27 October 1982
By Glenn Collins
FOR 17 years now Robert Juhren of Mount Kisco has been a hostage to fortune, commuting to the city on the Harlem Division. Despite every imaginable calamity, or possibly because of the irreversible physiological changes wrought by these experiences, Mr. Juhren's association with the iron horse has found poetic expression. The verse epic that Mr. Juhren has penned, though not unlike ''The Rime of the Ancient Mariner'' in subject, has more of the feeling of a merry drinking ballad. And so, tonight, the vast fellowship of commuterdom might consider rallying round the bar-car bartender to give voice to Mr. Juhren's song: Stand up, stand up, Commuter, We shall not sit tonight, The last two cars are missing, The first two have not light. The club car's overcrowded, The smoker has no heat. Stand up, stand up, Commuter, Tonight we're on our feet.
New York Times • Home and Garden • page 2 • 811 words