Rosy Glow – The 8:10 from Pelham

By

Andrew DeMarco

About a week ago I was having a particularly bad day at the office. Clients were cancelling meetings; there were disagreements over methods on how the project should be done and just a generally horrible day. While trying to plow through, a song came on the radio that reminded me of the 8:10 train out of Pelham and an old friend Patrick “Pat” Murphy. Pat was a bear of a man who had a booming voice as well as a laugh that could be heard across any room. He had a love of life and lived every day as if it were a party. He was a talented musician and also had the voice to go with it. Pat was fiercely proud of his Irish heritage, but was also able to joke about it. I remember him telling me that he bought a book of Irish Art, and when he got home he found that all the pages were blank. He was even more proud about being an American. When once asked if he was Irish he replied, “No I am an American whose grandparents and great-grandparents had the good sense to come here.” He wore an American Flag lapel pin even before it had become fashionable.

I met Pat over 30 years ago through a mutual friend, Mike Colello at one of the local watering holes here in Pelham and it was very easy for the two of us to become friends. Back then I was commuting daily into Manhattan along with Pat, Mike and one of Pat’s friends Mary Jo. The four of us would meet every morning for about 15 years on the 8:10 out of Pelham and face another day in the mines. Pat would insist we stand because it would be easier for us to talk to one another and as he said if he sat he would fall asleep and not be in good shape for his day as a bond trader. Since it was only about a 25 minute commute we all agreed and it worked for us. We would talk about anything, what we had planned for the day, our families, politics, religion, sports whatever; you name it we talked about it. What I did find was that by doing this we were at Grand Central Terminal before we knew it and we were all ready for the day. Pat usually amused us so we had a different attitude by the time we arrived.

There was one particular day when I guess we did not have all that much to discuss and the usual morning conversation seemed to lag. This seemed to distract Pat who kept looking up and down the car we were in and just kept mumbling under his breath. When we asked him what was wrong he replied, “Look at these poor bastards, you would think they were all going to the slaughterhouse.” One look up and down that car and we realized that Pat was right. Everyone had a scowl, frown, or just a look of fright on their faces. He looked at us and said that we had to do something about that and that we had to cheer these “poor bastards” up. Mike, Mary Jo and I said, “What do you mean we?”

It was then that Pat made the decision that he would go it alone and that is when the three of us realized that we would be in for something special. We had no idea what that was but knowing Pat he would not let us or all those poor commuters down. He proceeded to walk up and down the aisle urging everyone to wake up and to put a smile on their faces because things could not be that bad. Then he took a harmonica from his jacket pocket and started playing “Rainy Day Women”, and then after a while he began to sing it for everyone. I learned something from Pat that day. I know most of you know this song but I am sure you did not know the real title of it. “Rainy Day Women” is a song by Bob Dylan and the last two lines of each verse end with the refrain, “But I would not feel so all alone,  Everybody must get stoned.”

The next thing we know Pat has the whole car clapping and singing along and everyone was definitely joining in at the refrain. His timing was perfect because when he was done, the train was just entering the tunnel for Grand Central. Pat finally came back to us standing in the doorway and the commuters began to gather their things to detrain. Meanwhile Mike, Mary Jo and myself were hysterical laughing but not surprised at all at what we had just seen, after all this was Pat.

The train finally arrives and Pat is standing in the opposite doorway from where everyone would get off. The three of us still laughing got to see Pat hugged, kissed, high-fived, fist bumped and patted on the back by just about everyone who heard his performance. Everyone was also commenting on how they were looking forward to another bad day, but that Pat’s performance had changed all that. When he finally got off the train he looked at the three of us on the platform and said, “My work here is done now let’s all go and do some real work.” So off we went laughing down the platform and through Grand Central.

So the next time I am having a bad day at the office, I will think of that 8:10 train  from Pelham and that crazy Irishman Pat Murphy and no matter how bad my day is that will all change in an instant. You too should think of this tale and I am sure it will change your day too and give you that feeling on those bad days, that Cousin Bob would call that…..Rosy Glow.

I have included a link to a site where you can hear Bob Dylan performing “Rainy Day Women.”

http://videos.sapo.pt/FFnJs9qYtBaGsckDrtAh