10/11/13 19:46 Home
Last Sunday Craig Mawdsley passed away. He was a friend who I tried to avoid when I first
saw him. Eventually I had the pleasure to share many rides over the past few years on the train. I say avoided since I could tell what kind of
character he was. When he was on the
platform he spoke out to whoever was listening or whoever was around. He grabbed your attention like a bear hug and wouldn't let go. I admit I tried to
avoid him, buried my nose in a paperback and let him spew whatever he was
saying to whomever; but when I finally looked up - he nailed me. He had a contagious smile when he was in the
mood which was not all the time. Craig reminded me of my younger brother though
he was a few years older than me. He was
heavier and for year or so grew out his hair.
He said he wanted to grow it as long as possible and donate his hair to
charity. Yet he drank heavily and did
not eat very well. There were times when
I was in Philadelphia at a trade show and he’d call…”I’m taking the Five Twenty
Seven, want some cold one’s for the ride?”
Did I want some beers and more often I had to decline. I have been on the wagon and off and
reluctantly shared those dry rides with my friend. Die hard Ranger, heavy metal fan who told me,
“At my funeral, I want them to blast highway to hell.” Yesterday was his funeral and I doubt that
song was played at St. Anthony’s in East Northport. It was a day like today, grey and cool…and my
friend was taken and buried. From the platform
outside our building in New Hyde Park, I won’t hear, “Myyyiiiikkkeeee….Commmissshhh…”
Like commissioner Gordon from Batman.
His cooling bottles of beers would be clanking in the layers of plastic
bags with melting ice cubes which made a mess in the train. So many times we shared beers in
Mineola. When we first took the train we
had a few minutes to make the connection to Port Jefferson and would hustle
over the bridge and get a couple of tall boys in the stationary store and maybe
a Slim Jim for him. No more. No more trying to beat the fair…NICE he would
say when we made it which meant we pulled out of Huntington. I haven’t taken that train or the Ronkonkoma
train in months. My schedule changed you
can say. The last we had any contact
with Craig was in August when Alisha who I work with saw him on the platform. He broke the news
to her prostate cancer and category four.
But he said he was going to fight it.
He was keeping positive and wanted to see his daughter graduate high
school. So Alisha told me and I was
shocked, but like all of us we file the bad news away.
When I heard he died on Monday it came roaring back. I should have called to check in. To say good bye. But with death you contemplate the life. His dream was to work for the LIRR. He loved the trains and knew the schedules
better than some of the conductors. He
worked for the Post Office and was not happy with his choice of careers. He resented it. No, he was very bitter about it and each day if the
mood was right the toxins would spew it out…in his mind there was a connection between working
for the Post Office and insanity. With
the proposed changes the government was making, I believe the possibility of losing
his job became real and this struck a chord of fear. Thinking of our knuckle bumps when he’d get
off in Northport and us making plans to see each other some other time. He’d ride his bike home from the station. Sometimes
he’d look at me from where he stood on the platform in Northport and we’d wave, he may point
out a beautiful woman he eyed and he’d smile and give me a thumb’s up. He was like a teenager in a man’s body. I have to say Nolan’s funeral home was packed
on Wednesday night for his wake. I had to park my car
near the Junior High and walked in the darkness to the funeral home, eventually
seeing some faces I knew from the Post Office in New Hyde Park. There was a long line to pay respects. I met
his wife for the second time though she did not recognize me. I looked at the wedding pictures and the
black and whites of Craig when he was a wide eyed boy in Queens. The faded picture of when he received Holy
Communion, his head lowered over his clasped hands. The Rosary Bears draped around his
hands in the casket. I touched him. His arm under his baggy suit was thin and stiff. My friend; what happened to you? The next time I take the train his absence
will strike me again and perhaps each time I take that train...I will be reminded
of Craig. May God Bless your soul. Rest in Peace brother...
