No Stone Left Unturned

Monday October 11, 2004, 8:39am – Columbus Day

The train did not switch rails last night, and I was able to reach the sidewalks of Pleasant Street with no need for the crossover tower or a quick dash straight across the tracks. From now on I may ignore all such MBTA signage – including this morning’s dire proscription warning against crossing the very same tracks I’d hopped across moments earlier. Having grown up next to a railroad I’ve done a lot of rail hopping in my day. In fact, I once trekked a half-mile to downtown Sherborn like a tightrope walker atop just one rail. So now that the chain link fencing has been pulled from between the north and south rails I personally feel no great danger, especially with a clear view of the rails nearly a mile in both directions. Yet I can see how the MBTA might want to keep distracted flocks of would-be commuters off the tracks of an arriving train.

Roadbed reconstruction is closing in from the west, and even though today is a national holiday I can see at least two workers in bright orange jumpsuits fiddling and diddling near the rails just west of the Ashland Station platform area. When the engineer sees them he gives a lustily applied railroad-crossing-style whistle just before the train crawls into the station itself – leaving my ears ringing as we board the train.

In place of the missing fence I see where reconstruction crews have set a smattering of wooden ties in preparation for future events. They’ve left only two ties for every six that could be replaced, so they’ll need more at some point unless they plan to recycle some of the older ones – which would seem to defeat the value of this reconstruction project.

In the opinion of a cell phone caller who hasn’t bothered to notice that we’re actually moving this morning – we’re ‘stuck’ at Framingham Station. I suppose any claim can be substituted for reality if no one bothers to notice.

“{Squeal, screech} Ah on b’half of the d’MBd’A I godda ‘poligize for d’delay this mornin’ – the CSX people decides to do more work durin’ the rush hour and {squawk} we’ze stuck watin’ and thaiz nothin’ we can do ‘bout it. Looks like we’h past the wost’f it. Again, sawry for the delay…{fizzzzt, click}”

That’s our fill-in conductor for the day – a guy with hair meticulously trimmed and groomed, perhaps in his early fifties by my guess. Feedback from overhead speakers might not pepper his comments with such horrible noise if before keying the intercom microphone he closed the vestibule door. As it is I’d rather he skipped the apology altogether since as far as I can tell the delay isn’t the fault of the MBTA.

Soon the fill-in guy wanders through our cabin collecting from a thin smattering of passengers on this Columbus Day Monday, mumbling out loud for our collective edification as get goes along.

“Can’t figger out why they don’t pick no better time to work on dem tracks. Just stop f’two ow-uh’s to let traffic through and we wouldn’t get all late like this – an’ it’s lookin’ like it’ll be bad all week! Thank God I ain’t ya reg’ler conducta cause I ain’t doin’ this run ‘cept fa’ t’day – getting’ up at four in th’mornin’ an’ ridin’ alla way ta Wista – deadend of d’freakin’ werld out thaya – den ridin’ all mornin’ on this train – won’t be home ‘til ten tonight doin’ this run!”

Indeed, it must be tough being a fill-in conductor.

“L-A! – Hey hear they got knocked-off last night – sorry to see that. They wuz a good team… fun t’watch…”

I look up to see the fill-in guy jawing at a somber passenger wearing an LA Dodgers baseball cap by the vestibule door. I can’t hear what the fan is saying in return, but he clearly looks less than happy since the Dodges were indeed eliminated from the baseball playoffs last night.

“Wellesley Fa’ms next … then w’ll be expressin’ allo way t’Back Bay – Wellesley Farms, then express to Back Bay.” Unlike Frank, evidently the fill-in conductor has no prejudice against the verb form of express.

Before I forget …

On Friday I left the train at Ashland Station with the Red Sox up six to one, and by the time I’d walked half way home the score was tied at six-all. More than an hour later and more than fours hours after the first pitch, David Ortiz launched a long fly ball that drifted over the left field monster to win the game and the American League Divisional Series.

Also, some other news…

At Framingham Station last Wednesday evening, just forty-five minutes before I’d mentioned the darkening presence of a Verizon payphone, someone was assaulted and robbed at that very spot – an event quite rare for the commuter rail stations.