More travel funnies…(2)

More travel funnies…(2)
Torrey Orton
May 19, 2011


"...the only white people on the train"

This is a race joke. It was told on himself by a 70 year old anglo friend who was on a New York City subway with his 13 year old son a few weeks back. He looked down the carriage and thought 'we're the only white people on the train'. Something stopped him saying it just in time. He remembered that he was the only white guy on the train. His son is a product of his second marriage. His mother is Sri Lankan; he's clearly not a white guy.

 

His father's not without deep experience in matters of race, having spent a number of years as a teacher in Harlem schools and as a curriculum consultant in many others in the late '60's where he was often the only white guy on the train. In between, I guess he forgot what he is. How anyone can do that you may wonder. He did, too. I still am.

"The last time I saw you…"
    

This is a sex joke masquerading as 'just between you 'n me, for your ears only' boy talk. Talk about giving it all away in a paroxysm of paranoia! C was on the door for new arrivals at the reunion. He had also been particularly solicitous of our travel comfort, accommodation arrangements and general well-being. He was not a guy I knew at all well in the day. I do a bit more now.

 

Having overseen our hotel registration from a distance, he rushed out to join us on the way back to our car (for luggage transfers) whispering (as he often did),

"I saw you play hockey once in Buffalo." (Western New York, near Niagara Falls).

Me: "When was that?"

He: "A few years after leaving school".

Me: "Oh yeah, against Yale in 1964. We got killed 13 to 3. I don't remember seeing you there."

He: "I just don't want you mentioning it to my wife. I was there with another girl."

Me: "Sure thing. No worries."

 

Of course carrying such a secret was difficult; it always lurked in the wings looking for a chance to sneak out. Two days of reunioning provided regular opportunities for sharing back. I was eased in my self-management by the fact the secret totally lacked salience for me, though gaining small traction from my wonder at the marvels of guilt and its persistent need for self-exposure. I can only hope his sharing it with us reduced the burden for him. It was big enough for him not to have heard that I never noticed him that day in '64. Perhaps the clang of the puck in our goal distracted my attention. Certainly paying attention did little to stop the clanging. Maybe I should have been there for C after all??

Tar pit triumph

In LA I saw a tar pit at last, fulfilling an unrecalled childhood (mid-primary age) dream arising from one of those enduring standalone impressions of a sabre-tooth tiger risen from the pits decades ago, with mastodons and ground sloths in the background. This was a totally unmediated perceptual success. Seen one, seen 'em all. I hadn't the slightest need to see a dozen more, which were easily at hand in the La Brea display ground. The need fulfilment was probably assisted by the smell-o-vision nature of the experience – I smelled the pit before I saw it. Primary sense trumps secondary. Not funny; just nice.

Streets of New Haven

We went back to the place of our first married year (and my first 7 years of adult life!) New Haven, CN for a few hours after the reunion. We knew it was likely to be disappointing because we had been there a few times over the last 20 years – another rust belt city bereft of manufacturing and host to long term urban poverties.

 

The story is this: the streets in, through and around the Yale University environs are clean and well-paved. Those in the areas to the north, west and east, largely black inhabited, were potholed from end to end. These holes were suspension clatteringly and control compromisingly pervasive. The south is Long Island Sound. Only a few fish pass there.

Not funny at all.