An Open Letter To:

The a capella quartet on the downtown R train yesterday.

I was heading back to work after a long midtown lunch. I was out of my routine (lunch/NY Times Sports at desk) and therefore off my game a bit.

You guys–a golden-throated, if grubby bunch in your 40s and 50s–boarded the train at 34th and went straight into your musical act. There was a brief introductory Christmas number and some general pleasantries for the two dozen riders on board, then you launched into a version of Sam Cooke’s Only Sixteen in sublime four-part harmony.

It sounded fantastic, and even pulled some hardened New York noses out of newspapers and smartphones.

Then one of you–I don’t recall which spot you occupied on the voice register/barbershop quartet totem pole–went around with the cup. First off, I give you high marks for what, at least on paper, sounds like an insuperable task: requesting money while singing a song that extols the virtues of hitting on underage girls [She was only sixteen, only sixteen/I loved her so...]

You approached me for some change. I normally don’t give, but it sounded really good, and it’s the holidays, and anyone carrying on the legend of Sam Cooke is cool in my book (Uh, “Some Change is Gonna Come,” anyone?). I reached into my pocket and figured I’d give whatever was in there. You lingered, never breaking from Only Sixteen.

I was about to hand over my fistful when I realized one of the coins was a dollar–the gold coin with the Native American lady on it, a baby in a papoose on her back. [Editor's Note: First time we've ever used the word "papoose" on this site.] I don’t remember where I got it (post office? parking garage?), but I do remember it happening in the last few weeks, and The Missus saying something to the effect of, good luck getting rid of that.

You guys sounded good, sir, but not that good–I wasn’t passing along a dollar. Nothing personal–I probably would not have have coughed up the buck to Bono and The Edge slumming it in the underground. There was some awkwardness as you eyed the coin like Gollum ogling his beloved bling. I pulled it back and gave you everything else just as you crooned something about doing the little things/That made my heart glow.

Sir, I should’ve done that little thing that may have made your heart glow, and certainly would’ve thawed my own ticker a bit. It’s just a buck, and I’ll venture to guess–my Westchester mortgage and Little G’s pre-school tuition in Priusville notwithstanding–you need it more than me. 

Next time, I’m giving you a fiver. What a wonderful world that would be.

Regretfully,

Trainjotting