Saturday Evening Post
Making of the Encyclopaedia
From the Horse’s own Mouth
George Menachery
Sixteen
Moving a few steps away from the vision of the Rev.
Sr. I opened the Directory’s section for New York at random as people open the
bible sometimes. The first name that came into my sight was “Fordham
University”. I knew that it was a Catholic institution. So I decided to go there, come what may. One
coloured person was walking towards the church office past me. I asked him how
to go to the Fordham University. Without stopping he shouted “It’s up-town!”. And he disappeared. The next person who came
along was a white, and I asked him how to get to the Fordham University. He
also did not stop. But he said, “Take the Subway” and pointed behind me. From
reading many American detective novels I knew what the sub-way was. So I
started walking in the direction he had indicated. But I did not see any
sub-way station. Then I saw a girl approaching from the same side as the
others. I asked her where the sub-way was. I looked in the direction she
pointed but I could not see any station. Then I told her that I could not see
any sub-way station. She must have understood that I was a total stranger and
she told me to go downstairs at the opening in the ground with parapets at the
side. When I reached the bottom of the staircase there was a cubicle where a
coloured lady was selling tickets. I did not know what the price of the ticket
would be and I had only one dollar and some cents left in my pocket. I said,
“One ticket to Fordham University.” She smiled. Probably because as I
understood later there was only one ticket or token for the sub-way and that
with this ticket costing 35 cents (from the beginning of 1972-I was travelling
in the US in April & May 1972) you can travel any distance in one
direction. The ticket was a beautiful shining piece of metal, brass I think,
with a “Y” hollowed out at the centre. When I visited the States in 1983-84 the
token cost more ($0.90 I think) and the “Diamond Jubilee” token with a diamond
shaped hole at the top was in use. Yet
again the price had gone up when I visited the US in 1993-94 ($ 1.25) and it
was the “bulls-eye” brass token with a silver circle at the center that was in
use. In 2005 when I was in the US for a seminar at the Concordia University
there were no metal tokens but only electronic cards. Well, you put the token
in the slot at the revolving gate or
turnstile and the gate will allow one person to enter the platform. So I
entered the platform and I asked how to go to Fordham and I was told to get
into the first train that came, which was a fast train, and to get down once I
reach Fordham. There was a terrible rush as people were returning after their
work. I squeezed myself into the compartment and was pressed on all sides by
the crowd. I remembered the rush hour Bombay locals. Much of the way the train
travelled underground, and in a few places it went at the ground level but
nearing Fordham it became the L train or “Elevated” moving on rails fitted to
elevated pillars. Finally I got down at Fordham. It was getting dark and cold.
I was wearing my full suit but I did not have a waistcoat or vest or sweater or
a good scarf to resist the chill. Hence after seeking directions of a totally
woolen covered stranger I walked fast to the entrance of the University
hostels. Meeting the warden I explained my plight and requested him to give me
shelter for a night. He had the same appearance and fierce look of the parish
priest of the Holy Cross church whom I had faced earlier. And he asked me
whether I had written earlier for accommodation. I said that as I had to come
away from India in a hurry I could not write. Then he said that he could not
help me. I pointed out that as it was very cold outside and as I was expecting
my (imaginary) friends only the next day I shall be much obliged if he could
give me a place to sleep one night. He said in a voice of finality that nothing
could be done. Crestfallen I was coming out of the warden’s office. Looking
behind I saw that I was being followed by a young priest, the assistant warden,
or so I thought. When we reached out of hearing of the warden he said, ”Let me
try something”. He was a Vietnam veteran who had acted as the chaplain for
American soldiers in Vietnam. He understood the problems and difficulties of
people from Asia well. He led me to the door of one of the hostels and he told
me that the supervisor of that hostel was a friend of his. He rang the bell
many times but there was no response. Next he knocked on the door but to no
avail. Finally he shouted the name of his friend from the garden, looking up at
the first floor corridor. Again no results. Then he did something right out of
a P. G. Wodehouse novel. He took a flowerpot from the garden and threw it up
into the upstairs corridor where it fell down with a big thud and broke into
pieces. Even in the midst of my worries and anxieties I could not resist the
thought of efficient Baxter throwing flower pots through Lord Elmsworth’s
window, “Say it with flower pots”. The flowerpot, as I said, landed upstairs.
Straight away a voice came out “What’s that!” followed by the body of the friend.
He looked down upon the Vietnam veteran and asked what he wanted. My benefactor
told him that he wanted the friend to give some accommodation to me for the
night. Without more ado the sleepy friend replied “Let him come up and sleep in
the dormitory”. I thanked my benefactor and went up. It was a huge hall with
tables and benches. There were note-books, pens and c. all over the place. The
friend pointed generally towards the hall and told me to sleep anywhere I
liked. And he disappeared. I slept fully dressed. Next morning I wanted to
thank him and tell him that I was going. As in Kerala one might take one’s
departure after informing the host I wanted to thank him. Also I wanted him to
see that I had stolen nothing! But the person was not to be seen anywhere.
Nobody cares for anything. Perhaps that was the American way!
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