The Train Ride of a Lifetime

People all over the world,

Join hands,

Start a love train, love train!

The O’Jays

I remember enjoying the O’Jays’ 1972 hit, “Love Train,” as a student.

Little did I know that I would meet my wife on our “own” love train in 1992 – on New Jersey Transit from Trenton to New York City.

At the time, I participated in a young adults’ group at a parish adjacent to my own.

My mother’s death in December 1991, after a long battle with cancer, had slapped me in the face with a reminder of how quickly time passes. 

She loved to knit baby wear for others and had hoped for an opportunity to do the same for her own hoped-for grandchildren.

Although I had been on dates before her final illness, my life as a young corporate associate in the late 1980s left little time for a personal life, and my focus on academics in college and law school had not changed.

So, when the group scheduled a joint trip to New York City by train with another parish’s similar group on Saturday, June 13, 1992, I saw an opportunity to meet new people.

(My memory of the precise date may tip you off about how this story will end. I even remember the show we saw, Death and the Maiden.

The magic that happened on that train ride changed my life.

By chance, I happened to sit next to a young woman, Judy, who I learned had been a French major in college.

I was interested – I had taken French classes in both high school and college. I even participated in a national French-language contest.

The groups had planned to get tickets to a Broadway show at the TKTS booth in Times Square.

I knew from prior visits to New York City that a French-language bookstore was in Rockefeller Center.

Since the bookstore was on the way to the TKTS booth, I asked Judy if she would be interested in seeing the store – and she agreed!

So, I suggested that the group pass by the store for a brief visit.

At this point, I don’t remember if we bought anything there. But the connection had been made.

I managed to sit near her on the train ride home. 

Like Raj in The Big Bang Theory, I had often been shy.

But sitting nearby on the train made conversation possible.

Fortunately, she was easy to talk to – I was very shy, but our shared interest in the French language and culture gave us a conversation topic.

So, I took a chance and asked for her number.

And she said yes again!

Our first date was two weeks later, on the eve of my birthday. I didn’t tell her that at the time, not wanting to complicate the situation.

I suggested a restaurant located in a train station, to make it easy for me to get there coming home from work. 

Although the restaurant is long gone, we will celebrate our 29^th anniversary in July. 

In fact, I proposed at that same restaurant two years later. 

I hid my intention by telling her that we would have dinner with a client (“Richard”) and his wife, who had entertained us on an earlier trip near their home in Lancaster, PA.

She was flustered when the server brought us to a table for two.

I had to admit my deception. I told her that not only was Richard not coming, but that he had never been invited.

(Perhaps that is why she waited to open the ring box until after dinner. She had already said “yes” - once again - when I had proposed immediately after she had discovered my ruse for returning to the site of our first date without arousing her suspicions.)

Our travels together have continued to enrich our lives. 

We still enjoy the mutual love of blackberries we discovered on a hiking trip to Shenandoah National Park just before our engagement, whether as a fresh fruit, or in tea or jam. (At that time, a “blackberry” was still just a fruit, not a device. We even took our son there on a return trip, where we were photo-bombed by a black bear.

Although many suburbanites may be skeptical about the choice between public transportation and driving, for me, picking a train station restaurant for our first date truly started the ride of a lifetime.

P.S. Time did not treat that bookstore well. 

Years later, we were disappointed to find it missing when we took our son on a pilgrimage to the Nintendo World Store and Museum, also in Rockefeller Center.

In fact, it had closed in 2001, many years earlier – but I am glad it was there on the day I needed it.