call them), but then, after doing some research for this story, I found out that he was right, this is a roach- an American Cockroach to be exact. Not to be confused with the smaller, German Cockroaches, who also ride our trains. I think the passenger wanted me to kill it, but when the bug is big enough (two inches) to have its own zip code, I draw the line. Instead, I asked it to say "cheese" and I snapped its picture (above).

Here's something that hasn't changed in 35 years:



Hold on folks, the new M8's are coming in late 2009.

The Sting

Yesterday, I was standing in my backyard, circular saw in one hand and a sledge hammer in the other. I had spent the better part of the morning ripping apart my old deck and throwing the remaining slices of pressure treated lumber into the weeds in the corner of the yard. I plan on leaving this pile here till I rent a dumpster and dispose of it properly.

Later in the morning, my friend "Pat" stopped by to discuss building a new deck for me. Pat's a macho guy who's an army veteran, Police Sergeant, and part time builder of decks. He came over to survey the job and inspect the work site. Sometime during our discussion, he pulled out a tape measure and started walking past my gas grill. Bees have recently nested beneath the grill's underside and they began to circle Pat. He quickly retreated six steps back.

"You're not gonna let a few bees scare you...are you?" I asked.

I grabbed the tape measure from his hand and stoically marched past the grill and began taking measurements. While doing this, I bragged, saying that I'd never been stung by a bee before.

That's when it happened.

Like a mob hit, the bees (who I believe belong to the Genovese family) surrounded me in all directions. If Scorsese filmed it, the scene would unfold in slow motion:

An unassuming man puts tape measure to garage, when several yellow and black striped missiles cross the screen in formation. The man cries out in pain, then reaches for his right leg. Just then, a Sicilian looking bee attacks from the left and jabs his other leg. The man's body convulses, as another bee (played by Joe Pesce) stabs him in the hip. The man does a little girly man dance and runs for his life. His friend, who is standing at a safe distance, doubles over in laughter.

"Owwww!!! That hurt!" I screamed. My puncture wounds began to burn.

Before leaving, Pat watched as I carried a few more pieces of lumber into the wood pile. "Be careful back there," he said, "those weeds look like poison ivy."

"Ah...don't worry." I said. "I've never gotten poison ivy before."

I better keep some calamine lotion on hand.

Back to the grind... and a near miss. The week in review

08/18 Train 1583:

It's my first day back from vacation and I'm feeling tan (in an Irish kind of way), rested, and ready to take on the Greater Metropolitan Region. I lose this feeling, when on my first train...at leaving time, a woman sticks her foot in the closing doors of the head car. Without a "door closed" light, my engineer cannot take power.

"Ringgggg!!!"

I try to close the doors, but the woman won't budge from her post. I get on the PA and announce that it's leaving time and she needs to either "get on or get off."

"Ringgggg!!!"

The woman ignores me and stands firmly in the doorway. It's now a minute past leaving time.

"Ringgggg!!!"

"M'am please...step on or step off the train," I announce. "There's another train in 30 minutes"

"Ringgg!!!"

My engineer, who is sitting a few feet away from this woman, gets on the PA and tells me that she's waiting for her daughter and her infant grandchild. I'm not heartless, I'll wait (within reason) for parents with small children, the elderly or disabled, so I cool my heels, waiting for the door blocker's family to arrive.

It's now two minutes past leaving time and the Rail Traffic Controller is calling us and asking what our delay is. Just then a young woman runs through the platform doors...without a baby. The door blocker gives her a wave and they both step into the train. Obviously I've been duped.

UGH!!

"Ringgg!!!"

There went that calm vacation feeling.

08/19/08, Train 1974:

As a favor to the railroad, I'm covering a Waterbury branch job today. We leave from Bridgeport and an overweight, toothless, tank top wearing, creepy, hillbilly looking guy, gets on. I'm guessing he's in his mid 50's. When I collect his ticket, he looks at my company ID hanging from a lanyard around my neck. The plastic pocket on the lanyard has flipped and on the reverse side is a picture of my two, young, teenage daughters. Women passengers love to see this photo and find the fact that I carry it endearing. They tell me the girls are beautiful and that I'm sweet to carry their snapshot. This guy, however, is thinking something totally different. I can see it in his eyes. He leers at the photo and asks:

"Thems your daughters?"

"Yep!" I answer.

"Theys look perty good" he purrs. "P-e-r-t-y good!"

The hair stands up on the back of my neck, and I debate smacking him. Instead, I stuff the picture in my shirt pocket and walk away.

I wonder if he's registered here.

08/21/08, Train 1500:

Two rotund Puerto Rican Women are flirting with Dan, my assistant conductor. They say he's soooo cuuuute, and they want to take a few pictures with him. He happily obliges, posing as they take turns snapping pictures with their camera phones.

"Wow Dan", I say, "looks like you have a fan club."

One of the women gives me a toothless smile and says:

"Honey, Dan is cute... but you more my type."

"Me?" (I didn't know if I should be flattered or not.)

"Yeah," she said. "I goes for that mature type...Know what I'm sayin'?"

I don't know what she's sayin, but I nod my head in agreement.

"You older guys (she was 32) know what time it is...Know what I'm sayin'?"

I nod my head again.

"You do know what time it is...don't you baby?

I point to my watch and say "Of course I know what time it is...I'm a railroad conductor."

08/22/08, Train 1194:

We're deadheading to South Norwalk when I hear my engineer give a sudden blast on the train horn. This noise is followed by the loud burst of the emergency brake dumping.

"Sh*t" says the engineer..."I just hit someone."

The engineer calls the Rail Traffic Controller, and I get a familiar knot in my stomach. He tells the RTC that we just hit a guy on the bridge just west of the station. He says that the guy was laying in the gauge of the rail.

I walk back to retrieve my radio and flashlight (it was dark out) from my railroad bag. It's my job to find the body and I'm dreading it.

As Yogi Berra said..."It's Deja Vu all over again". Three years previous, I was working with this same engineer and we hit someone on a bridge about 15 miles west of here. That time, I spent several minutes walking the bridge and looking underneath the train for a body. I couldn't find one. I was about to tell my engineer that the guy must have jumped out of the way, when my flashlight beam shone upon a work boot resting on the curb of the street below the bridge. I followed the beam up, and to my horror, found a man lying spread eagle in the middle of the street. He was in a pool of blood. I was walking down the bridge embankment when the police arrived. I saw the cop crouching over the body and searching the man's neck for a pulse. He then stood up and walked over to the trunk of his car and pulled out a yellow tarp. He draped it over the body.

This scene plays in my mind as I grab my flashlight and radio. My assistant and I gingerly step off the train and begin searching under, around and behind the train. My adrenaline is pumping and my breathing is labored. Every muscle in my body is tense. It's kind of like the feeling you get when watching a horror movie...only ten times worse.

I'm searching for a body or a severed leg or maybe an arm, perhaps a head. I look for a blood trail or perhaps a length of intestines. The horror. The horror. The horror.

I begin to reconsider my choice of occupation.

We find nothing, but still we search. My engineer joins in and we look, under the train, around the train...and on the street below.

Still... no body.

I walk track side, looking through the brush, then under a billboard and down to the avenue below. There I interview three Hispanic men who have been standing and watching the whole scene unfold. I ask if they' ve seen anything or anybody around the tracks. They say they haven't, but I don't believe them. This is the bad neighborhood and I'm sure that they're silenced by the street's "no snitch" policy.

After 20 minutes, we give up the search We assume that the trespasser either jumped out of the way in time, or possibly we ran him over, and he crawled out from under the train.

We get back on the train and report the situation, and the rail traffic controller tells us to continue on to our next station stop. We begin our next train like nothing happened. I collect tickets and my body begins to relax. The adrenaline is subsiding and my muscles start to ache. It feels like I just ran a marathon.

I call my wife, and the conversation goes like this:

You're not gonna believe what just happened.

What?

I just spent the last 20 minutes looking for a dead guy.

A what?

A dead guy. My engineer thought he hit someone, so we had to go out and look under and around the train for the body, but we never found it.

How do you know you didn't hit him?

We can't be certain...but we didn't find anything.

Why didn't you wait for the police to look?

There was no body....

Yeah, but....

My wife doesn't say it, but I know what she's thinking. She doesn't trust me to find a body. She knows me as the guy who spends 10 minutes searching the refrigerator for mayonnaise, when there's a jar of Helmann's staring me in the face. I'm the guy who regularly misplaces his keys and glasses. I'm the guy who recently lost his cell phone for like the 20th time.

"Listen," I say as if to calm her, "I wasn't the only one looking. My assistant conductor looked too, and so did the engineer...and he's very organized."

Sigh!!!

08/23/08

I think I need a vacation.