This happened on the Friday before Christmas, December 20, 1963. I continued on my way to the Long Island Rail Road station and boarded the train.
Only one month since the assassination of President Kennedy and the heart-wrenching events of that week, a somber pall lay over the commuters. People sat in their seats not interacting, all in their own thoughts. I thought about the man I’d tried to help and the suspicions of the policeman. A second before the doors closed a tall man wearing jeans and a plaid jacket jumped on the train and grinned at the passengers.
“Boy that was close. I almost didn’t make it.
I’d be in trouble with the wife if I didn’t get home on time. I’m probably in
trouble anyway because I’ve been drinking,” he laughed.
“Hey, it’s
Christmas time. Let’s sing Christmas carols. ” Everyone ignored him. “On the
first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .” He pointed at one passenger
who turned away.
“On the first day of Christmas, my
true love gave to me...” He pointed to another passenger who buried his face
into his newspaper. The man made his way down the car trying to get someone to
respond to his singing. By the time he got to me, I decided to join him. “A
partridge in a pear tree,” I sang. “Yea!” He grinned.
“On the
second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...”
“Two turtle
doves and a partridge in a pear tree,” I responded. We continued to sing and
others around us joined in.
Little by
little, people put their newspapers and cares aside to join the singing. We
sang and laughed and talked to each other. People from other cars came into our
car to join the fun. As passengers got off the train at their stop, everyone
called out “Merry Christmas.” We felt like a big family basking in the glow of
the holiday season, thanks to this jovial inebriated working man who had the
ability to bring us together. For me, it became the highlight of that
Christmas.
