The New York herald. [volume] (New York, N.Y.) 1920-1924, 1920-11-14
IN THE BERKSHIRE JITNEY.
A Trip to Pittsfield in the Modern
Equivalent Of the Hay Wagon.


To THE New York HERALD: The old
gentleman smoking on the last seat OF
the bus that runs from Albany to Pitts
field evidently took me for tramp.
My concern about getting comfortably
seated visibly annoyed him. When i
lurched toward him to gather the coin
from the far recesses OF my trousers
pocket to pay my fare he scowled, for
had Jostled the last remnant OF ashes
from his almost burned out cigar. He
appealed to me as a pretty good old
nut to crack, 30 got my hammer out
Going to Pittsfeld?" asked mildly
mo-"
Fine october day." suggested.
Gold" he snapped.
/ opened the foodgates OF unregen-
crate eloquence. told him funny story
Presently I was picking the sweet meat
from his hard shell--the hammer had
worked.
The back seat wasn't lonely when my
genial old friend left the bus at Brain
ard. A substitute remained in the per-
sons Of young man and a young
woman. He was bundled up to his
chin in an ulster. Under the blue hat
of the girl were the lean features and
blue nose of Priscilla.
Priscilla. though, never said "oui" to
John; she used the English adverb.
The probe Of a question did the trick.
The girl was a war bride from Vile
Neuve. near -Thierry. one OF
fifty-eight who had come over on the
George Washington. The boy beside her
was her husband. He spoke both French
and English, she only the language of a
daughter of an artisan in osier in the
Champagne district. She had not yet
reached the matrimonial stage when
the acquiescent "oui' is supplanted by
the more decisive "Je dis que non."
The young man was good natured, in
terpreted my direct and impertinent
questions and his wife's vivacious and
frank replies. When I asked her what
she thought of the United States the
answer came fuently enough from her
nimble tongue through his medium to
me:
'Just like France. I'm lonesome with
out my people, but he earns money
enough and we both go back to visit
and bring them to America"
We were passing the colonnaded home
of a wealthy resident. She quickly
clutched his arm and pointed to 1t.
"Une jolie maisonv she exclaimed.
She wanted house just like that. I
suggested that 1t was q bit too roomy
for two people. She coupled an ami
mated rejoinder with an elfish glance at
her husband.
what did she say?" asked.
I'VE need plenty room SOON"
A jitney is a great jolter OF conven-
tionalitles, has the freedom OF unre-
straint, is the modern equivalent Of
straw ride in hay wagon. To ride
through the Berkshires in one Is as good
as walking-there's variety in 1t, the
human touch. 1t had thawed the early
aggressiveness of the old gentleman had
let me in on the ground floor Of
romance.
The State road was once muddy and
rutted by the wheels Of farmers wagons.
Now it is hard serpentine trail through
gaps in the Berkshire Hills, the jitney
the touchstone of civilization. 1t serves
the villages between Albany and Pitts
field in a forty mile run-Brainard, Mas
sau, New Lebanon-and taps the out
lying country for passengers.
Wagons from remote farms wait at
crossroads for it's coming just as they
wait at a railroad station for train.
In the fall the wooded hills along the
route area gallery of high colored land
scape paintings, but with the last run
about Halloween the fresh paint is mel
lowed to the tone of an old master.
But the enticements of jitney jaunt
cannot all be put into a printers stick.
Next fall when the artist is exhibiting
look up the show. If you are fortunate
enough to get seat--and you will have
to be spry and get to the Post Office in
Albany early or the Albanians will beat
you--you will roll into Pittsfield-once
a quaint New England village doing
amid matchless hills. now a thriving
town--with recollections made vivid by
the wonderful vision of color that you
have left behind you in your journey.
FINpLAY SAcKETT.
ALBANY, November 13.