Chance Meeting
A few years ago at 9pm after a 10-hour meeting, I left our corporate headquarters building on Park Ave. in New York City dog-tired only to face a driving rainstorm. Usually I’d walk the 7-8 blocks to the hotel, but on that night I prayed for an empty cab. The “Big Guy” upstairs must have been listening. “Available” dome light flashing, I hailed a Checker cab, and when he mercifully stopped, almost leaped in.
I noticed the driver’s ID card posted on the back of the front seat, and was startled to read the name, Jonas Harasanski Napoli. Now you know there could only be one guy with that moniker, and when I asked him if he had ever served in Korea, his head spun around facing me, the traffic and rain-slick street notwithstanding, and bellowed “Yeh! How did youse know dat?”
“Because I was over there with you that’s how!”
“Who are youse?”
I’m Arnie Silverman of the old mortar platoon.”
“Are youse kiddin’ me? Sil, Sergeant Sil? Youse is de foist guy I met from de old company since I retoined. Jeeeez, dat was, oh boy, dat was ovah 40-yeahs ago. Say youse wouldn’ mind if I pulled ovah so we could talk a little, would ya? On a night like dis I aint gonna get much action anyway. Youse was lucky cause I was thinkin’ ‘bout wrappin’ it up for the night, youse know what I mean? Jeeez, I can’t believe it. A guy from de old platoon.” At my suggestion he parked the vehicle in the hotel’s parking structure, and followed me to the bar.
Although more crowded than normally (I assumed because hotel guests did not want to venture out into the rain), we managed to find an empty table. A studied look showed me that in spite of the many years, except for graying hair and a few facial wrinkles, he had not really changed much. Jonas, as I remembered him, was a perpetually happy kid. Quite short (I often wondered how he met the height requirement for service), he could not have been more than 5’4 or 5. What amused us was that in spite of that short stature, he wore size 14 boots. He had great pride in those oversized dogs of his, and would often be seen massaging them and trimming his toenails.
Now sitting before me, he had a wide smile on his face as he told me about his life since returning home. Having never graduated from high school, and with no interest in doing so, his focus was on finding a job. With few skills and with no interest in the building trades, he grabbed the first opportunity offered him, driving a cab. So, for all of those 40 some years he had been driving a cab in New York City. He met and married a girl from Puerto Rico, and had 4-children, all college graduates (CCNY was still a relatively free tuition school for undergraduates).
When I asked him if he had any taxi stories, his eyes lit up, he broke into one of those perpetual smiles of his, and commenced to tell me story after story of his experiences driving a cab in the “Big City”. Several hold ups, one beating, 2 in-the cab births, a witness to a shooting, 2 attempts at coitus by couples in the back seat of his cab (which he claimed he stopped), and his finding a briefcase loaded with bills that was left in the rear. On that he said he turned it in to the police, and while he got confirmation that it was picked up, never got a reward or even a thank you (I wonder if one of those cops retired soon after).
He inquired about my life, and I brought him current. We recalled several of our mutual experiences in Korea, some amusing, most not, and lamented the loss of comrades. As we shared our stories and experiences, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of great, mutual friendship and warmth sitting there with him. That old comradeship returned and for the brief time we were together we were brothers again. While we both came from different backgrounds with divergent life experiences and economic attainments, I felt as close to him as I did those 40 some years ago.
Finally (it must have been close to 1AM) we called it a night. We embraced, wished each other the best, and went our separate ways, I up to my room and he back to his cab.
We spoke a few times on the phone over the ensuing years, but have not seen each other since. As a matter of fact, I tried calling him a couple of weeks ago, but the phone is no longer in service. My hope is that he is still “with us”, and has moved, or maybe retired (how long can you drive those darned cabs?) to some place like Florida. Whatever, the world needs sunshine guys like Jonas; especially these days.
Arnie Silverman
Laguna Niguel
