Déjà Vue, all over again
You say you’ve never heard of the Lackawanna? How about the Delaware & Erie? Well, to tell the truth, it’s now New Jersey Transit. But when I moved to Denville, NJ in 1955, it was called the Delaware & Erie-Lackawanna, which everyone called the Lackawanna.
The ride started in Manhattan with the Hudson Tubes. Oh, I’m sorry, the PATH (Port Authority-Trans Hudson) train. Even I’ll admit to calling it the PATH because the Port Authority bought the bankrupt line when I was in elementary school (or was it middle school, or junior high?). Nothing unusual there except for the electronic tickets and a ride that used to be 50 cents is now $1.75. Still cheaper than the NYC subway (or is it the MTA?)
Upon arrival in Hoboken, the first stop had to be the hot dog stand. It was still there. At one time, the world’s absolutely greatest dogs were grilled by the most amazing man who could grill, hand out dogs with whatever toppings you want, sell beer and make change as if in a ballet. It was part of a bar. It still is, but now the dogs are cooked on one of those circulating grills you find at any 7-11 and the woman serving me was, to be kind, slow and clumsy. She had to wear those latex gloves and had to constantly switch hands as she somehow managed to get me a couple of dogs. I dread to think what she would do at rush hour. Way back when, the lines were three across and 15 deep and the guy didn’t miss a beat.
I then found out that I would be taking a train on the Gladstone Branch. Had to switch at either Newark or Summit. There were no direct trains to the Morristown Branch. They now run out of New York’s Penn Station. I didn’t even have to come to Hoboken. Though I’m really glad I did.
As I was waiting for the train doors to open, I wandered over to the water. There is a fantastic view of lower Manhattan from the docks. I saw the ferry and remember my father taking me on one circa 1956 when he wanted a break from the tubes, they were the Hudson Tubes then.
The train was certainly more modern. The lighting was fluorescent compared to the clear tungsten bulbs in lanterns at every other seat. The windows, of course, were sealed for the air conditioning and instead of straw; the seats had fake leather covers. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the seat backs still moved back and forth, permitting you to be seated in a forward direction no matter what way the train was going.
I had to change in Newark. The last time I waited for a train there was in 1967, the night Newark erupted into rioting and I could see fires about a mile away while standing alone on the platform. The idea of switching trains was not comfortable, but it was broad daylight and I rationalized there really wasn’t any need to fear. As we travelled from Hoboken to Newark, I was surprised to remember what some of the landscaping was about. It still is swampland and motionless rivers ran by. But then, there were also changes. Interstate Highway 280 now runs parallel to the tracks.
And when I reached the Newark stop, I realized it was different from the station I saw fires at. It was the Broad Street station, not the one on the Pennsylvania Railroad (now Amtrack) line I had stopped at more than 40 years before. Across from the station was a minor league ballpark that is the home of the Newark Bears. It was a really nice place, not as sterile as the field on Long Island where the Long Island Ducks hold sway. It was brick and looked more like Ebbits field than the new Mets park is (another change from Shea to Citi Field).
Minor league ball had been out of style in the New York metro area for many years but it is now making a comeback. The Newark Bears were the first opponent Jackie Robinson faced when playing minor league ball for the Brooklyn (now Los Angeles) Dodger’s Montreal Alloutte team.
As I boarded my next train, I noticed there was a change in the seating system. There is now a spot for people to park a bicycle and reserved handicapped seating. And the toilet system had changed radically. Once, you dumped or pumped through an open hole onto the train tracks. If you were a guy, you could watch the ties pass by as you relieved yourself. Now there are chemical toilets. They don’t smell very good.
Another connection to the present was an electronic sign, which, between announcing stops, told riders to be aware and report suspicious activities to the police. I can’t even take a ride down memory lane without some of the issues of the present hitting me in the face.
As I continued my journey, the familiar names of the route returned to me – Summit, Chatham, Madison, Convent, Morristown, Morris Plains, Mt. Tabor and Denville each station had different memories for me from making chicken deliveries to making love in the parking lot (and being scared half to death because it was across the street from the local police headquarters).
Some of the stations, such as in Orange, hadn’t changed a bit. Others had been completely refurbished.
I finally arrived in Denville, the town where I spent some of my younger years. It hasn’t changed much, which is a small comfort in a world that is changing way too fast to be comfortable any more.
