Tuesday, October 26, 2004, 8:23am
Tuesday, October 26, 2004, 8:23am
Just into Framingham alongside cut-stone abutments built nearly two centuries ago, we pass beneath the Winter Street Bridge. To accommodate standard-height automobile railcars from a nearby plant, General Motors once paid $600 million to elevate this and every other low bridge from Boston to the New York state line. Months later GM closed the Framingham plant, and so – by this happenstance – there is now enough headroom for double-decker MBTA passenger trains on the Worcester Line.
The upgrade reinforced stacked stone abutments with through-bolts anchored to U-shaped beams acting like giant wing-nuts. At Winter Street the northern support shows what seems like an early experiment. One U-beam is recessed by machining a deep trough into the hard granite. But this did not continue with the other wing-nut beams since cutting deep channels into solid stone is tough going, and somebody must have done the math and decided that recessing hundreds of beams from Boston to Stockbridge might wear out every diamond-tipped cutting tool in New England along with the patience of General Motors eager to get the job done before it wasn’t needed anymore.
“Wellesley Square is next. We’ll be express from Wellesley Farms to Back Bay”
We won’t be reaching the Farms for another three stops and Norm is a bit early on that point today. Perhaps once a group of stylish high school kids came aboard at Natick he felt the need to supply extra information since they clearly are not regular riders.
Through the space of several minutes the kids have shuffled across vacant seating – at various times sliding three unique pairs onto and off the end of my own three-seater – first two girls, then two guys, then two other girls. In high school, socialization seems to be as much a matter of geometry as anything else.
Farther along, I am aware that our cabin lights keep failing. I’ve seen this happen on rare occasions where circuit breakers kick off and re-set by the engineer. After a half dozen resets – more than usual – the lights stay off for a while. In this semi-darkness the inexperienced teenagers chatter something about this being a normal part of the trip until conversation returns to more important matters of hair chemistry and nail color.
It’s no wonder the whole car smells like a salon!
With this I settle into my own ride. Here near Boston not a cloud can be seen against a deep blue sky, while in St. Louis it is raining. Tonight they may play the third game of the World Series -or not- and that is all I know for sure – which, I suppose, is nothing useful at all.
The Back Bay crowd leaves, and in the opened carriage space the sociable teenagers condense into one end of the car. For a moment I’m the only remaining occupant of this bench until I sense someone sliding in from across the aisle.
Approaching South Station every passing metal control box is spray-painted with “GO SOX” and “WE BELIEVE” and arrows pointing west labeled “FENWAY PARK” – Graffiti I suppose that may never be expunged should the Sox win over the Cardinals.
But then institutional owners see all graffiti the same way, so who am I kidding?
