Riding the Rails

In 1977 our family was faced with a dilemma, we needed to relocate from Dorado, Puerto Rico to the New York City area. That meant trying to decide to live in the city, in Westchester, in western Connecticut, Long Island or northern New Jersey and to do this with one or two "house hunting" visits. Oy vey iz mir! We immediately ruled out the city and reasoned that Long Island with its seven million people and only seven bridges and two tunnels connecting it to the mainland by automobile was too stifling. My new job was in midtown Manhattan only two blocks from Grand Central Terminal. This made both Westchester and Connecticut more attractive than a bus and subway trip from New Jersey.

I wanted to have a train commute of less than one hour. That limited where in Westchester or Connecticut we could live. All of our children's grandparents lived about twenty miles west of Kingston, NY in the Catskill Mountains. That made Westchester more attractive than Connecticut. We decided on Northern Westchester and ended up in Croton-on Hudson. In retrospect we are very pleased we made this choice.

Like the hobo and his rucksack or a swagman with his swag, there was I with my briefcase and suit waiting for the 7:43 AM Conrail train to New York City's Grand Central Terminal. It was not a bad experience. This train originated at the Croton Harmon station and only made a couple of stops each morning. There was always a seat for me and I could sit anywhere on the train I wished, theoretically. I soon found myself boarding the same train car each morning and when I took the time to look up from the New York Times, I was sitting near the same group of people each and every morning. It is almost like we all had assigned seats. Now sitting near the same people did not mean you actually spoke to these people. People are weird – commuters are more so. I would spend time fantasizing where does he work or what does she do for a living? Yet the idea of initiating an introduction never crossed my mind. Coming home I usually caught the same train each day and, yes, usually sat in the same car, but had more trouble getting the exact same seat each night. Alas.

Now there was socializing on the trains. Some trains had a bar car, where regulars would congregate to smoke, drink and unwind from their business days. Eventually, this service was discontinued on the Hudson line that I took to the Croton Harmon station. Within in a few years, maybe after 1,200 train rides, I found myself joining a regular card game on the train. Three, four or five of us would sit in triple seats tilted so we were knee to knee and play hearts to and from work. I am sure our bantering and loud play were an interruption to many, but for me and my train friends, it made the commute a new found pleasure. Now day to day different players joined the game, but there was always Jack in his suit, bowtie and handlebar mustache on the train early to claim our seat. He removed one of the advertising posters that were in each train car which we all balanced on our knees for a card table. I played in this game for over seven years – that is a possibility of 2,800 games of hearts. We never played for a penny but were as competitive in our play as if there were hundreds of dollars at stake. Eventually, I stopped commuting for a few years and can honestly say I missed the game and the companionship. As fate would have it, one of the regular players, Bill, is now living in our community on the shores of Dickerson Pond.

In 1999 I reentered the commutation world. It was now Metro North and not Conrail and the trains were actually a lot better than they were in the late 1970's and early 1980's. I did not find a card game, but rediscovered the New York Times. I was still commuting from Croton Harmon so I had forty-seven minutes to "do" the Times. Each morning I quickly scan each section. I check the sports stories and actually read the sports section on football Mondays. If I see an article in the business section, I might read it quickly. Next on Tuesday through Friday, I open the Arts section and start the crossword puzzle. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I finish the puzzle then look again at the Metro section and next read the editorial pages. If I have time I look at the national news section. I save the Tuesday Science section for the ride home. Friday I usually need a part of the ride home to finish the crossword puzzle.

In 2000 we moved a little north and I still commuted from the Croton Harmon station until the predatory Village of Croton-on-Hudson parking rules and enforcement caused me to change to the new Cortlandt Station. I now had fifty-eight minutes on the train and could spend a few more minutes with the Times each morning. Now these past few years I learned to power nap on the ride home. For me a power nap is passing out and falling asleep while the train is still in the Park Avenue tunnel. Napping on the trip to Croton Harmon is fairly safe IF Croton Harmon is the last stop for the train. I was conditioned to wake up in Ossining, but sometimes I needed a helpful nudge in Croton Harmon to remind me to exit the train. There is a much greater challenge napping to the Cortlandt station since those trains go all the way to Poughkeepsie. I had a perfect record going into my last week of commuting. Then one evening, it was a beautiful evening, I woke up somewhere between Cold Springs and Beacon. Twenty-five years of commuting, two hundred trips home each of those years makes five thousand trips and I miss a perfect record the last week on the train. Oh well, the Beacon station is a very nice station.