As a college student, I looked forward to winter break. It was a time to go home, relax, and enjoy the holiday season.

 

What I didn’t look forward to was the uncomfortable, long train ride home and the pressure my friends put on me to go skiing. This becomes clear in . . .

 

 

Winter Break

 

     The year was 1963. It was the winter break of my sophomore year at the University of Rochester in upstate New York. My two friends, Eddie and James, and I approached the taxicab driver I’d called, who stood next to his cab outside our dorm.

     “We need to go to the train station,” I said to the driver. 

     “The three of you?” he asked.

     “Yes,” I replied.

     He scanned our luggage and inquired, “Where’s the third set of skis?”

     “Only two sets. I don’t ski," I responded.

     “We’ll see about that," Eddie shouted.

     “No way!" I yelled. It’s too dangerous. If I was meant to ski, God would have given me extra large feet.”

     We piled into the cab. The driver set the meter, and we took off for the train depot. The drive was uneventful and we arrived at the station thirty-five minutes later.

     The cabby unloaded our baggage and placed it on the curb. “Thirty dollars,” he stated.

     We each gave him ten dollars. Thinking we should tip him. I grabbed a wadded up five dollar bill from my pocket and gave it to him. He unfolded it, stared at it for a second, and mumbled, “Thank you.”

     We tugged our luggage through the station doors and followed the signs to Platform Four. The sign read, “New York City.”

     Standing on the platform, we awaited the arrival of the train. We said nothing to each other. We just stood and stared at the “million” other students waiting to board. Just as I was about to go crazy from the wait, the train pulled into the station. 

     It was then I wished I had a life insurance policy. I thought for sure I was going to be crushed to death trying to get on. But we made it and, amazingly, the three of us were able to squeeze into one wide, but uncomfortable seat. 

     Now, our luggage was another story, especially the skis. We pushed our things under the seats and into the luggage racks, wherever we could find space in the train car. The conductor had us place the skis in the very back of the car, standing tall, behind a large trunk. I wondered how we’d get to them, as the crowd got off the train.

     The ride was so exciting, I wanted to scream, but we were packed in so tight, I couldn’t get up enough breath to do so. We didn’t say much to each other. We just stared out the window at the snowdrifts or slept for the almost eight-hour trip. 

     As we approached the New York City station, James breathed a huge sigh of relief that almost knocked Eddie and me out of our seats. We managed to gather up our luggage, including the skis, and exited the car. As we did, James looked at me and said, in a somewhat facetious manner, "See you on the slopes.”

     “Not on your life,” I groaned.

     Our parents were waiting on the platform. We waved good-bye to each other and left to enjoy our two-week vacation. 

     The two weeks passed faster than I’d wished. I had no contact with Eddie and James. My parents drove me to the station, parked in the loading zone, and helped unload my luggage. We hugged and said good-bye.

     I threw my small duffle bag over my shoulder and dragged my suitcase into the station and headed toward Platform Eight. I kept looking around for Eddie and James, but they were nowhere in sight. Then, I looked at my watch and realized if I didn’t hurry, I was going to miss the train. 

     Running, I got to the fourth car just as the doors were starting to close. Reaching in, they reopened. As I entered, what I saw blew me away. There, in the two front seats, were James and Eddie, each with a leg in a cast resting on his suitcase in front of him. Seeing me enter, they turned away, trying to avoid me, but they couldn’t. With a wide grin on my face, I sung out, “Wonderful winter ‘break’ you had. Glad I didn’t go skiing with you.”

 

 

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