Another story for Thursday

Dear Congressman,

Today I thought it might be a nice for you to hear another story from my past for your entertainment.

In the spring of 1978 I was attending the American Community School of Wimbledon. ACS-Wimbledon was a part of a "for-profit" group that started American curriculum schools in the London area to service the overflow of students from ASL (American School of London). Since ASL was at full capacity at that time, I attended the Wimbledon school for the second half of my freshman year. It was a nice building on a street called Parkside, directly across the street from Wimbledon Common.

At the time I lived about 50 miles to the south in Horsham, West Sussex. To get to class everyday, I had walk to about a mile or so to Horsham station, take a British Rail train up to Wimbledon, and then finish my journey by walking the mile or so from Wimbledon station to the school. To go home was a reverse of the above trip.

But I digress...

This tale is about a ride home to Horsham one sunny afternoon. I caught the train at my usual stop, and since Horsham was a small town the train was an "all stops to" train as opposed to an express that zipped point to point with out bothering to pick up any additional paying passengers along the way.

It was in April, so the temperature outside was in the high 50's. The train was full until we reached Epsom Downs, at which point most people got off. I was sitting alone, reading a homework assignment to make the time go by quicker, and the only other passenger was a young lady in school uniform who was sitting facing toward me several rows ahead.

We were just pulling out of Ashtead station when another person got on the train. I clearly remember him as he had very long black hair that was straight and shiny. From this trait combined with his complexion, I would have to say that he was of American Indian descent, which immediately struck me as strange since I was sitting on a southbound British rail train in the suburbs of London.

But I was wrong. That was not the strange part....

As the train pulled away, he did not sit in one of the many available empty seats, but stood near the rows of seats facing toward me but just in front of where the young girl was sitting. Without speaking a word, he reached into the breast pocket of the shirt he was wearing and pulled out a deck of cards. He then proceeded to remove cards from the deck one-by-one, stare at them for a second or so, and then fling them forward like he was trying to hit some invisible target. The look on his face was not threatening or maniacal, just a blank stare as he worked his way through the deck.

This activity went on for a good six minutes as we traveled between Ashtead and Leatherhead stations. Once we pulled into Leatherhead and came to a stop, he put the remaining cards back into his pocket, walked quickly to the nearest exit, and proceeded to get off the train.

After he had left, the young girl and I exchanged the same “did we just see what we thought we saw” glances, but the twenty or so playing cards remaining on the floor of the train carriage he had left behind proved testament to what we had just observed. We then went back to our individual reading materials and gave the matter no more thought that day.

To this day I wonder who the heck this guy was and what the heck he was doing. I always thought that maybe I caught him on a good day, before he went into a rage and slaughtered everyone at the pub the next night, but that was the one and only time I ever saw this individual.

As I am fond of saying, "it takes all kinds...".