John Delach

January 2017: Number 164. Revised and edited, February 2024

I commuted between Port Washington, Long Island and New York’s Pennsylvania Station from 1977 until 2000 and, since my retirement, I continue to make this run mostly on non-rush hour trains two to three times a month.

Port Washington is a terminal and my title is taken from the banter between crew members that I could hear over the open intercom in the coach as the crew prepared for the morning run:

Engineer to conductor: “Mickey says it’s time to go.”

Conductor: “No orders, no messages.”

Engineer: “I have the railroad.”

…and off we’d go each morning.

Other happenings were not so regimented or contrived. One morning a conductor named, Barney, entered my coach just after the train left the Plandome Station. A well-dressed and coiffed dowager looked up at him as he prepared to punch her ticket and asked, “Conductor, please tell me what time this train will arrive at Grand Central Terminal?”

Barney punched her ticket, looked at her and replied, “Lady, you’re on the wrong f***ing railroad.”

(Of course, today her question would have been valid now that the LIRR’s long-time East Side access terminal, known as Grand Central Madison finally opened last year,)   

One evening on a return journey, the train was just emerging from one of the East River Tunnels as a different conductor entered the car. He commanded: “All tickets, please, all tickets, please. This is the 6:11 Flyer to Port Washington stopping only at Great Neck, Manhasset, Plandome and Port Washington. We expect to arrive in Port Washington at 6:48. All tickets, please.”

When he reached my row, a chap sitting across from me asked, “Why did you say ‘expect?”

“Because nothing in life is guaranteed.”   

Beginning in 1989, I started a morning routine of having a daily workout before beginning my workday. I used Cardio Fitness, an upscale facility located in Rockefeller Center as my company was willing to pay for the annual membership. This required me to make the 5:36 train, not to be late for work,  as insane as that sounds. Needless to report, my regular coach was only sparsely populated with other riders when it left Port Washington.

 One morning, I sat next to the window on a two-seater on an otherwise empty coach. I was already engrossed in the morning’s New York Times when a young woman entered and sat down next to me. I slowly folded my paper, put it down, turned toward my unwanted companion and looked directly at her.

I obtained the desired effect. Clearly flustered, she spoke rapidly trying to explain: “I didn’t know what else to do, my mother always tells me to never sit anyplace, but on the aisle and look for a well-dressed gentleman to sit next to in order to be safe.

“Look around, the coach ids empty. I assure you that it will not get crowded and you can pick any other aisle seat except this one and nobody will sit next to you.”

She did as I asked and I returned to my paper but I did keep a protective eye on her, just in case.

Slowly, I realized that I shared the same locker bay at the club with David Rockefeller of the banking family fame and David (Punch) Sulzberger, Publisher emeritus of The New York Times.

Of course, I couldn’t resist telling people about this historical breach in the order of the universe. I’d tell them: You won’t believe this, but I get undressed and dressed with David Rockefeller and Punch Salzberger!

“In fact, we are on a first name basis; they call me, ‘Hey you.’ And I call them, ‘Your Wealthiness.”

Over time, another fellow who worked out at the same time that I did, realized we both took that same 5:36 train. He boarded at the Little Neck Station, the first  stop in the Queens’ part of New York City. Quickly, we arranged to meet in a certain coach and to share a cab ride from Penn Station to the club in the McGraw-Hill building. His name was Marty Blanc and he was an international diamond dealer.

We traveled together most workdays for the next ten-years, but, being typical New Yorkers, we learned very little about each other during our time together. Since we both traveled extensively, it was not uncommon that we missed each other, but without advanced notice. I did know that Marty drove from his house to Little Neck to catch that train, but I never knew where he lived.

Sad, but it was that type of a relationship…

And so it goes.