Today, it was raining as I went to the V.A. hospital in Lebanon, PA, and it reminded me of something that happened years ago in a city far, far away. I was reminded that while the destination is important, the journey can be just as important.
I was working for Publishers’ Phototype, Inc. in East Rutherford, New Jersey. My friend, Robert P. McAuley got me the job. (So, check out his books on Amazon. Though he is probably more well known for his contributions to Aviation Magazine, he’s written tons of terrific books about time travel in his 1800 Club series.)
Anyhow, the job was like a dream come true. P.P.I. was the middleman between almost every magazine and the printer. Middleman is grave misnomer, though, as most of the staff were female. So, after years in the military and working as a Frameman for the N.Y. Telephone Company, it was a pleasant change of routine to be surrounded by intelligent, interesting, sexy females. I did, however, manage to keep in on a professional level (no matter how much I tried not to).
I worked in a division known as CBS magazines. Working directly with the editors, we prepared every page of Boating, Popular Photography, Car & Driver, and a few other magazines to go to the printer. I loved it, but then something happened. I got transferred to the 4-12 shift. I don’t mind working odd shifts, but the bus home to Jersey City stopped running at 11 p.m.
So, my first night on the new shift, I had to walk home 7 miles. Two of those miles were on a stretch of Route 3 that goes over the Hackensack River. There was no pedestrian lane. I walked on a narrow shoulder of the road just about a foot wide. I was scared, and all the honking didn’t help. Then I got to four miles of Paterson Plank Road that was mainly occupied by junk yards and the junkyard dogs who guarded them. The barking was constant and scary.
The last mile was residential as I walked home fearlessly through my neighborhood, and I was pretty calm by the time I got home. I knew that I had to do something to improve the first six miles, though. I invested in a reflective vest, a flashlight that was the size of a war club, and a Sony Walkman cassette player.
So, the next afternoon, I went to work with a knapsack full of snacks, cold-packed beverages, vest, flashlight, Walkman, and my favorite cassette tapes. Since I was now more visible from a distance, the honking was greatly reduced as I walked over the bridge. The first two miles of the journey was a great improvement over the previous night.
On the four deserted miles of Paterson Plank Road, I cranked up the volume to 10, and roadside Karaoke was born. I couldn’t even hear the barking dogs, and they truly were, “Out of sight, out of mind” as I sang along to the tape.
I sang quietly on the last mile through residential streets, but I did have one more song to belt out. As I got within a block of my home, I sang You’ll Never Walk Alone, the song that Jerry Lewis always sang at the end of one of his telethons for “Jerry’s Kids.”
It was a 90-minute journey and I made special cassette tapes that made that journey the best part of my night. After I left that company, the thing I missed the most was that 90-minute walk home.
Today, I went to an appointment at the V.A. Hospital in Lebanon, PA. I don’t drive, but the V.A. provided me with a free Uber ride to and from the appointment. On the way back I saw that there was a paperback book in the seat pocket in front of me, “From Darkness Into Light.” I pulled it out and noticed that the author’s picture looked very similar to the one I saw in the rear-view mirror. I questioned him about it, and he told me all about his journey from troubled youth to respectable author. Then he performed an epic poem that he wrote one time while driving 300-plus miles from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia. It was incredible. I’m slightly deaf and the road noise was making it hard to hear, so I just kept saying “Louder” and he really got into the performance, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his spellbound audience in the rear-view mirror. Before I knew it, the sun was out, and I was home. Sometimes the journey is just as much fun as the destination.
Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon (1987) “You’ll Never Walk Alone”
Peace & Love, and all of the above,
Earl
earlthepearl137 