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"Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charlie
On a tragic and fateful day
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family
Went to ride on the MTA.
Well, did he ever return?
No he never returned and his fate is still unlearned.
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston
And he's the man who never returned."
— "MTA" by Bess Lomax Hawes & Jacqueline Steiner (song, 1949)
performed by the Kingston Trio on the album "The Kingston Trio At Large" (1959)
- ( B00005MHVH )
Well, the installation didn't go so smoothly. The graphics system was a fragile prototype that used "wire wrap" technology, and this was the first time we shipped one across the country. Something shook loose and the system was dead on arrival. I tried being the eyes and ears of the chief engineer over the phone, but after a few days of frustration he needed to fly out to fix the problem. Of course my training had to wait until the system was up, so my stay was extended from two days to five.
This meant I had to buy extra clothes to last me, and locals directed me to take the Metropolitan Boston Transit Authority (MBTA) Red Line light rail across the Charles River to the famous Filene's Basement in downtown Boston, where I stocked up on shirts, socks and underwear.
I also began to get bored in the evenings, so I ventured back to Boston one night to explore. Fearing being mugged I took only a small amount of cash (it was in the days before ATMs and debit cards) and caught a cab from my hotel to a Cambridge light rail station on the Red Line, bought two subway tokens, and from there rode to the area of Boston Common. Since I still didn't have an overcoat I wore a sweater with a nylon windbreaker over it, and no hat or gloves.
After a mildly interesting evening wandering around the area and having an Italian dinner of sorts in a little storefront restaurant I decided it was time to head back shortly before midnight. I descended the stairs into the Park Street station to the Red Line platform. While waiting I noticed a crumbling old staircase that went up into darkness. I climbed it out of curiosity and found a dead-end at a brick wall. While I was on the stairs I heard a train come and go. I stepped back down on the platform and sat on a bench to wait for the next train, which I figured would be in 20 or 30 minutes.
Now, I was under the mistaken impression that the subways ran all night. This was not the case. The train I'd heard was actually the last train bound for Cambridge that night. I sat there for a long time in the quiet before I figured that out. Then I tried to walk out of the station, but at the top of the stairs I found a steel door had been lowered and locked. I then explored the station and discovered another locked exit on the opposite side of the tracks after taking a pedestrian tunnel to the far platform. Further exploration revealed that there were walkways through tunnels that connected four stations in the area: Park Street, Government Center, State and Downtown Crossing. The tile walls looked like they had been there since the 1940s. As I methodically explored, I found each station had two locked exits, so by the time I arrived back at Park Street I had found eight locked doors at the top of the stairs leading out of the four stations.
Well, now I didn't know what to do. I was there on a bench for a while considering my options. (Some of you young-uns may be wondering why I didn't use my cell phone to call for help. It was 1984, remember.) While I was pondering, I heard some noises and then spotted a small group of maintenance workers walking along the tracks. One of them had a metal rod with an insulated handle, and was using it to test the third rail by shorting out the power to ground and looking for sparks.
I hailed them and explained my predicament, and they began to harass me in the good-natured way (I think) that Bostonians have of hazing clueless Californians. The told me about people injured in the subways by rat attacks and exploding fluorescent bulbs. Finally one of them agreed to let me out. He took up the stairs to the locked metal door, pulled out a huge ring of keys, and began trying them one by one in the padlock. He got to the end and said, "I must have missed it," and then started over. I'm pretty sure he knew which was the right key, and was just "pulling my chain" as they say. Finally he found the right key and let me out into the Boston night. It must have been about 2 AM by then.
I knew I didn't have cab fare back to Cambridge, so I began to walk back, following Beacon Street through the Back Bay, slowly approaching the iconic Citgo sign in Kenmore Square.
It began to drizzle on me in my sweater and nylon windbreaker with no hat or gloves, and then the temperature dropped below 32 degrees Fahrenheit and the drizzle turned to freezing rain. I had my hands jammed in my pockets but little icicles were starting to form on my head and shoulders. I was thinking, "This is a fine mess I've got myself in." Every now and then a cab sped by. Finally I could bear it no longer and I flagged one down. At least it was warm inside. I waved my cash at the driver and explained it was all I had (which I'd estimated would get me the approximately half a mile from the Cambridge station back to my hotel), and he could drive me until it ran out. I also warned I might not have a tip for him.
Well, he drove me over the Mass Avenue bridge and right up to my destination for less than I'd expected, and I had enough to tip him as well. (Only later did I realize I had more cash in my hotel room, I probably could've talked him into waiting while I got it if necessary.)
The next day I returned to Filene's Basement and got a fine beige overcoat plus a wool hat and gloves, which I stuffed in the pockets, and they served me well for decades, not only in Boston (which is actually rather mild due to the proximity of the ocean), but in much colder locations such as Des Moines, Iowa and Calgary, Canada.
And I learned some obvious lessons that night. I leave to the reader to deduce what they were.
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A Survival Guide for the Traveling Techie
travelingtechie.com
