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Russell Robey visited New York during this period and Bob and I took him for a ride on one of the MU trains one night, riding the front end looking ahead out the window in the door. I believe we boarded at Hoboken and rode out to Roseville Avenue, maybe Summit or Montclair, and return. I don't think Russ had ever had such an experience and he seemed absolutely carried away by it. To see the railroad at night from the front of a locomotive or a multiple-unit car zipping along at 60-70 mph is a unique experience and I know I was thrilled just to be along and enjoy vicariously what Russ was experiencing. The car was new and quiet and as she left the terminal heading a string of six or eight sleek new commuter units and glided out through the intricate interlocking over the smooth, shiney rails reflecting the many color-light signals ahead of us, with scarcely a sound or a vibration, it was thrilling. Soon we'd cleared the terminal trackage and were on the main line heading toward the Bergen Hill tunnel a mile away, now accelerating rapidly, quietly and very smoothly as the engineer let her go on the "high iron." We sailed out of the tunnel and through the junction with the Secaucus freight line, clicking through the many switches and crossovers, the brilliant color-light signals clearing the way. After we'd crossed the Hackensack River bridge, he opened her up again for the fast run across the meadows to Manhattan Transfer, thence through Newark and the smaller suburbs. I believe Russ was fascinated. I have a recollection of standing on a station platform between the outgoing and incoming trips and having Bob tell a few stories, Bob having been quite a storyteller. The one I remember clearly was the story concerning the man who was investigating prison life and in a talk with one very hardboiled criminal, was amazed to find the man was intensely interested in Shakespeare and had read all his plays. Upon inquiry, it developed that his favorite play was "Dick de ----" and when the researcher said Shakespeare never wrote a play by that title, the con said," Well, I guess youse rich people call it 'Richard de Turd." I thought Russell would split and the next time I saw him, he began laughing for no apparent reason and finally, unable to stop laughing, he looked at me and held up a hand with three fingers extended. So it was quite an evening.

One minor incident which amounted to nothing but might have, I should mention. It had the potential of being a very close call for me. And it was a foolish thing to do besides. I wanted to get out to Secaucus one day and got the crazy idea of riding out on one of the transfer jobs but by hopping the rear end as it went by. It was up near the mouth of the tunnel and as the last car passed, I grabbed the hand iron at the rear and swung off the ground, intending to have my feet land on the strap-iron step (this was not a caboose but just an ordinary freight car). But my feet missed the step and my lower legs slid through the opening between the strap iron and the car frame. Fortunately nothing was there to come into contact with, like wheel for