Nothing Is Free, On the Record
The easiest way for a kid to lose track of friends is by moving to a different location. Girls are better at collecting addresses, writing letters, and making long-distance phone calls. Before the Internet, those were the available options.
I was having very little of it in 1978 when my family relocated 60 miles (and across state lines) in the summer between ninth and 10th grade in high school. Although I scribbled down a few addresses, my New Jersey friends were not exactly Shakespearean-level playwrights. Only one, James Springley, diligently returned each letter with one of his own.
During the April spring break of 1979, our mothers arranged for James to take New Jersey Transit into Penn Station. I would meet him there, and escort him back to Great Neck on the Long Island Rail Road. The plan was for him to spend a few days together, before he returned to Somerset, while his parents visited relatives in another state.
New York City in the late ‘70s should not bring back warm, fuzzy memories. Manhattan was in the midst of an economic crunch, crime was on the upswing, and major transportation points were a haven for vagrants and scammers. I wrote about my recent experiences in Penn Station in a previous article. The 1970s make the 2020s look like a preschool party, complete with cupcakes and a piñata.
