At the Railroad Crossing

The red and white striped arm that stops traffic from crossing the railroad tracks that cross Roaring Brook Road fell as I approached. Usually I'm frustrated by the short wait. And always I'm grateful for the that arm that falls to stop us from crossing the tracks as a train speeds by. Over 45 years ago -- we were only 12 -- we lost one of our friends because the driver, his cousin, of the car he was in, crossed tracks (on the way to a football game in Ann Arbor, Michigan) and was hit. When I wait for the train to pass, I think of Wally Strauss whom I danced with at our first dance parties and who teased me for liking Andy Modell. Wally's was the first funeral I'd ever been to. I remember at the front of the chapel his casket, his cousin, Jimmy Prentiss's (also a friend), and their older cousin's who was driving.

A note: We moved two weeks ago from the east side to the west side to make my commute easier. It still takes about 40-45 minutes to drive up to Chappaqua. But the home run is much easier -- almost always 45 minutes (with parking available in a school zone good after 4 pm just down the street from our apartment), rather than the hour and 15 to hour and a half commute to the east side, because of the clogged Deegan or the trek from the west side on 96th Street, through the park on the transverse, to park -- if I was lucky -- on Fifth Avenue near the Guggenheim, a few blocks from our apartment on 86th and Madison.