02/26/2016
HOLD THAT TIGER!
Uncle Sam classified me "One-A," soon after
my eighteenth birthday. In light of my dismal academic record during my third
semester, it seemed prudent to drop out of college and await my induction
notice. Germany Japan
After one brief interview, the Railway Express hired
me to work as a dockhand. They must have been desperate for labor. The job
entailed loading and unloading merchandise from their boxcars. The nation-wide
Railway Express system handled everything under the sun, from merchant's goods
to personal effects. Working the graveyard shift from midnight to eight in the morning, five days a week, suited me
perfectly. It allowed me to sleep all day, eat dinner, and then go out on the
town with my friends until 11:30 p.m., with ample time to race home, change
into work clothes and hightail it to their dock located at the foot of
Washington Street. The job paid a buck an hour. Hey, it exceeded the starting
wage of army privates, $50/month.
Frank Partel, my former Stevens basketball coach, also
worked this shift. This change in our relationship, from teacher-student to
equal status as freight handlers, made me feel uncomfortable. It did not bother
him. It shocked me to learn he had to supplement his income by working at this
menial job.
Another coworker, a teenager like me, also awaited
induction into the armed forces. After work, we would go to the Stevens gym,
shoot some hoops, take a dip in the pool, shower and head home. I would arrive
just as my mother left for work at the Whitehall Dining Club located in Battery
Park, downtown Manhattan
Two other coworkers, a Mutt and Jeff team, made my job
memorable. All night long, they would engage in discussions covering
literature, science, politics or religion. The big fellow did all the work
while his short erudite companion explained the workings of the world to all
within earshot. He taught me more about such matters that summer than my
college Profs had managed in my last semester.
Most of the freight was light and easy to handle. One
shipment consisted of hatboxes. My boss told me to load the last one, located
farther down the dock. I bent over to pick it up with one hand, strained, and
gave up. It would not budge. The innocent little carton contained a vial of
radium within a lead-lined enclosure. Everyone laughed at my futile effort.
It seemed you could ship anything by Railway Express,
including animals. One night a boxcar arrived containing a hissing-mad Siamese
cat. A worker decided to let it out of the cage to drink a bowl of milk. As
soon as the cage door opened, it bolted past the man and fled into the wilds of
Hoboken
We formed a search party, hoping to find this
prize-winning specimen and beloved family pet. The gent who had literally “let
the cat out of the bag” became frantic. As time went by, it became evident this
tabby would miss the outbound shipment. In desperation, our “Clyde Beatty” set
out another bowl of milk. The lure worked. A Hoboken
My induction notice arrived soon after and my
employment with the Railway Express ended abruptly. How did this saga end? I
never found out.
What thoughts must have crossed the minds of the
owners when they went to retrieve their pet? They must have been amazed. It is
one thing for a cat to have nine lives, but it is quite another to have it
undergo such a remarkable transformation during an overnight train ride.
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