The train from Long Island into the city was laggardly clacking away the evening of December 31, 1968. It was taking me to a transfer station, where I would have to take a second train to reach Grand Central and it was hopeless; that train was long gone by the time we arrived. There was another, later, train which I trundled onto, but it would arrive too late to meet my buddies for New Years Eve in Times Square.

Meeting my buddies in Times Square on New Years Eve--what could go wrong?

My plan admittedly had the marks of youth and wishful thinking. I was a freshman in college and had gone home to Bethesda for the winter break. The idea was: visit my roommate at her family home in Long Island, then leave her to meet up with a couple of freshman guys who would come down from Connecticut for New Years Eve at Times Square, take the train with them back to one of their houses and then go back to Cambridge for the next semester. What could go wrong? I may have described this plan to my parents as visiting my roommate’s family and then returning to school. The New York City part fell into the category of things I didn’t think they really wanted to know.

Grand Central was pretty deserted as we pulled in after midnight. I didn’t know New York, and didn’t have a backup plan. Also, of course, no cell phone or internet, as they didn’t exist outside of Dick Tracy cartoons. The train platform was dark. I made my way a bit numbly towards the exit. A couple of shadowy figures approached.

Screams of elation! They were my friends! They had come to meet the train I was supposed to be on, hadn’t found me and thought maybe I had a change of heart. They went on to Times Square for the crowd and ball drop, but after midnight, still a bit worried, they decided to check back to see if there had been a delay (more savvy about the transportation snafus than I) and if I had come on a later train. They had just about given up.

Buoyed by the good fortune, we rambled the downtown streets to drink in the New Years remnants. The Square was nearly empty. One of the guys had gone to Music and Arts High School and knew his way around, suggested we stop by WBAI to wave at the programmers there. They also knew how to catch the special 3 a.m. train that only ran on New Years, taking people out of the city towards Connecticut. This train was packed with bleary partyers, some of them weaving from one end of the train to the other while passengers gradually departed with each stop.

By early morning, we arrived in Stamford and the safety of my friend’s home, as if nothing had gone awry. It was 1969 now, and the coming years would bring more travels, friends, lovers, demonstrations, and experiences that I never told my parents about. I don’t really regret that they never heard those stories since they would just have worried more. I’m sure I never heard all of theirs either.