A Christmas Caroler
By Robert Lanzone

Since it was a special day, I ignored Boss Ebenezer's dirty look and ducked out of the office early, catching the 4:37 from Penn Station to Wantagh. I could not decide which was worse, my job or my commute. I settled into a five-seater by the door in the half empty car and sipped the hot cocoa I bought before boarding. Thoughts of sitting in front of the hearth with my wife and kids soothed my soul as the train emerged from the tunnel to an already darkened sky. Snow mixed with sleet pelted the windows on a steep angle as the conductor entered the car.

"All tickets, please. Jamaica next."

I fumbled through my wallet and pulled out my monthly pass, flashing it to the conductor as he went by. Staring out the window through streaks of melting ice, I watched the snow collect on the adjacent tracks. A strong gust of wind pushed up against the car door, producing an eerie howl through the cracks in the weather stripping. My fellow passengers momentarily looked up from their books and newspapers then buried their heads back into their reading.

The flames of kerosene heaters formed miniature gullies in the snow by the switch tracks as we approached Jamaica Station. The train came to a halt next to the platform and the doors slid open, releasing a brutal gust of cold air into the car, which took my breath away. A staticky, clicking noise came from the PA overhead followed by the conductor's crackling voice.

"This station is Jamaica. This is the train to Wantagh, stopping at Merrick, Bellmore and Wantagh only. All others must change here at Jamaica."

A group of passengers shuffled their way off the train while another mob pushed their way on as the temperature in the car dropped to an uncomfortable shiver. The fervent exchange of passengers had ended and I cupped my hot cocoa for what little warmth it could provide.

"Attention passengers. We're being held momentarily in the station due to signal troubles ahead. We apologize for the delay and any inconvenience this may cause you."

Great! So much for getting home early. I sat there, becoming increasingly agitated with every passing minute. Shifting in my seat, I read each advertisement plastered to the walls at least a dozen times. The tips of my fingers were becoming numb. Why don't they close the damn doors?

Finally, the bells began to ring and one lone passenger managed to stagger into the car as the doors shut behind him. After three attempts, he grabbed hold of the pole by the entrance and hung on it like the figure of a drunken sailor to a lamppost on somebody's lawn. His hair was white and windblown. A pair of glasses, frosted from the weather, sat on the bridge of his bulbous, red nose and age lines streaked across his face like the sleet outside. He wore a raincoat with belt straps hanging at his side. In his hand, he held a wrinkled paper bag with the stem of a bottle protruding from the top. I could barely make out the word Gordon's on the neck of the clear glass.

"This is the train to Wantagh," the conductor's voice came over the PA, "stopping at Merrick, Bellmore and Wantagh only. All tickets once again, please."

Our last passenger to arrive swayed around the pole as the train began to move. He cleared his voice and took a deep breath.

"I'll be home for Christmas," he sang, "You can count on me."

The conductor entered the car, took one look at our caroler and rolled his eyes. He approached him and said, "Ticket, please."

The caroler placed his arm around the conductor like he was an old chum, spilling some gin on his sleeve.

"Ticket, please," the conductor harshly repeated.

"Please have some snow and mistletoe," the caroler crooned.

The conductor looked up at the ceiling as if searching for mistletoe. His eyes widened at the thought that he might find the green and red parasite hanging above, and that the caroler would plant a kiss on his lips. The conductor tried to pull away, but the caroler had him firmly in his grasp. The passengers had abandoned their books and newspapers and began to giggle.

The caroler took a swig from his bottle. "And presents by the tree."

The conductor wrestled himself from the caroler's grip and moved down the car.

"No ticket," he mumbled under his breath. "Oh well. It's Christmas Eve."

The caroler treated us to more than three renditions of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" of varying degree of delivery. I think whistletoe was substituted for mistletoe once and one line went 'You can't on me'. Bing Crosby must have been rolling over in his grave.

The train was nearing Merrick and the conductor's voice came over the PA.

"For the passenger who's gonna be home for Christmas, your stop is next."

Laughter emanated from every occupied seat in the car, but the caroler remained pie-eyed.

"Christmas Eve will find me," the caroler sang.

"Merrick, Merrick's the next stop on this train," the PA competed with the caroler.

"Where the love light gleams."

"This station is Merrick."

The train came to a halt and the breaks let out a gasp of air as the doors slid open.

"Oh, I'll be home for Christmas."

The caroler crooned as he stumbled out the door and fell face first onto the snow covered platform. He rolled over and made snow angels with his arms and legs, bursting out hardy laughs with each stroke that would have made old Saint Nick proud.

The bells rang and the doors began to close.

"If only in my dreams."

All the passengers gave the caroler a standing ovation, but I doubt he ever heard it.

The train delay was worth it, I thought as I got off the train in Wantagh. The caroler had made a cheerful father come home for Christmas to his wife and kids.