New-AWK!

It was our first visit to the home of some dear friends. We had corresponded with Frank and Marilyn for some time, but never met them. In person they were even more delightful than they had been through letters and phone conversations. Frank even turned out to have more than a passing resemblance to Santa Claus. As they lived just outside New York City, they suggested we take the train into the city for some sight seeing. My husband had been to New York on a couple of occasions, but it was my first visit to the Big Apple. I grew up in a small town, literally across the street from a cornfield. To suggest I was intimidated is a pretty striking understatement. Added to that, I had never, ever been on a train before. Neither had my husband and as we were rather young at the time we were puzzled by the whole idea. But dear Frank said he would help us. He’d done this trip a thousand times and it really was simple.

It was a strangely warm late winter day when we decided to go. Frank drove us to the train station and helped us buy tickets. Then he gave us very specific instructions as to what platform to go to and where to stand, telling us that the train would be along in about fifteen minutes. Then he shooed us up the stairs and walked away.

We walked up the stair, hesitant to be separated from our native guide. I remember clutching my husband’s arm tightly because I was sure we were going to be robbed at gunpoint before we even got on the train. On the empty, windy platform, we looked around. It was not quite what we had expected. The whole area looked a lot like the small Midwestern city we had left behind only it seemed to stretch on forever. Most of the buildings in sight were three or fewer stories high and appeared to have been built before the fifties of red or tan brick. There were some elegant cornices that looked like WPA work and everything was coated with a pall of black soot, dulling all the colors.

A train approached just then with a huge clatter. We consulted our watches, which proved what we already knew, that we had only been dropped off a few minutes ago. Frank had said it would be fifteen minutes so we guessed that this wasn’t our train. A conductor hopped off the train and we hoped that he would say where the train was going. And he did. He opened his mouth and shouted,

“New-AWK!”

My husband and I looked at each other. We knew we were between New York City and Newark, New Jersey. On alien turf, we had no idea which way the train might be pointing. I asked my husband, “did he say New York or Newark?”

“I don’t know.”

Just then the conductor bellowed again, looking up and down the empty platform and apparently not even seeing the confused Midwesterners huddled in conference.

“New – AWK!”

Honestly, it sounded more like a bird’s squawk than a place name. My husband shook his head. “I’ll go ask him.” He marched over to the conductor and said politely, “Excuse me, is this train going to New York or Newark?”

The conductor looked him square in the eye and helpfully shouted,

“New – AWK!”

Then he turned and stepped back on the train. My husband walked back toward me shrugging, and at that moment Frank came running down the platform, beard flying over his shoulder, yelling,

“This is your train! This is your train! Get on! Get on!”

We rushed onto the train moments before it lurched into motion and made it to New York, and back, just fine. And we have yet to visit Newark.