posted by Evi on Oct 25
Anyone out there remember Dashing Dan or Dashing Dottie? If you rode the Long Island Rail Road back in the 1960’s you might. They were the symbols of us frazzled commuters. But, let me tell you, those were the good old days.
Commuting to Manhattan back then was one big party. After work we piled into the bar car, fighting our way through the cigarette smoke-fogged car. Of course, at that time I was a major pollution contributor taking in about two packs a day. Smoking was considered sexy and there was always someone around to light my cigarette. However, I did learn the fine art of lighting a cigarette with a match while using only one hand. Yes, ladies and gentlemen – one hand. This I showcased from my spot in the bar car to the throngs of people waiting out on the platform at Jamaica Station, receiving admiring glances from the men staring in the window.
Our group consisted of a bunch of guys and maybe one or two other girls. It was a fun time of drinks (which we girls never had to pay for, being this was before the days of womens’ lib), Pinochle, Liar’s Poker, Hearts and a bit of grab ass. Most of the guys were married but that didn’t stop them from participating. They were the instigators and worse than any single men I knew. How would you like to have been married to one of them? Maybe you were; now you know what went on. And here you had sympathized with them when they complained about the long, hot, crowded commute home.
When I arrived home from work my Mom would be pissed off at me because of my unsteady condition and the alcohol fumes emanating from my person.
In the morning the bar car became the coffee car and things were normally a bit quieter. I guess being hungover didn’t help any. Coffee, juice and doughnuts were served by the same guy who bartended the evening train. I usually rode with the same group depending on which train I caught. Sometimes I’d just drink coffee and read the paper with a friend; other times I’d play cards. If one of us had a birthday we’d celebrate with champagne or Cold Duck which made for an interesting morning at work.
The commute to and from work was usually the best time of my day. My big crush rode the same train I did so I would try my damndest not to miss it. This meant racing to the subway station in high heels, catching the subway from wherever I happened to be working at the time, then changing over to the Seventh Avenue IRT to make my train at Hunter’s Point Avenue. No wonder I stayed so thin!
I look back at those days with longing and wish I could do it all over again, but at my age I’d probably miss the train more times than make it. And please, don’t make me wear high heels.
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