Harry and his accent left a lot of questions. If he wasn’t on the train or going to Rabbit Hole, he was sure on the job. Since he reported to my Uncle Joe, he would at times call into my Uncle for advice or directions as what to do along the line. My uncle would work out of Richmond Hill and his crew could be anywhere along the many miles of commuter track.
One such call went something like this one morning:
“Elloa Joe?”
“Yeah Harry, what’s up?”
“They puta hout da list a for the job assign-a-ments.”
“OK, read them to me.”
“Wella the jobba for trackaman: abullish.”
“What was that Harry???”
“The jobba for the trackaman: abullish.”
“A bull ish!!!???”
“A yea, thatsa what she say: abullish.”
“Harry, spell the word for me.”
“Ma sure, eh-bee-hoe-ella-hye-essa-heych, abullish.
My uncle thinks for a moment then like the Holy Spirit striking the twelve apostles in that room after the Last Supper announces: “OH! YOU MEAN ‘ABOLISH!”
“DATSA WHAT I SAID! Abullish!”
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