MaYan2K

Well, we are still here.  I never understood our obsession with the end of the world.  Now, I can get the religious implications of the Rapture.  I’ve seen the Simpsons episode where Homer predicts it.  But today was supposed to be the Apocalypse.  Have things gotten so bad that somewhere deep inside of us we want a change…a BIG change.

The Mayan’s calendar ended today.  I kidded around that my Steelers wall calendar ends every year, I just get a new one.  However our infatuation with a culture that could not even predict its OWN demise somehow became known around the world.  A few months ago I am sure most people never even heard of the Mayans.  But here I was in New York City, passing bar after bar that had their “Mayan End of The World Party”.  People were flocking to these events for one last hook up before time ran out like they were Craig in the movie "Last Night".  I guess if I were single I might have found my self perusing those pubs.  However a quiet evening at home watching "Scrooged" would have to do.

Party like its 1999.  That was seemingly the last time the world was going to end.  Computers would fail because programmers did not take into account a four year number only applying the last two digits.  Instead of 1999 going to 2000, 99 would go to 0…and we would all go to 0.  Nuclear plants would explode, planes would fall from the sky…I know, I ALSO saw that Simpson’s episode.  However, being single at the turn of the century, I decided to go out in style.  Billy Joel had announced he would hold a Millennium concert at Madison Square Garden…and I would attend.  I said if the world was going to end…why not be at ground zero.  Those words would turn out to be hauntingly true less than 2 years later as “Ground Zero” would not be that far from the Garden.  The Piano Man opened with Miami 2017, which has had resurgence lately with Hurricane Sandy.  The song depicts the demise of New York City.  That New Year’s night as we awaited midnight, the song seemed like it’s own prediction.  As the melody ended, Billy Joel thanked us for risking our well being just to attend the concert.  Midnight came and went…and we went right on with the show.

Yesterday was only an ancient prophecy of the world ending.  However it was a mainstream one.  Y2K had nothing on the Mayans.  And, much like at the end of 1999, people seemed a little nicer, a little more polite…just in case.  “Scrooged” turned out to be an appropriate movie to view last night.  Faced with his own demise, Bill Murray gets a revelation to be a better person.  He says that once a year during Christmas we act a little nicer, we become the person we always wanted to be.  He goes on to say that the feeling is addictive, and soon you will want to feel like that every day.  And maybe we should listen to that message.

Why, as human beings, do we have to face the end before we change?  Is that why we hype any doomsday event, so we get our chance to repent?   The two-minute offense in football, the bottom of the ninth rally.  New Year’s Resolution.  The deathbed confession.  Backs against the wall.

Seems we always have to wait until our last possible moment…

Something's Gun Wrong

Something's Gun Wrong

I never grew up around guns, so maybe I just don’t understand the gun culture.  I think the only time I have seen a handgun up close was when a hockey teammate who is on the job arrived at our game after work.  I don’t understand the American obsession with handguns.  It is not the Wild, Wild West anymore.  Well, maybe it still is in Texas…but for the most part those are rifles on their gun racks.

Growing up where I did on Long Island, guns were never prevalent.  We did have a few Dads’ who were on the job, but their weapons were never discussed, let alone seen by us kids.  Surprisingly, none of us owned a pellet or a BB gun.  Sure, we had our wrist rockets and firecrackers…but that was about it.  I remember a Nassau County Police Officer visited my grade school.  He went on to discuss how life on the job is not the same as it is depicted on TV.  He said in his 15 years he had never had to remove his firearm from his holster.  My, how things have changed…now they want to put that same Police Officer in those grade schools…preferably with his pistol already drawn.

It wasn’t until Junior High that I fired my one and only gun.  It was a 22-caliber rifle. It’s low cost, minimal recoil and relatively low noise made it perfect for recreational shooting.  I was a Boy Scout at the time and this was used for the rifle shooting merit badge.  A weekend trip out to the woods would be the setting.  Several Fathers served as Pack Leaders.  As I look back, I don’t think many of them had fired a rifle before.  The one group I was in, the Dad was more interested in working with his son than with anyone else.  In hindsight, and what we are learning about the Boy Scouts now, I should be thankful.  However, I was given very little instruction, and even less supervision.  I remember thinking at the time this is not safe.  I hardly knew all the kids, what if one of them didn’t quite understand the consequences of handling a firearm.  It was at that moment one of the kids decided to shoot at something other than the target.  I guess a bird or a squirrel had caught his eye.  Our group leader was still fawning over his own son when he heard the commotion.  He practically dove and tackled the kid.  Now what if that individual was not aiming at the woodland creatures.  What if he had an issue with someone in the pack?  Well, it was swept under the rug as our group leader told us not to speak about the incident.  I wonder if this silence is still happening today.

It wasn’t until many years later that another unsafe armed situation occurred.  It was my fourth year in the Hamptons we had a hard time filling our rental house.  A group from the previous years had decided to move on from the summertime antics.  This left us short.  The guy running the house found friends of a friend.  It was three guys who were police officers from NYC.  I guess he felt that would be a good enough resume reference.  It was the third weekend of that summer and the original group was just getting to know these guys.  That Saturday night they had brought back a few girls from the bar…and this is when they decided to show off.  They broke out their sidearms and proceeded to act like it was Buffalo Bill's Wild West show.  Bragging about it being loaded, I had no idea in their inebriation how far they were going to take it.  And we all know alcohol leads to accidents.  Now, by this point I had known quite a few guys on the job from my hockey team.  NONE of them would have ever pulled a stunt like this.  Really, you take out your gun while you are drinking in a group of people.  I never felt so uncomfortable in my life.  I wanted to say something, even report them.  I didn’t… knowing it would get back to me.  Sometimes I wish I had.

I am not going to argue about the 2^nd Amendment.  It tends to get people’s Constitutional undies all in a bunch.  However, I don’t think our Founding Fathers could ever fathom Man’s ability to invent something that so effectively eradicates one another. Rumors are even prevalent that in 1845 the Commissioner of the U.S. Patent Office wanted to close it because he thought there was nothing left to invent.  How wrong he was.  How Man seems to have an innate need to build a better mousetrap not realizing we are actually the rodents.  If you take away the 2^nd Amendment, the gun advocates say that the “bad” people will find way to get them anyway.  Of course they will, they are criminals.  And the criminals who usually have these firearms are killing each other.  Yes, there are times where there are innocent bystanders.  But it is when the innocent bystanders become the target, that is when things need to change.

“Bad” people will always be able to get something that is illegal.

The problem is the “crazy” ones who get the guns that are legal.

Words To Live By

Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 -- a date which will live in infamy -- the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

Today is the 71^st Anniversary of the Pearl Harbor attack.  The speech given by Franklin Delano Roosevelt the following day placed forever in history the word “Infamy” in conjunction with this event.  Several books would be written about that day and the events that led up to it.  Almost all of them use the word “Infamy” in one form or another.  In Washington DC, the Japanese that day had hoped to end negations for peace before the attack.  They felt this gesture would be enough of a warning to the Americans that war with Japan was inevitable.  Japan hoped to strike first, but not as a “sneak” attack per say.  Even so, they wanted to catch us by surprise.  They even had an attack code that would inform their commanders they had achieved the complete surprise they wanted.  The three words that are also forever associated with this attack are “Tora, Tora, Tora”.  They would be immortalized in the 1970 movie about the Pearl Harbor attack titled with those same words.

Growing up I established an interest in reading Non Fiction history books.  Specifically ones about World War II…even MORE specifically ones about the Pacific War.  And if you want to learn about anything, you have to start at the beginning.  The first war books I would read were about that day of “Infamy”.  At first I would check these books out from the library, but as I got older I started to amass my own collection.  As other kids boasted about the size of their album collection, I was building a batch of bindings.  Back then you did not have the Barnes and Nobles and the Borders to buy books…well, we don’t have the Borders now anymore do we.  You only had a local bookstore if you were lucky.  Usually their offerings were severely limited…especially the books I was looking for.  It was around then I found an ad in a hobby magazine.  It was for the Military Book Club.  I filled out the application and mailed it off as soon as I could.  In a few weeks I received their pamphlet of the monthly book offerings.  I was hooked!

World War II books were a great origin of enjoyment for me when I was younger.  However, this was not the only source for the subject matter.  Back then, as most kids did, I had a paper route.  Sunday mornings would bring the added newspaper features of cartoons, coupons and Newsday’s weekly TV guide.  The latter is what I would be looking for.  In the back of it was listed all the movies for the week…of course this was WELL before anyone knew the initials HBO.  Every now and then these movies would be on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon…but mostly they were part of the weeknight Late Show, or Late, LATE Show…and I am not talking Letterman or Ferguson.  I would scour the text for all the war movies and circle their times.  I would then set the VCR…oh wait, they didn’t exist yet.  These Late Show movies would come on at 1am.  And the Late, LATE Show movies?  Well, even later.  Staying up as a kid would prove too difficult, hell, as an adult it is too difficult.  Instead, I would be off to bed around 9pm and set my alarm for the movie.

The movies I wanted to see did not come on too often.  I decided I would record them.  Once again, I am not talking VCR…I am talking cassette tape audio only.  I would place the tape machine right next to the TV’s small speaker…hitting pause for the few commercials that were shown during this late hour.  Afterwards, I would listen to them over and over.  As I did, I could visualize the movie action.  In reality, all I needed to do was look around my room.  Between the aviation art on the wall and the almost live action dogfight diorama hanging from my ceiling…it didn’t take much for me to immerse myself.  I recorded some of the all time classics.  “Flying Leathernecks”, “Thirty Seconds over Tokyo” and “Halls of Montezuma”.  Unfortunately there was one movie that would just not translate to taping.  I could only watch it on TV and would have to wait forever for it to be shown.  It contained Japanese actors talking in their native tongue…and the movie was filled with subtitles.  The movie was “Tora, Tora, Tora”.

“Tora, Tora, Tora” became one of my all time favorites.  I thought it might be because of the rare availability to view it.  But the real reason…well, was realism. “Tora, Tora, Tora” was a success in the movies, but I never did see it on the big screen.  Their attention to detail and accuracy was amazing.  It was never more evident to me when the next big war movie came out.  It was 1976 and Charlton Heston had moved on from Apes and Earthquakes and Airports.  This time he was taking on the Japanese himself in the epic film of the time, Midway.  Of course I was off to the theater to see it.  Being a bit of a youthful historian, the movie did a great job of following the facts.  Where it failed miserably was visually.  Where Tora, Tora, Tora took painstaking steps to get all the aircraft accurately, Midway did not.  The movie even “took” scenes from Tora, Tora, Tora to incorporate into it.   It made me appreciate the older movie even more.  Eventually Midway would come to television and I would audio tape it.  I actually enjoyed listening to it better since that way I could visualize the correct planes.

In 1997 I would attend my first real airshow containing vintage World War II aircraft.  I had seen static displays, but never before had I seen them flying.  I would have to travel to Elmira, NY since airshows at that time were not held on Long Island.  I had discovered the airshow on the Internet.  However, the information highway was more of a back road at that time.  Details of the event were limited, but at least I had the date, time and location.  When I arrived I got a brochure listing the events.  I could not believe my eyes.  A group called the Confederate Air Force was performing a reenactment of the Pearl Harbor attack.  I headed over to the tarmac to talk to the performers.  I found out that six replica Japanese aircraft were donated to them that were used in the movie Tora, Tora, Tora.  I could not believe I was seeing the actual planes!  I soon settled in to watch the show…and it did not disappoint.  I felt like I was an extra in the movie I had watched so many times growing up.  It was filled with flying and smoke and explosions.  All a growing boy needs.

In 2001 someone decided to produce another movie about Pearl Harbor.  It was not a remake of Tora, Tora, Tora…but I eagerly anticipated its arrival.  I discovered that the reenactment group I had seen would be a part of the filming.  This elevated my expectations.  However, what efforts the producer and actors gave to create the 1970 movie, this new one lacked.  The real life planes were dwarfed by digitized images that were more glitz and glamour than actual history.  The movie Pearl Harbor was filled with inaccuracies and Affleck…

And that’s not good for anyone.

A Moment Please

The age old question…which came first?  The chicken or the egg?  This metaphoric query has been applied to many a thing.  Recently for me someone noticed my extensive Christmas ornament collection.  They also couldn’t help but notice the oversized tree in the foyer.  I was asked, did you buy the ornaments for the tree, or the tree for the ornaments?

As Christmas approaches, Christina points out to me that I am almost impossible to buy gifts for.  I agree.  During the year I will drop a “not so subtle” hint to help her out.  One item she knows she can always get me is a Christmas ornament, specifically Hallmark.  Since 1973, Hallmark has introduced more than 3,000 different Keepsakes Ornaments and more than 100 ornament series, groups of ornaments that share a specific theme.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, after college Christmas was not as celebrated an event at home as it used to be.  But when I was younger we would spend the day at my Grandmother’s house on my Step Dad’s side.  We would barely be digesting the Christmas Eve fish feast from the night before as we were soon over the river and through the woods right back to Grandmother’s house Christmas Day.  This time pasta was on the menu…along with pasta.  Did I mention we had pasta?  As time took its toll, these grand gatherings ceased.  Christmas would now consist of the immediate family staying at home.  This time dysfunction was on the menu…along with dysfunction. Did I mention we had dysfunction?  It really stemmed from one source.  The holiday turned into a bad sequel to Groundhog’s Day.  Each year was the same thing, the same fights.  Looking back I couldn’t distinguish one year from the next...except for one thing.

In 1992 my Mom started getting me a Hallmark ornament from the Star Trek Keepsake series.  Each Christmas season she would go on a quest to find that year’s offering.  You have to remember, Al Gore had not invented the Internet yet!  She chose the series with the ships…well, for obvious reasons.  But also she recalled how I liked the lighted ornaments that you can plug right into a strand of lights.  At the time, it was the only Hallmark ornament to feature these “Magic Lights”.  From 1992 until her last Christmas in 2001 she gave me this as my gift.   These ornaments became the only way to differentiate each Christmas we had.  Now, I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.  And while I really loved these ornaments, and Mom loved giving them to me…you may recall I didn’t set up a tree during that time period.  The ornaments sat in their boxes, like a collector might keep them.  It wasn’t until 2005 that they finally came out and shined.  Every year they would get prominent spots on the tree.  A few weeks ago, as I was taking out all the Christmas items, I had to move boxes of old family photos.  I opened one of them, and to my surprise I found five more Star Trek ornaments!  I knew I got one each year…I guess I just never realized there were more stored somewhere else.  They had sat packed away with the photos since my Mother’s passing in 2002.  Seems I got one last gift from her this year.

In the mid 90’s Hallmark ornaments became pretty mainstream.   During that time, while Christmas shopping with whomever I was dating, we would always seem to wind up in a Hallmark store.  It was a popular destination.  While I knew I would be getting the yearly Star Trek one, I decided to purchase the new line of sports themed keepsakes…and of course, in Pittsburgh Steeler flavor.  From then on, each year, I would get a Steeler ornament from Hallmark.  Eventually I would get the one that the Steeler team puts out every year too.  Now, while I was still Scrooge Walsh, and not even having my own tree…it would seem buying ornaments was kind of useless.  Well, you might have noticed I like to collect things.  And these were Steeler “things”.  When I first started dating Christina I went with her to pick out a tree.  It was a beautiful six-foot fir, ready to be filled with ornaments.  As we placed the evergreen in her apartment I mentioned that I have all these Steeler ornaments I could place upon it.  She responded “Oh, No…I don’t want any Steeler ornaments on MY tree.”  Hmmmm…new girl, same “MY” tree tude.  Yeah, Christmas was a Humbug.  The following season we were still together.  This time, as we were setting up the tree, she asked if I would like to put my Steeler ornaments on it.  I said, “No, I don’t want to put Steeler ornaments on YOUR tree.”  Seeing it was stubborn sarcasm emanating from her comments the previous year, she rolled her eyes and didn’t ask again.  And she married me anyway… and now gets me the yearly Steeler Hallmark ornament.

Before we bought the house, Christina and I would travel more frequently.  As a memento, we would often pick up a Christmas ornament that dated our travels.  During one of these trips we ventured into a music club in St. Louis named Blueberry Hill.  Inside they had, for whatever reason, an extensive collection of Simpson items.  Among them were six awesome Christmas ornaments that depicted scenes from the show.  As a collector I had to have them.  I inquired if they had them for sale, or where I might purchase them.  No one seemed to know.  When I got home I perused the Internet to find these artifacts.  Success!  The site showed all six, and you would get 3 at a time in a shipment.  Perfect timing, we had two months until Christmas.  The first week of November the initial set arrived.  Upon closer inspection these ornaments where even better than I imagined.  Next month I got the other three to complete the set.  Awesome!  Christmas came and went.  January rolled around…and what was this?  Another package of three Simpsons ornaments arrived.  I thought it had to be a mistake.  But when I opened them they were a different series.  Hmmm, didn’t know they made 9 of these.  As the months progressed, 9 became 12, 12 became 15.  I would receive a monthly package for the next year and a half.  I now have SIXTY of them!  I am glad the ornament series did not run as long as the actual TV series.

We would continue to augment our ornament collection.  And Hallmark would be prominently featured.  From Rudolph to Peanuts.  From Trains to Planes.  The ornaments kept coming.

So now you have the answer.

My Christmas Carol

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.  Wait, that is not my story!  However, Christina says of me, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.  But this was not always the case.  I joke with her that things changed…right after three spirits visited me.  But in reality, unlike Scrooge, my revelations came about differently.

Christmas as a child for me was grand.  Broken homes are meaningless to me as long as you have love.  Between my Mom and my Grandparents there was plenty.  I was lucky to have two places to decorate, the apartment my Mom and I lived in and my Grandparents house.  A small tree, and even smaller Christmas items were placed in the apartment.  However, my Grandparents house would be…umm…grand.  The tree was a throwback to the old country.  It towered over me.  This beautiful real pine was decorated as if pulled from a picture of the first Santa related Christmases.  Oh Tannebaum played in an endless loop in the background…in full German.  The tree was dotted with bubble lights.  As they warmed up, the glitter in the thermometer shaped glass would move, like a ménage of miniature snow globes.  I was allowed to place the old fashion ornaments on the tree.  I was always told, larger ones on the bottom branches…smaller ones on the top.

As the years moved on, my Mom remarried.  We moved only 4 houses away from my Grandparents.  Not long after, my Grandmother passed away.  Oh Tannenbaum would be no more.  But this was not the end of Christmas, just that one.  Much like in “Merry Christmas Charlie Brown” our real tree was replaced by an “aluminum” one.  I never recall ever SEEING an actual aluminum tree as referenced in the traditional Charlie Brown special.  But our Christmas tree from now on would be a fake one, and as a kid I referred to it as our “aluminum” tree.  Color coordinated, I would place each level of branches into the broomstick like tree trunk.  Now playing would be “Oh Christmas Tree”…all in English.  Gone where the bubble lights…consumer affairs mentioned somewhere they caused tree fires, so Mom would have none of it.  At the time our family situation was good, so I was never left wanting.  In my early teens that would all change.  The tree would get smaller, the presents fewer.  But my parents always seemed to make Christmas special.

By my third year of college I was living on campus full time.  I was still at my co-op job so I would be working right up until Christmas Eve before driving back to New York.  Not being home to set up and decorate my family’s tree, my roommate and I decided to get one of our own.  Of course, as college kids, we were not going to actually BUY one.  So we were off to the Pine Barrens of New Jersey to cut one down ourselves.  We finally found a perfect fir, unfortunately it resided just on the tail end of someone’s property.  We circled back with the car lights and engine off.  We glided right into position.  As I stepped out to cut the tree down, my friend grabbed the saw from me.  “You do things so slow, it will be spring before you finish cutting it down.”  He was right…and it also minimized our chances of getting caught.  Plus I was driving the getaway car anyway.  When we got back, we set the little fella up.  It was dubbed our Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.  Our room would become the center of activity…who am I kidding…it was already.

Everyone loved our tree and appreciated we got an early jump on Christmas.  However, December 14^th would be the end of the semester.  And that was when I got some crappy news.  They would be shutting down MY dorm for the break.  I didn’t have to move our stuff out, I just couldn’t live there.  I would have to relocate as much as I could to another dorm since I was working up until Christmas.  If you recall, my dorm room was by no means an ordinary one.  We were extravagant.  Now I was moving to a jail like cell.  It was cold, uncarpeted…I fully expected a toilet bowl to be in one corner.  Whatever I brought with me would have to travel back to New York since I was not going to be allowed back into my room…and I couldn’t leave it in the cell.  I brought clothes, bedding, my TV…and the Christmas tree.  For the next 10 days I was alone…in solitary confinement.  During the day I at least had work, but the nights were long and lonely.  The weekend was even worse.  What was a bustling college campus only days before, was now a ghost town.  I was left in a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks.  At one of these a lonely boy was reading.  There I was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays…and Fan was not coming for me.  Christmas eve I arrived back at the dorm after work.  In a still quiet I packed my clothes, my bedding and my TV.  I left the Christmas tree behind.  It would be the last Christmas tree I would have for the next 20 years.

The spirit of Christmas was not lost in all one night.  Over the years family issues made the holiday a formality.  You could not, NOT go see your family…although the thought always crossed my mind.  Christmas was no longer special.  I tried to recreate it with whatever relationship I was in during that time of year.  However, it was usually their place, their tree….not “ours”.  This distanced me further and further from the holiday.  Scrooge Walsh was born.

My change of heart came from just that, the heart.  Three spirits may not have visited me, but in a sense it was from someone who took the place of all of them.  I started dating Christina in August of 2002.  Quickly Christmas was upon us.  She had said after her divorce and moving into her apartment she felt lonely during the holidays.  It reminded me of a certain schoolboy.  Instead of the path that boy took, she decided to follow a different one.  She would have a Christmas party at her apartment with all her friends.  She would refuse to give in to the loneliness a holiday can sometimes provide.  For the next three years the party was hers.  In 2005 it became OURS.

Christmas became special again culminating in a gathering of all our friends.  I would start decorating our house in Mid-November and wouldn’t stop until Christmas Eve.  Inside is an endless array of festive festoons.  Outside thousands of lights litter the landscape, both front and back.  Gift giving would become an art form for me and Christina would reap the rewards.  And the tree?  Real of course…with bubble lights.  And each year the tree would get bigger.  Some say I am trying to compensate for something.  Yes I am.

For years of lost Christmases.

Jack The Clipper

You may have noticed I have a little bit of an issue with the Long Island Railroad.  I have always kidded though, “The only thing worse than the LIRR…is the people that ride it.”  Friday proved to be such a day.  The unfortunate part of commuting is taking Mass Transit.  And as I have similarly mentioned in a previous post, you can’t spell Mass without Ass.  Now while most passengers during the rush hour commute quietly keep to themselves, every now and then you will have the proverbial one bad apple spoiling the bunch.  These debase individuals can come in many forms.

Mary the Make Up Artist:  This person comes with the entire collection of Avon products to apply.  They set up shop, mirror and all.  Now, I can get freshening up your lipstick here and there.  But this is from foundation to blush.  You are serenaded to the sounds of opening and closing make-up containers.  All the while, getting the smells of each offering.  And yes, I will be mean here…every time it is someone who would have been better suited putting down the fork and spending make-up time on the elliptical machine.

Betty the Bag Lady:  This person comes with an oversized bag…one which contains everything they own.  During the ride the will pull out, one by one, each individually bagged item.  And then they go to work.  One might contain unread mail.  They will open each envelope, realize that who would really be contacting them anyway, and then rip it up loudly.  That must have taken a lot of energy because the next bag out will be breakfast.  This is usually wrapped in some sort of crinkly, noisy cellophane.  Seemingly sealed so many times around, what you thought was an orange turns out to be a grape.  The parade of packaging will continue the remainder of the ride.

Cell Phone Sam:  This person basks in his own self-importance.  His business is your business and his shouting on the phone allows you to know it.  He uses all the cliché business terms so often you would think his tongue would eventually refuse him.  As one conversation ends, another is soon to begin.  You see, he is a busy man…and the train is just an extension of his office.

This is just a sampling of the inconsiderate idiots, or “inconsidiots”, as I have dubbed them, which ride the rails.  All of these “inconsidiots” you can find a way to ignore.  At least, for the most part, they are containing their brashness to themselves.  However there is one that I detest, one I CANNOT ignore.  They decide to trim their fingernails right there on the train.  I call them, Jack the Clipper.

October brought us Sandy, November brought LIRR delays, cancellations and overcrowded trains.  Commuters were on edge, but many were happy to be in the warmth and lighting that the train provided over their own homes.  As the month wore on, so did the patience of the passengers.  My own nightly train was cancelled for the entire month.  This forced me to jam myself on an already crowded train that now had to handle the overflow.  The last day of November, a Friday, I was going to treat myself to a Holiday Train Show in Hicksville.  Instead of taking the overcrowded 5:41 to Ronkonkoma that stopped at Hicksville, I decided to take the 6:01 express that went directly to there.

It turned out this train would be overcrowded as well.  However, with a straight shot to Hicksville, the travel time would be much shorter.  I was able to get an outside seat of the windowless three seater, which resides against the train’s vestibule.  A young woman sat on the inner seat, her backpack placed in the middle seat in defiance to other commuters wanting to squeeze in.  The train was quickly over flowing with standing passengers so I knew her efforts would be thwarted.  As departure approached, a slender man in his early 50’s asked if he could sit there.  Both the girl and I really wanted to say no, but we were polite as she placed her huge knapsack on her lap as I got up to let him sit.  Hey, at least he was not an oversized man on the over packed train.

As he settled in the seat, the man placed his vintage leather briefcase upon his lap.  He proceeded to pull out enough paperwork that must have leveled half a forest.  The poor girl was now pinned against the wall of the train and was reveled with a relentless assault of his elbows.  As he flipped each page, he fidgeted like a fellow with ADD.  I was not spared from his boney appendages either.  But alas, he was doing work and I was not going to be on this train long.  About 15 minutes into the ride, he finally put away the paperwork.  Ah, my ribs can rest.  As the papers excited the scene, a small pouch appeared.  Hmm, it couldn’t be.  No, not a such a crowded train?  Not in the middle seat? As he unzipped the small bag, emerging was a nail clipper.

  

I can look the other way on a lot of train stupidity.  But this is where I draw the line.  Already annoyed by his lack of middle seat etiquette, I informed him “Dude, oh no, you are NOT going to clip your nails here”.  Now, one would think a normal response would be to put the clippers away…someone called me out on it.  He responded with “You can’t tell me what to do!”  Wrong answer.  As I proceed with this story you might actually feel sorry for the guy.  For all the years of LIRR frustration, both with the railroad and its riders, came to fruition.  I jumped up from my seat.  I shouted at him, “One clip and I’ll drop you right here!”  He said, “Go Ahead!”  Wrong answer #2.  He had no idea how close he was to getting pummeled.  When the switch goes off, consequences are the last thing on my mind.

In that moment, while on the outside was only a few short seconds, all the scenarios played out in my head.  Ultimately what saved this man a beating, and me an assault charge…was I really wanted to go to the train show.  Lucky for him it was not a regular nightly commute for me.  I guess lucky for myself too.  However I was not going to back down, as far as the shouting I was beyond the point of no return.  Instead of belittling him physically, I proceeded to do it verbally.  I went on to jab him with the likes of “what planet are you from that this is acceptable” and roundhouse him with “how disgusting are you, are you going to pick your nose next?”  He continued to be obstinate as I said no one on this train wants you to clip your nails.  He huffed, well no one else is saying anything.  Just then, a voice that sounded like George Costanza’s mom herself shouted, “Don’t cut your nails, that’s disgusting.”  I gave him the look, the same kind of look I give my wife when I am right.  I told him again, in a not so nice voice, to put the nail clippers away.  He quipped, “Well, I am putting them away NOT because you are telling me to”.  I said, “I am not TELLING you, I am THREATENING you!”  I continued to stand up as I said I don’t want to sit next to such a repulsive human being like himself, and I am sure no one else will want to either.  He responded, it’s a crowed train…someone will take your seat.  No one did.

I took a standing spot in the aisle since the vestibule was packed.  The gentleman next to me gave me kudos for speaking up.  He started with a story of how he felt he should have been born in a different time…during the time of knights and the Middle Ages.  He would have liked to be a hero and he said today I was THAT hero.  He said back in those days a hero could stand up for what is right, however, by doing so, he could put himself in a perilous position.  At first I wasn’t sure where he was going with the story, but I did get the message.  I wasn’t trying to be a hero, or a champion for the people on the train.  I was just someone who finally had it with the inconsideration of certain people.  I was not about to sit idly by as this man clipped.  I was not about to walk away quietly either.

As the train continued on, I continued on.  Even though I was no longer in nail shrapnel range, my verbal onslaught of the man continued.  Eventually the train arrived at Hicksville and Jack the Clipper scurried out.  He must have concluded once clear from the confines of the train car I would consummate our confrontation.   I however, was delayed a bit.  Seems the commuters wanted to thank me for saying something.  Even coming up to me asking, “Are you the nail guy?”  To be clear I said I was the guy yelling, not the guy cutting.  The poor girl who was squished against the wall had a huge smile.  She couldn’t thank me enough for putting a stop to Jack the Clipper.  I said I was just tired of people who feel they can do whatever they want while riding Mass Transit.

As I excited the train after all the accolades, I realized I was shaking.  People may not know I really do not like confrontations, and my body was telling me so.  I took a moment to compose myself before I descended from the platform.  Surprisingly, my wife was waiting for me at the bottom.  She saw a look on my face as I was shaking my head.  At first she thought I was annoyed at her for not waiting in the car.  I quickly dispelled that as I said let me tell you what happened on the train.  As I finished the tale, she said “Wait a minute, what did this guy look like?”  As I described my foe, Christina said “I saw him…there was a man that fit that description who came bolting down the stairs and took off running to his car.”  At the time she thought that was very odd, why was he in such a hurry.  When she realized it was I he was running from, and being married to that same person, she quipped.

“Ah, it all makes sense now”

This Is Hockey

Fall is in full swing.  My birthday has passed and Thanksgiving is right around the corner.  If you have gone to the malls, Christmas is barreling down the pike and it is heading straight for us.  But for me, something is still missing from this time of year.  While I still enjoy playing the sport, there is nothing like attending a live NHL hockey game.  The end of the year also culminates with an outdoor game, the NHL’s Winter Classic.  Gary Bettman and greed have taken all that away.

As the NHL has stalled, my own hockey season goes on.  Recently I was at the Rinx in Hauppauge.  I usually get my skates sharpened there before a game.  This night, I accidentally stumbled upon a game.  The Rinx is the home of the Stony Brook Seawolves.  It was Saturday night and a crowd was formed in the adjacent rink.  The Seawolves opponent that night?  The Drexel Dragons.  I watched for a few minutes while my skates were being done.  Forgotten for a moment was the NHL, and I was suddenly transformed back to a simpler time.

It was January of 1985 and I was returning to college in Philadelphia after completing my Co-op assignment in New York.  It had been six months since I had lived on campus, so it was almost like starting over again.  I would be rooming with a friend, a business major, who was not part of the co-op program.  He had been on campus for the fall semester so he would get me up to speed.  My buddy had become friends with several guys on the floor already.  One of them played ice hockey, and said he was the goalie for Drexel’s team.  Drexel has a hockey team?  Who knew?  At the time it was only a club team, but he said they played all the other local colleges that did not have sanctioned college hockey programs.  I asked them where they heck they played, I did not see any arena here at Drexel.  He let us know that they played their home games at University of Penn’s Class of ’23 rink.  He said we should come down and watch.  My friend asked him if anyone actually came down for the games.  The goalie responded, ‘Well, not really…but you can bring beer.”  Sold!

The following week boasted Drexel hockey’s next home game.  It was a Wednesday so our beer supplies were only remnants of the weekend’s indulgence.  The Class of ’23 rink was a bit of a hike, so we couldn’t just walk around with all these loose beers.  We needed something to carry them.  It also had to be something we could dispose of since we were going out afterwards.  We found a large paper bag that had been used to buy groceries the day before.  Perfect.  Going forward this would be our vessel for the cans…simply referred to as “Bag O’Beer”.  My friend and I headed off to Penn.  We were told to follow the “High Line” rail and we would eventually get to the rink.  Its formal name is the West Philadelphia Elevated Branch, although it’s been called the “High Line” for decades.  This elevated route was constructed in the 1930s and no trains had run on it since 1980.  As we passed the last of Drexel’s orange brick buildings we entered into a desolate abandoned area.  It was a no-mans land between the Drexel and U of Penn campuses.  At least we had our beer.  After about a ½ mile we could see lights in the distance.  As we approached the building seemed abandoned, but we could see “Class of ‘23” adorning the one side.  This was the place.  The game had already started.  You could hear the echo of an empty rink.  We settled ourselves on the cold cement stands.  We had our choice of location.  The rink was frigid, so at least the beer would stay cold.  We settled in and watched.  As the game continued, so did our drinking.  Since we seemed to be the only two fans, we made sure our team knew of our presence.  After our goalie friend would make a big save we would cheer even louder.  A raise of his stick towards us showed his appreciation.  Drexel would go on to win the game 5-2.  On the way off the ice our goalie friend came over to thank us for coming down.  Now worries…we were hooked.

The following day my buddy told our tale of the game to the others on our floor.  As the week went by interest grew as the game approached.  The next home game we would be better prepared.  We rallied about a dozen or so guys to come with us…all of us carrying our own “Bag O’Beer”.  After the others attended they began to tell their friends…and so on…you know how it goes.  The crowds at the games slowly began to grow…and the players began to play to the crowd.  It was turning into a mini version of “Slapshot”.  The louder the crowd, the harder the players hit their opponents.  And like the movie, sometimes not within the rules of the game.  Being so close to the ice we were able to verbally abuse opposing players…and refs.  The other team's goalie would be serenaded with “It’s All Your Fault” each time they gave up a goal.  We even brought a makeshift red light to set up behind the other team’s net.  But it was all in good fun.

However the crowds continued to grow and soon kegs replaced the “Bag O’Beer”.  Unfortunately students came for the alcohol and not the event.  Word got out about Drexel’s fans, and opposing teams would bring theirs.  “But tonight they got their fans with them!”  For the most part it remained calm, but it all culminated in March.  The game had been circled for a while.  Drexel vs U of Penn.  We had made their rink rock as our own.  They felt it was time to take it back.  Beer flowed.   Tempers flared…both on and off the ice.  Fights broke out on the ice, but it soon included the fans.  Fans shouted at the players, players responded.  Players with players, fans with players, fans with fans.  My friend and I sat there finishing our beer.  The game was called…we knew the way we came to enjoy the game would be called too.

After that game beer was banned from the arena.  Gone were the kegs and the crowds.  Things would eventually calm down.  The next season my friend and I, and a few select other would return with our “Bag O’Beer” to watch the games.  We made sure this time not to share this information with too many others.  After we graduated, Drexel would move into a more formal collegiate hockey league.  The days of the “Slapshot” goonery dissipated.  Recently the Dragons garnered a lot of attention when they defeated rival Villanova University, 7-3, in the 2012 Crosstown Classic “Battle at the Bank” Jan. 5.  The game was held outdoors at Citizens Bank Park on the same rink where the Philadelphia Flyers and New York Rangers played the 2012 NHL Winter Classic just three days earlier.

Luckily Bettman and the NHL didn’t cancel that one.

On Or Close

Tomorrow LIRR customers can record videotaped comments at two LIRR stations this week about the MTA's proposed fare changes.  All comments will be transcribed and made part of the permanent record for review by the MTA Board.  Unfortunately for them, Ronkonkoma Station was among the two chosen as a location…unfortunately for them, because that is MY train station.  I am less concerned about the fare hike, and my time will be focused on the decades of neglect in upgrading a system that is reminiscent of the 1950’s…and they are held to the standards of that day.  There is a three-minute time limit for each individual's videotaped comments.  Three minutes is not nearly enough.

 

I don’t even know where to begin, so I will start at the beginning.  Growing up in Valley Stream at my Grandparents house was as close to rural as I will ever get.  The 50’x100’ plots were not yet laid out and there was still plenty of free land to roam.  You even heard the rooster’s crow as dawn approached.  Yes, Valley Stream…THAT Valley Stream.  There was a house behind us, but you could barely tell where our property ended and theirs began.  I became close friends with the kid who lived there, as he was only a year older than me.  His Dad, knowing mine was not around, took me under his wing at times…like one of his own.   In the winter he would let his son and I take out his O-scale trains and set them up all along his basement floor.  I am surprised we did not electrocute ourselves, these were vintage 1940’s trains…and safety was not a priority when they were building them.  In the summer, we would head up to Connecticut and the Branford Trolley Museum.  It was a vintage railroad where you could step back in time and ride the rails.  What a great place to go as a kid.  How did my friend’s Dad become such a train aficionado?  He was an LIRR Conductor.

 

It must have been an exciting time to be part of the LIRR.  With each passing year the technology would grow.  As families moved from Brooklyn to Long Island, the railroad expanded to meet the needs of the commuter.  My friend’s Dad had a huge portfolio of pictures showing the evolution of the railroad.  I would spend hours going through each one.  At this time, the big project was elevating the south shore line.  Valley Stream station had already been raised, but the project was scheduled to go all the way to Babylon.  It was 1975 and my friend’s Dad was invited to the ribbon cutting ceremony at the Merrick Station.  All the LIRR bigwigs were there, and also the Mayor of the town.  We all stood on the platform awaiting the ceremonial first train to arrive.  My friend and I went to the very end of the station to be the first to spot it.  As we saw the lights appear down the far end of the track, I ran to tell my friend’s Dad, “The train is coming, the train is coming.”  The following day in the paper, the event was written up in an article in Newsday.  The Mayor proudly describes the day and how the new station was vital to the growing town.  As the ceremony was beginning, the Mayor thought wouldn’t it be nice if someone could make a big deal about the arriving train.  He said as if on queue, a young redheaded freckled kid ran through the crowd shouting, “The train is coming, the train is coming.”  This is the last time I recall any major upgrade to the track line by the LIRR.

 

When the LIRR finished the south shore line project in 1980, one would think they would move on to bigger and better.  They never did.  In 1987 the Main Line was electrified all the way out to Ronkonkoma, but no massive track project was ever to take place again.  They promised a third track on the main line through Nassau.  They promised a SECOND track on the main line through Suffolk.  Promises, promises.  Long Island’s population continued to grow, but the LIRR failed to have any foresight to be able to handle the added traffic.  Or perhaps they just didn’t care.  I think it is a little of both.  I came across an LIRR timetable from 1928 for the Port Washington branch on eBay.  I was surprised to find the same stations listed since I did not know the history of that branch.  What I found out next though, stunned me.  The timetable from station to station was EXACTLY the same.  The same amount of time it took you from Port Washington to Woodside in 1928, is the same time today.  You would think in 80 plus years they might have shaved a minute or two off.  Nope!

 

The Port Washington line is the one line that does not go through Jamaica Station.  You would think that if any line could speed things up it would be that one, since it did not have to perform the “Jamaica Crawl”.  For those of you not familiar, it is the speed at which a train has to go through the Jamaica switches.  The reason?  This nest of track stupidity was designed in 1911…and never changed.  Even if your train does not stop at Jamaica, you still have to go through it.  No express tracks were ever built to speed trains past.  You might have heard the switching system was upgraded a year or so back.  What you might not have heard was that a lightning strike brought down the whole system only a few months later.  Now this was the lever and pulley system that was finally upgraded after 100 years, but the new computer system is still operating the same antiquated switches themselves.  They frequently break down and in cold weather have an issue with freezing.  One cold day a few years back I found out why.  As I was travelling SLOWLY on the Jamaica Crawl, I stared out the window into the abyss.  Much like seeing a gremlin on the wing, I thought my eyes were playing tricks.  Down below on the track, there were flames.  I was ready to flag down a conductor to warm him of the perils that lie ahead.  That was when I noticed ALL the tracks had flames on them. OH MY GOD, this is the deicing system?  Good thing the LIRR doesn’t run an airline!  It was in an article during the big snowstorm in 2009 that the LIRR said their service came to a halt because the system to keep the switches from freezing kept failing.  Of course it did, the wind from the storm must have kept blowing out the flames!  They failed to put THAT in the article.  No one would have believed it.

 

This leads me to my BIGGEST pet peeve about the LIRR.  “We are sorry for the delay, we can’t control the weather.”  Yes, I agree with that.  But what you could have controlled was the years of neglect and not upgrading the system with technologies that CAN handle the weather.  Rain, thunderstorms and snow are nothing new to the Northeast.  I understand when we have a hurricane, a nor’easter, a blizzard…even the tornado that touched down in Queens.  But riders are faced with delays when there are simple weather changes, and the LIRR is quick to use it as an excuse.  It rains.  There are thunderstorms in the summer.  There is snow and cold in the winter.  You don’t need a Farmer’s Almanac to predict these things.

 

All it would take is an organization that cares about its customers and the want to provide a quality service.  Even the Post Office boasts “And neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night, nor the winds of change, nor a nation challenged, will stay us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds.”

 

The LIRR can’t even handle “On or Close”