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A single glance at his schedule can make him break off the most scintillating conversation in the city, or leave his wife in the midst of an embrace. He likes to dash for the train with seconds to spare, board it daily at the same precise spot on the platform, sit in the same seat. "You ought to hear the howls we get," says a New Haven trainman, "when the engineer brings the train in a few feet off the usual stopping place." The commuter does not like to talk with strangers (or often with anyone), or wear double-breasted suits, or sit with a woman, or travel without a hat. To preserve his privacy, he uses his newspaper like a shield, or he plays cards with the same partners. If he reads a sexy book or a left-wing newspaper, it is prudently concealed between more respectable pages. Whether he reads or works on the train (some commuters carry pocket-sized gadgets for dictating), drinks in the bar car, or gazes idly at the countryside, he is likely to do the same thing every day.
One Chicago commuter, accustomed to finding his grey Volkswagen in the same spot at the station every evening, hopped off the 6:28 one day, slipped behind the wheel of the car. He gave a cursory nod to the kids in the rear, leaned over to kiss his wife—and discovered to his horror that both she and the kids were total strangers. Retreating hastily, he hid behind a telephone pole until his wife showed up.
Some commuters insist that they undergo the daily trip to the big city and back for the sake of the wife and kiddies. There also are Freudian explanations. Says New York Psychiatrist Dr. Jose Barchilon, himself a commuter: "The twice-daily sacrifice of the commuter to the indignities of transportation satisfies something deep within the husband's psyche.
In modern society there are few opportunities for the breadwinner to endure personal hardship in earning the family living, such as clearing the forest or shooting a bear. For some husbands who spend their day in plush offices, the discomforts of commuting help alleviate feelings of guilt or envy that their wives are closer to primary hardships, e.g., cooking, minding the children." Many rail commuters welcome the trip as an hour of respite between frustrating tensions at the office and petty annoyances at home. Says a Stony Brook, L.I.-Manhattan commuter: "I commute to get a little peace and quiet each day. I have five kids."
Road Trap. The man who drives his auto to work, on the other hand, can rarely relax. He prizes the independence the auto gives him, but he pays for it dearly. With one foot on the brake and the other on the accelerator, he braves traffic jams so packed that, so the story goes, a Los Angeles driver was carried along for ten miles after he ran out of gas. He can expect no quarter from his own. A motorist lost on the Santa Ana freeway recently pulled his car onto the center island to take his bearings. Three hours later he was still there, trapped by a whizzing flow of motorists who refused to slow down enough to let him get back on the road.