8027. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, (Pt. 21)

21. THE DINKY
The Princeton train has some

small complication involved

with itself  -  as in that old

Vermont farmer story in which

the crusty old farmer, upon

being asked 'how do I get to...'

by someone along the road,

scratches his head, pulls on

his pipe, and says, 'Ayh, you

can't get there from here.' It's

the same with the train  - you

can't get there from it. The

train only takes you to Princeton

Junction, which is some 3 or

4 miles off from Princeton.

If you stay on that train, you'll

you'll only get to Hamilton or

Trenton on the next stops. To

get to Princeton, you need to

get off at Junction, and walk

about 200 feet to what's called

'The Dinky'  -  which is like

a full one-car train of its own

that runs a shuttle format back

and forth every twenty minutes

or so. It's something like another

two bucks. It gets you, in a nice

manner, right to the base of the

university campus  -  of which is

the whole new 'train station' thing

I wrote of two chapters back. The

service is continually being bettered.

One can walk to town, or there are

numerous shuttle buses and free

Princeton University campus buses,

etc. That part's all easy, but it is,

actually, just a nice walk, worth

doing. The Dinky was, for me, a

twice-daily occurrence and  because

of the nature of it, an even tighter

and closer-knit crowd of people

who soon enough get to know

one another. Plus the conductor.

With their shift-change at 3pm,

I'd have one conductor in the

morning, and one in the afternoon  -

same each day, and they too became

audaciously familiar and friendly.

So, one simply had to find a way

to make the best of it. Usually I

just gave up and went along,

talking and reciprocating. No

reason to be a boor all the time,

I suppose. Mostly, by the end,

my hours had become odd

enough as to miss the big

heavy commuter crowds. I

did make friends with conductors.

The Dinky assignment, for a

conductor, is a seniority thing,

usually at the end of a train

career, so there'd be retirements.

Same with the engineer

assignments. All varied. The

changeovers would occur. One

time, in NYC, I was walking

through an early morning Penn

Station when I heard my name

being yelled, and, looking around,

it was the morning Dinky conductor,

Bob, on a day off, taking in the city.

We walked around some, spent

some time together, and went

on our ways. It was rare, for he

lived, actually, out on the Philly

line, right near to Philadelphia, so

his trip trip in was a big deal.

All this train travel was good,

I enjoyed it, and I even learned

how to talk some, to people, out

of the blue, as things happened.

But no matter how I tried, I still

felt trapped  -  everything was 

forced and enforced. I had to 

'work' to stay on point, to retain 

a concentration; all these things 

I had much trouble doing. I guess 

it's all just the nature of the 

workaday world  - who needs

it, and I don't. I'm so glad to 

be done with all that. 

It seems miraculous.

-

I enjoyed my rides, though. The

different perplexities always  - 

changing seasons and weathers, 

always a surprise. People came

and went. I had a wonderful

acquaintance for a while with 

a girl who'd share her script with 

me and we'd sometimes spent 

the trip back to Metuchen with 

a little practice read of a script 

she'd be working with at Stella 

Adler or whatever NYC acting

school thing she was with once 

or twice a week. It was fun. Different

plays; she'd read her part and I'd be 

the other voice of the scene. We 

spoke generally low enough just 

for the two of us, but sometimes

the scripts were funny or dark or

weird enough that people around us

must have thought we were crazies,

or adult film stars, in one instance.

Pretty funny. Nice diversion. She 

was also a big Mick Jagger fan  - 

having just read another Jagger 

biography, she'd tell me surprising 

things  - like how, even more than 

rock star, he was an astute 

businessperson and student of 

economics and marketing, running

his money fiefdom and the trajectory

of career and band really smartly.

Stuff I wouldn't have thought of.

Another guy, a fellow from India,

also rode to Metuchen daily, he'd 

spin us his tales of home. Calcutta,

whatever the new name us, Bombay,

Mumbai, all that stuff. He'd remark

about a crowded train, say, like 'In

India, this is nothing. There they

pack the cars with people, attendants

prod people into the cars, way past

capacity, and then everyone else

just hangs on, outside the cars, 

wherever they can." Or he'd tell 

of the far-flung villages with but

one or two Internet connections  -  

people lined up, way out on a 

dirt road somewhere, waiting for 

their fifteen or twenty minutes 

of Wifi use. He lived in Metuchen,

a regular, normal life, two little 

girls, a wife and a dog. I'd see him

around, and we'd talk some more.

He'd tell me, sometimes, things I 

could hardly imagine  -  about the

ways other people lived, or struggle

to live, or to survive; your choice 

there. He was, they both were, these

Metuchen people, smart, witty, 

intelligent people. Very enjoyable.

Only one was pretty. There was

another guy I'd often see, local

again  -  all he ever did, nearly

each day, to whomever he was

with (not me, but always nearby),

as the nice Spring weather began in 

earnest, was go on complaining 

about mowing : how he hated the

Spring because of his constant need

to mow, cut, trim. Nearly every day

it was like another grass-apocalypse,

if you listened to him. And his

stupid cowboy hat. I wanted to

go up to him an introduce myself

as an Astro-turf salesman, just to

make him happy for once. The

Eternal Winter of the Useless Mind.

-

I had a friend, who worked in a 

capacity with the Physics Department 

at the University. He'd come here, 

with his family, from Scotland when 

he was 12. He'd tell me stories too. 

His immigration tale was great : I 

guess it was about 1965, his family 

arrived here, in the midst of a mix-up, 

over papers. They spent endless hours

at immigration, sorting things out. They

were finally sent, for their first few

weeks in the USA, to some temporary

housing set-up in Asbury Park. It was

all unexpected, and a big surprise. 

All their stuff was transported, with

them, in a van. They got there, and

their first night in American the place

burned down. The whole rooming

 house, up in flames. They lost 

everything. First night. Talk about

starting anew. He used to say it was

'probably the best thing that ever 

happened to his family.' Only in

America. This fellow could drink 

too. A few times we went out drinking

together, and he made me look like

Cinderella, compared to his intake.

One time, in NYC, Halloween night

or something; he was pounding 'em

down, and then pounding some more.

Trying to pick up some girl dressed as

a Swiss Miss or something (costume

night, Greenwich Village Halloween

Parade) at Peter McManus' Tavern,

19th St. and Seventh Ave. He just

kept on. We were crazy wasted, he

was crossing and walking at the same

time, wobblier than a rubber crutch.

He finally collapsed, and just passed

out in the gutter, right out front. I 

dragged him up, propped him against 

the building, called someone we both

knew, and she came down from 91st

Street, in a cab, just to pick his prone

body up and get him home to somewhere
or other. They later got married. I guess 
I never mentioned that besides playing

the mandolin, I'm a matchmaker too.
-
This same fellow, with the Physics 
Department at the University as I said,
would every so often be sent, or go, to
Italy, where, underneath the Italian Alps,
the Princeton University  part of the CERN
Particle Laboratory effort, and various different
Universities and such were working together on 
particle physics  -  something like a mile-long
accelerator built way underground, where 
they'd smash atoms into each other at high 
speed, (this is a layman talking; it's a lot more
complicated than this - you can look it up), to 
see what happens. He'd say they were on a 
quest to unlock the secrets of 'dark matter' 
(gotta' love that), cosmic codes behind 
reality, etc. Anyway, point is, one time he
invited me out there with him  -  he said he
could 'hire' me as an assistant, it would be
a 6-month trip, only, and when finished, the
job for me would be over. I declined, yes, 
because of my other job, and home life, etc.
Maybe I should have just said yes and chucked
it, and worry about it all in 6 months. 
But, whatever.
-
He had two other peculiarities (actually, a bunch, 
but I'm only citing two more)  -  he would use the 
gym at the University, it came with the job. While
we'd be sitting around awaiting the Dinky, there'd 
usually be some well-dressed, stuffy men types 
around, University guys, all fancy and rich.
They were fellow gym users, with him, 
all that locker room and shower-room stuff,
and they'd nod hellos and things. Alan would
always say to me, as a put-down to them, or at
least to their elitism, 'I know him, in the gym, I've
seen his 'junk', he's got nothing'. Then someone
else, same deal, 'Seen his 'junk', he's OK., etc.
Talk about deflating people. I'd say, 'Jesus. Alan,
you're making me self-conscious; my junk's so bad
you'd have it out on the curb, with the rest of the
trash.' A little weird, but: 'By their junk ye shall
know them.' Is that in the Bible? I forget.
-
Lastly, every day, while we were waiting, 
at the nearby little store, Alan would buy a 
piece of fruit. An orange, or a banana. It was 
his daily thrill to eat the fruit and take the 
skin or the core or whatever, and then just 
heave it, out onto the grass or into the 
hedges. He did it, each time, just to get a  
rise out of people  -  all those re-cycling and
bio-degradable types. They'd look smugly 
at him, etc., and he'd wise-crack back - 
  'It's bio-degradable;  it will decay and 
take care of itself. Get over it.' 
I always loved punks.