It was cold and muggy outside, like the London fog had drifted over New York City. I stood in contemplation. Should I go home or hang with friends today? The solemn and bleak day squeezed the energy from me as I entered the subway. I decided it was time to catch the iron horse as we usually refer to the trains. I was sitting there waiting as usual for the # 4 train to Brooklyn, but this was no usual day. I could hear the sounds of tapping as an elderly man slowly approached, his black felt hat tilted on his head with a thread of grey hair peaking out from under the lid. He continued to tap his cane, which seemed to fit the qualities of a weapon more than a support instrument. He had a whimsical grin on his face with large thick glasses hanging from the tip of his nose. He wore a crisp white shirt with a dark wrinkled khaki trousers and a brown overcoat. It was like he stepped out of a Dick Tracy movie.

     He slowly walked the platform and came to a halt next to me; he spoke with a southern distinction and a slow deliberate tone as he said, “Good evening, muggy day.” I responded politely with a flavor of my West Indian ancestors’ accent. He nodded in respect and started a unique conversation of ancient reminiscing.

     He sat and took a slow deep breath and slowly spoke, “I remember this subway station, oh yeah, Wall Street station. Oh how things have changed. Yeah back in 1949 or even the 1930’s; oh things were different then.” I sat and listened intently as experience and knowledge took charge as he continued, “I worked in these parts, it was 50 cents an hour I worked for. My house was eighteen thousand dollars and let me tell you – motor man’s job was for the white man, conductor’s job, oh that was for the Irish. Some days those were! Oh how I remember.”

     His eyes wandered up and down the subway as he peeked over the top of his thick eyeglasses. He admired the masterpiece of yonder years that still stood boldly though lackluster and needing a fresh coat of paint. He seemed proud of the technical skills involved in the construction of the train tracks that lay rusted and looking dingy. He shook his head, smiled and said, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”