By Dave Coonan

The following is based on a true story.

Part I

It all started on the Long Island Rail Road about six weeks ago, when a young man boarded a train to Madison Square Garden to watch his beloved New York Rangers inevitably lose.

After about five or six minutes of staring blankly at the advertisement for Fox News’ “Fair and Balanced” reporting (and wondering why they needed to advertise that), the boy took out his cell phone. Instead of using the phone to call somebody (its intended purpose), he began to play his favorite new game – cell phone bowling.

About five minutes into his game, the train makes its first stop at Jamaica station, where it meets up with another train coming from a station further east. Still intent on beating his all time high score of 175 (currently, 235), he didn’t immediately notice that someone had sat in the empty seat next to him.

The train starts to move.

“What’s your high score?,” the man said to the boy.

“About 175,” he replied, a little confused as to why a stranger in New York would strike up a conversation on a packed train.

“Can you play with other people too,” the man asked the boy. “Like if you wanted to play with your friend?”

The boy replied, “yeah, if I really wanted to.”

“It’s a phone too, isn’t it,” the man asked.

“Yes,” said the boy.

And that sparked a conversation about cell phone minutes, plans, phone types, and other extremely interesting stuff that every good hockey fan wants to talk about before he goes to watch his beloved team get their rear ends handed to them on a silver platter.

But pretty soon, thanks to a delay, the conversation shifted to teacher/student, instead of stranger/stranger. The boy, being of college age, and the man, freshly retired from working 40 years in the technology field, had a lot to talk about. Turns out they both attended the same college, the boy still enrolled and the man, an alumnus.

The train was delayed about 20 minutes, so the two men had plenty of time to chat.

“I’m not trying to talk your ear off, I apologize if I am, but I’m trying to tell you things that will help you down the line,” the man said.

The older man kept the younger man’s attention without much effort. The stories he told of his work in the field, his work with students, his volunteer work with older folks, and the fact that he was a Newsday “Everyday Hero” made the young man really think – this guy obviously knew something, and he should listen.

The conversation ended when the train pulled into Penn Station in New York City. The older man met up with his wife and his friends.

“Stop talking that poor boy’s ear off,” his wife said.

“It’s ok, we’re from the same college,” the man replied. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, thank you for the advice,” the young man replied.

And with that, the older man and his wife went to the theater for the night, and the young man went upstairs to watch his hockey team embarrass themselves in front of 18,000 booing fans.

Part II

Having made all his phone calls for the day, and not hearing back from a single person, the boy decided that he was going to tell the editor of the weekly paper he was interning with, that he had nothing to do. The editor obliged, and gave him some information about a story she wanted him to work on.

He took the papers back to his desk, laid them down, and began reading. She wanted him to write an obituary about a prominent man from a nearby village, who had recently passed away. He thought nothing of it, having written obituaries before – this was routine procedure.

The paperwork included some information from another newspaper, and an article from Newsday about this man being an “Everyday Hero.”

It didn’t click for about 10 minutes. But when it did…

“You have to call his wife and tell her!” the editor of the paper insisted.

“I will – this is too big not too,” the young man replied.

So he called the wife.

They talked for a little while, and she was hesitant to talk about her husband of course, and even began to cry a little. It was upsetting and it hurt to talk about him, she said, and the boy understood that. On a complete hunch, without a positive identification, the boy decided to take a leap of faith, and either be completely shot down or rewarded in some otherworldly way.

“Ma’am, I’ve spoken to your husband before,” he began.

“Really,” the wife said, as she perked up slightly. “When?”

“Well, about three weeks ago, I was on the Long Island Rail Road going to Madison Square Garden to watch the Ranger game…,” and he told the story.

“I remember that night. We were going into to see 42nd Street on Broadway with another couple. We got on the train at Jamaica, but only three of us got seats together, and because there were no more seats near us, my husband, being the social butterfly that he is, sat in front of us…”

“Next to a young man,” the boy interrupted.

“Yes,” she said.

“Was he wearing a hockey jersey,” he

asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“That was me,” the boy said, at which point the woman was silent. And so was the boy.

Eventually, they began talking again about her husband, about the impact he had on this young man, how rewarding his life was, and all the great things he did to contribute to society.

“This means something bigger, it has too. I don’t know what, but there is something else here,” she said. “What’s your name? I’m going to tell all my friends about this.”

“My name is Dave Coonan,” the young man said.

The wife’s reaction was more than he’d expected, and was blown away by the positive energy this woman was suddenly emitting.

“I remember that night very well,” she said. “I had told him to stop talking your ear off, but you were both from Hofstra, so he said it was ok. He was always the social butterfly, he would talk to anyone, anywhere about anything. He loved the theater, and we had already seen 42nd Street, but we were seeing it again. He died the next day.”