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We examined the route maps for the
trains posted on the wall and saw that the closest we could get to
Braintree via the trains was Quincy Center, a stop on the Red Line
(at that time, that is as far as the Red Line went). To do so, we
would have to change trains at Washington Street (later known as
Downtown Crossing). The train went underground just before Essex
station and then stop at Washington Street one stop later.
We found our way to the Red Line,
waited, and boarded a train. To my surprise, my cousin pulled out a
pack of cigarettes and offered me one. I don't know whether smoking
was prohibited on the trains at that time, but we stood at the end of
one car, our group of three, and I smoked my first cigarette with
them. We thought ourselves really cool, standing at the end of a
subway car, under the ground, 12 years old with cigarettes in our
mouths. No one stopped us.
Eventually, the train emerged from the
underground and ran on the surface, heading southward, through
Dorchester and on to Quincy. At Quincy Center we exited the train
and found our way to the bus platform. We asked other passengers if
there was a bus to the South Shore Plaza in Braintree, and sure
enough there was. We went to the right location, waited, and the bus
came. We boarded and it took us to the South Shore Plaza. In total,
we traveled about 20 miles to get six miles, but that was a very big
accomplishment for three 12 year old boys from the suburbs.
Since we were so young, we had very
little money. After reviewing our collective holdings, we discovered
that we had only enough left to get home and maybe buy a few bottles
of coke along the way. We were very hungry and we needed to eat. I
figured we'd just starve until we got home, but my cousin had his own
idea. He was far more streetwise than I was and I would never have
thought of his solution. He told us, "Don't worry. I know
where we can eat. Just come with me."
The three of us walked through the mall
to Jordan Marsh, a large department store, and followed Bob up the
crisscrossing escalators to the third floor. On the third floor
there was a small cafe of the kind that one would find in a
"Woolworth" of that time. We sat at a bar on swivel
stools, picked up the menu, and ordered one hot dog and one coke
each. After eating, I asked my cousin, "So what do we do now?
Is this free?"
"Kind of," he said. "When
I count to three, we get up and run like hell. One, two, three..."
Before I had completely processed what
we were doing, I was running with the three of them as fast as I
could towards the escalator. The waitress was running after us
yelling "security!" Now, at that time, people working in
stores did not have walkie talkies and cameras were few. The only
people who knew what was going on were right behind us. My cousin
leaped onto the banister of the escalator and slid down it on his
ass, we followed and did the same thing. When he hit the point where
the up and down escalator crossed, he leaped over to the other
escalator. The adults following us couldn't do the same thing and we
lost them. We continued crisscrossing between escalators all the way
down to the bottom floor. From there we ran like hell out of Jordan
Marsh and into the mall were we were swallowed up by the crowd.
We hung around the mall for another
hour and then began our trip back, using the same route we used to
get there. As we took the Orange Line through Roxbury, we looked
longingly at the Prudential Center. We decided to get off at Dudley
Station, the closest stop on the Orange Line to the Prudential
Center, and walk to the building, using the building itself as our
guide to getting there.
The train stopped at Dudley and we
exited along with hundreds of black passengers. We were the only
whites exiting. We followed the crowd down to the street and looked
around until we spotted the Prudential Building. There was no street
that went straight there, so we zigzagged through the streets of
Roxbury on our way to that tall building. None of us had seen a
ghetto before. All we knew about Roxbury was what we were told. We
were told that whites were not welcome there, that we would get
mugged if we went there, and that it was dangerous.
The poverty was terrible. Drunken men
sat on the stairs leading from the sidewalks up to the triple decker
buildings that housed their apartments. Many people were very thin,
as thin as people we had seen on television programs showing poverty
in the third world. I was moved by this. In our walk from Dudley to
the Prudential Building, not a single person bothered or harassed us.
Some even smiled at us. In their eyes, we were just children and
unlike our white counterparts, they weren't throwing rocks at the
children of another race.
At the Prudential Center, we took the
elevator up to the top floor. We did not have enough money to pay
the entrance fee, but the man at the entrance let us in anyway. It
was a real thrill to see the world from the top of this skyscraper.
We looked out with our mouths agape and wondered what it would be
like to fall from way up there.
Walking back to Dudley, we went into a
store to buy a quart of Coke. It was cheaper than three smaller
bottles. We took turns swigging from it as we walked. When we
arrived at the station a neighborhood boy blocked our entrance. He
was our age and he demanded that we pay him to get by, "or he'd
kick our asses." We backed off and huddled. We concluded that
he figured that three white boys would be frightened by him.
However, there were three of us and one of him. Obviously, we'd win.
We came back, pushed him out of the way, and walked up the stairs to
the train station, where we boarded the train without further
incident.
The rest of our ride back was
uneventful. We were tired. We arrived home before dinner and no one
ever knew where we had gone or what we had done. I for one enjoyed
this adventure enough to remember it for the rest of my life. It was
the first of many increasingly independent adventures. It was my
first big step into the world beyond home.
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