Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

“Hello Coney Island bound travelers,” said the blind Italian accordion player as he entered the Manhattan bound F train. “Here’s a beach favorite.”

I recognized Under the Boardwalk within a few notes. The Drifter’s song was a staple at my home, and on the road, as a kid. He played and sang it quite well. He looked like he could have been the Italian and fifth Beatle on the cover of Abbey Road. I was very much into his act and prepared to cough up somewhere between fifty cents and a dollar, depending on where and how he took the bridge. And then it happened.

“Come on now help me out,” he asked the subway riders. From a few people back, I helped him out.
“Under the boardwalk…”
He turned his head my way but sang “out of the sun.”
I go again: “Under the Boardwalk.”
“Ok ok, stop. You, come here, singer.”

He was still playing the accordion at this point but it couldn’t have felt more silent. I felt sick but walked over to him. He’s still playing the accordion music to Under the Boardwalk. Everyone that ever existed is staring at me.

“What is this singing you do?”
“You know this is kind of silly, inviting people to sing and then giving me shit about it in front of the whole F train. Which by the way is Manhattan bound.”
“Yes, I realize that after the first stop.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yeah, what else do you want me to say? You can’t sing and when you talk, you whine. “

At this point, everyone was staring at me with dropped jaws and muffled “oh snaps.” I thought about bowing and trying to make it look like I was part of the act but the crowd did not really seem Three’s Company enough. Then I thought about punching the accordion player. But instead I announced, “He’s right. Ladies and Gentleman, he’s right. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be exiting at the next stop and taking the day off. Feel free to join me.” And then I smiled at a cute girl. She shook her head “no” because it was easier than shaking her head “you’re a loser.”

Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

My Baby Takes the Morning Train

A crowded or roomy subway car is, for the most part, completely random. Yes, sure, common sense tells us that a rush hour train will be more crowded then its off-peak cousin that pull up at 11am or 9:30pm, but one can take the same morning train at the same time on two different days and have completely different experiences. One day you can comfortably commute with a full luggage set and favorite cocktail table arcade game, the next day you are the patient at an amateur proctologist's conference. Where am I going with this? Not very far - just a couple of stops into my morning commute this past Thursday. (Now that I think about it, this past Thursday was Holy Thursday but the story is in no way connected, and as a Jew I don't know enough about the holiday to draw any comparisons or symbolism - I open the floor for those who wish to).

So...it's one of those crazy-ass crowded mornings. I squeeze into the train like a fat guy's tucked-in shirt. I get a couple of glances and grunts but feel as though I was within the limit of an understandable amount of people within a crowded train. I glanced back at the disappointed, inviting conversation but my glances were met with diverted eyes. Next stop, a couple more people get on and at this point we are at full capacity with the only room left for crowd surfers and spiders. Following stop, doors open, woman with a baby in her arms and stroller at her waist. No room, but the woman, her baby and the stroller wants in.
"Excuse me, excuse me, I need to get in!" People just stare at the crazy woman like she's ordering auto parts at a Chinese take-out.
"You all gotta move in so we can get on!"
"Hey lady," rose the voice of reason somewhere behind me. "Train's full - take the next one."
"You take the next one - we gotta got on this train." Just then, the woman, baby in arm, shoves onto the train, the stroller jamming into my shin like a dull lawnmower blade.
"Holy shit!" I screamed. I'm not one to swear in public but couldn't hold back. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" By this time I was somewhat aware of my language and used 'hell' instead of 'fuck' to find a happy medium between keeping it clean and trying to make my point.
"You jus' gotta move in and then nobody gets hurt."
"What? Really? You're serious?" At this point the crazy woman had shoved herself into the subway car by pushing the stroller into my shin forceful enough that it was now at a high enough angle to allow herself to be within a few inches of me. The stroller was almost standing upright between us and the baby was above it, in her left arm and pretty much in my face as if it was about to give me an eye exam. In general, I love babies but not when the baby's stroller is digging a dent into my leg. Plus, this baby looked mean. Ya know how a baby can look mean? This was an ugly, mean-looking baby.
"I'm serious about getting into the city, so yeah, I'm totally serious and if that's not good enough for you, you can suck my ass!" Ok, this was really funny but at the time I was failing to see the humor in it, and besides, this was not the first ass on my suck-list.
"You know what...fuck you!"
"Fuck me? Fuck you!"
"Fuck you, fuck your stroller and fuck your baby!"
"Fuck my baby??!!! Fuck my baby??!!!" And then the strangest thing happened... "Clarence, punch the man!" And before I could comprehend this, before I can wonder who names their baby Clarence, the baby swings his arm and gets me right in the eye. If it got me somewhere else I would have been fine, but a little fist in the eye, no matter how light, freakin' hurts. Now I don't know exactly how old this baby was but he couldn't have been much more than a year and the whole scenario has not stopped blowing my mind even three days later.

I just stood there, squeezed between countless people, a stroller digging into my leg, baby Clarence staring me down as if to say 'you want more bitch?' and his mother behind him, her Paulie to his Rocky. My eye was stinging and starting to tear. All eyes and ears were now on me. I realized that I had been beat. Albeit, completely unfairly and unjustly beat, but beat all the same. Even if I was a fighter, I could not hit Clarence the ugly baby or Paulie the suck-ass mother. All I could do is let the tears run from my eye. And sing. I belted it out as loud as I could. I even think I heard a girl in the distance harmonize under her breath. Usually I would have tried to locate this girl to see who she was, see if there was any possibility for a spark, but not today, not right now. Right now it was all about singing....

My baby takes the morning train
He works from nine till five and then
He takes another home again
To find me waitin' for him....

Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

Super Monday

“Vote Obama, Vote for Change!” she shouted and then turned to me, “are you a registered democrat and are you ready for change?”
“Well I’m not but I am.”
“What?’
“I’m not a registered democrat but…”
“Oh. Ok.”
“Ok? That’s it? You’re giving up on me?” This was yesterday morning, the day between Super Tuesday and Super Bowl Sunday. I was standing on the platform at Jay Street/Borough Hall between the F train and the A train. The day was young, the week had just begun and already I was feeling like I was in between a lot of things.
“There’s a lot people here and if you’re not a registered democrat I need to move on – there’s a lot of people to talk to between now and tomorrow.”
“Yes, but I’m ready for change.”
“Are some sort of smart ass?” “Vote Obama, Vote for Change!” This was a pretty girl. Very pretty and probably out of my league. Maybe it was wrong to take advantage of the situation but maybe she was as well. What is she getting out of supporting a presidential candidate?
“No, I would really like to hear what you have to say about Barack Obama.”
“Look, you think I have time to…” and then I stopped paying attention to her words as I saw a beauty walk by with a nice big Hillary ’08 pin on her coat. I followed her with my eyes until she stopped only a few feet away from us.
“…are you even listening to me?”
“Yes yes, of course I am. Go on,” I said as I tried hard to pay attention but I couldn’t. The Hillary girl was prettier. She looked sweet. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the Obama girl but she kept talking to me.
“…and you can check his voting record if you don’t believe me.”
“I will. Thanks. Excuse me.” The Obama girl rolled her eyes and forgot about me instantly.
“Vote Obama, Vote for Change!” The A train rolled in. The Hillary girl got on. So did I.
“Hi! I’m Hershey.” She looked at me.
“Uhm, well you see, I was just talking to a woman on the platform over there about Barack Obama…”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“Oh, you did? Did ya? Great then, that’s great.”
“And?”
“And well, I just wanted to sort of get your take on the Democratic candidates.” She looked very hesitant and wary of talking to me.
“Are you undecided?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I like you?” She smiled. I broke her. I wasn’t sure if I won her but I knew I now had her time.
“Do you even care about any of this or are you just using it as an excuse to hit on girls?”
“Can it be both? I mean, a guy can both be interested in his country’s future and what a girl might want for breakfast, right?
“Did you just ask me to breakfast?”
“Did you just say yes?”
“No… I mean, I didn’t say yes…”
“But you didn’t say no.”
“Is this what you do? Do you just go around confusing girls on the train until they agree to have breakfast with you?”
“It wouldn’t even need to be traditional breakfast food. I mean we can get something weird like tacos or gyros if the whole breakfast thing is confusing you.”
“You’re fuckin crazy, aren’t you?”
“Nah. Well, maybe just a little. So…breakfast?”
“Well I just can’t miss work for breakfast.”
“Call in late.”
“Will you vote for Hillary tomorrow?”
“What if I told you I’m not a registered democrat.”
“Depends. Are you a registered republican?”
“No.”
“Registered voter?’
“Yes.”
“And if you were a democrat?”
“I’d stuff the ballot box for Hillary.”
“OK, Let’s get some breakfast.”

Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

Underground, Above and Beyond: The Casually Edited True Life Subway Adventures of Hershey Browne

Like most New Yorkers, I always followed the unwritten rule to mind my own business on the subways – to keep my eyes, hands and thoughts to myself – but over the years things have changed. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent a lot of time in my life on subways and just feel completely at home, or maybe it’s just because how else I am going to pass the freakin time on my commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back every day? I read enough at work and I am so sick of every song on god’s most beloved invention of the past ten years, the ipod.

Yesterday I was on the F train, heading home. I like to listen to other people’s conversations and I don’t give a crap if they know it. I’ll often stare at them as if I’m a third member of the conversation without much to say. So it’s a couple, probably in their very early 20s. The girl looked Puerto Rican and the guy was some sort of white. They were having what seemed like a manageable argument. I couldn’t tell how long they had been together and that disappointed me, as I like to think of myself as some sort of all knowing dickhead when it comes to figuring out people without knowing anything about them. Anyway, the argument was something about how much he was spending on a gift for someone. I was much more interested in them than the conversation itself and I started getting lost in the way they communicated rather than the words they were actually saying and then it hit me – they reminded me of my parents and the way they used to argue when I was growing up. The guy also looked like my dad a bit, sort of like the creepy Robert Mitchum in The Night of the Hunter. My mom is a Sephardic Jew so it was a similar contrast in skin color. Anyway, all of the sudden the guy turns to me and asks “what the fuck are you looking at? You staring at my girl or are you some sort of homo looking at me?”

“well, this might seem weird,” I started, “ but you guys actually remind of my parents…”
“your fuckin parents? How the fuck can we look like your parents? How old do we look?”
“no you just remind me of them when I was growing up. The way you were arguing..”
“you know what? Fuck you! Come on Lisa, let’s move over there.”

I said nothing more and let them walk away but as I turned my head there was a girl staring at me. As soon as we caught eyes she diverted hers to the floor that she wanted me to think she had been looking at the whole time.

“I was staring in on their drama, you can certainly do the same with mine.”
“Uhmmm, I’m sorry, I uh…well it was just weird, ya know?”
“yeah, I guess my life is.”
“weird?”
“yup”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen something like that before.”
“You’ve probably never been on the train with me before.”
“No I don’t think I have.” It was at this point that she gave it away, that she liked me in some sort of way. Just the way she said it, the look she gave. My friend describes it as the feeling that you already know someone. I think that’s bullshit but get what he’s saying. I think of it more of liking someone a lot really quickly and not being able to be shy or guarded about it.
“Hey, my name’s Hershey.”
“Hershey? I like that. Is that your real name?”
“Well, my birth name is William Herschel Browne but my mom called me Hershey right from the start. It was her father’s name. He died six months before I was born.”
“Wow, you really don’t mind telling strangers a lot about you, huh?”
“What’s your name?”
“Uhm, this is weird. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with this. Besides, my stop is coming up.”
“Can I buy you a drink?....maybe just a coffee?....”
“I think it’s a little late for coffee.”
“OK, then a drink?” She stared at my eyes for a few minutes, trying to figure me out but I just smiled back at her and tried to make her feel as though I’ve never done anything like this before either.
“Well, OK. Just one drink and then you go home.”
We pulled up to the Carroll street stop and walked off together.
“I’m Allison.”
“I’m Hershey.”
“I know.”