God bless Phillis

Speeding through the early morning auburn landscape on a train from New York to Baltimore, headphones on, Boards of Canada 1969 tapping out the rhythm. The painted timber houses along the edge of the track all peachy hues in the low sun, cars and windows firing shots of bright white light into the carriage. I got up at 5.30 and by 6.00 I was out on the sidewalk cosmically ordering a cab. One lurched out from a nearby petrol station and rolled up next to me, I slid in and asked to go to Penn Station. The driver was sitting up straight at his wheel, oddly keen looking. "Am I your first fare of the day?" I inquired. "Yes", very African sounding, he turned and flashed a big smile at me. By the time I clambered out of that cab twenty minutes later, I knew quite a bit about him; Phillis, he said his name was. Twelve years ago he won a Green Card lottery, came to New York, got himself the required $470 000 loan for a cab driver's medallion and set about working 18 hours a day (except Sundays when he goes to church). Four months ago he paid it off; now he can rent out the cab for $800 a week and will use the money to go to school so he can get a better job. He is from Ghana and can't believe what good fortune he has had "anyone with a job and their health is very fortunate" he kept repeating. He should be on tv.