My, how a commuter’s life has changed—especially with the demise of Metro-North’s iconic bar car in 2014, the last of its kind in the U.S.
Soon after that, Amtrak introduced café cars, but they’re not nearly as much fun.
There are still people in Greenwich who remember riding the 5:11 out of New York back in the Fifties and Sixties with the mad men of advertising, mostly magazine and agency types. It was an express to Riverside, either because a railroad official lived there or the railroad owed one to a journalist who did.
In any case, it became known as the V:XI Gentlemen’s Bar Car, and in 1991 Greenwich Library Oral History asked commuter Bob Pearson to tell it like it was.
It was a comfortable old Pullman car—half- compartments, half-lounge with plush chairs, paneled walls and a jovial Irish bartender. For air-conditioning, a circulating system blew air over blocks of ice piled at one end of the car.
The dozens of regulars who rode the 5:11 included ad man Verne Westerberg, who became publisher of four Condé Nast magazines; newspaper editor Norton Mockridge of the World Telegram and Sun; and Libby O’Brien, one of few women and an executive of Lily Tulip Cup. Combination den mother/Pearl Mesta, Libby was into celebrating any kind of holiday. Out would come the streamers, party hats and horns. During one birthday celebration, the man of the hour created quite a mess when he threw his cake into a fan.
They framed pictures of these parties and mounted them on the walls. They also brought in their own furniture. Bob Pearson, speechwriter for the CEO of Shell Oil, was often last to board and had to stand all the way to Riverside. So, Libby bought an old wooden chair and plastered it with gaudy shell decals for him.
“There were no teetotalers on that car,” observed Verne, recalling a power outage when they got stuck at 125th Street during a Team Gin Rummy game. The bartender finally ran out of booze, but they found a guy outside who, for 10 bucks, brought in cases of beer, which kept the game going until buses arrived at midnight and forced them to disembark.
Then came the day the railroad decided the 5:11 had to be replaced with a more modern car. What? “Take away our bar car?!” they moaned.
Norton Mockridge ran a human-interest story about it in his newspaper, and soon Bob got an invitation from a representative of the president of the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad to come talk about it. His man explained that the old car had gone millions of miles, it wasn’t economical to keep icing it, and they could have a new Pullman just as nice. “We could even paint the name ‘Gentlemen’s Bar Car’ on the side,” he added.
“Sounds real good,” said Bob. “But make it ‘V:XI G.B.C.’ ”
“And,” the guy concluded, “we’ll transfer all your memorabilia from the old car and hang your pictures on the wall.”
Before long, the 5:11ers had little gold V:XI lapel pins and tie clips made, plus earrings for the ladies.
As a PR grand finale, the railroad suggested a dedication ceremony on the new V:XI G.B.C. The Metro-North president showed up with champagne, flowers, a photographer and an entourage of aides to celebrate en route to 125th, where he’d get off. He didn’t know that regulations forbade people from boarding at Grand Central and getting off at 125th and vice versa, thus competing with the city transit system. So, when the conductor stopped him leaving, the CEO protested: “But I’m president of the railroad!” to which the conductor replied: “Yes, and I’m Napoleon. You still can’t get off!”
Those were the days.