Last week marked the end of an era. The days when the Bar Car rolled down the tracks between New Haven and NYC are over.

Good riddance.

The Metro North Bar Car was a bizarre railroad car configured to look like and function as an elongated lounge, with a bartender behind the bar and pub-like seats and tables scattered around.

That car played a significant role in ending my daily commute to Madison Avenue and the hallowed halls of Chiat/Day.

It was the late 80’s and I was (in my mind) a hotshot marketing kid who thought he had hit the jackpot. Commuting into the city from New Haven on the 5:02 morning train and back again on the 8:10 at night seemed like a dream come true. I don’t know how I sustained it for the years I did, but being a part of the Chiat/Day ride during the height of their long run as the ad industry’s creative leader was worth it all.

When the time came to make the decision to either commit to a future of Madison Avenue or to stay put in New Haven and try to make it on my own, the Bar Car tipped the decision.

In those days — not much different from today — commuters were forced to hunt for a seat in any car that actually had heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer (it often was reversed). That frantic search and race for a seat meant walking through the train, car after car, including the Bar Car.

My vivid memory of that car is not a good one. The folks in there, who seemed to be mostly from Fairfield County since the car emptied out in the affluent suburbs, told the tale of the daily commuter.

The Bar Car may start out as a happy, drinking crowd winding down after a hard day in the ultimate rat race, but it soon deteriorated into a boozy, stumbling gang of sad, pathetic people, slouched into seats and staggering out to the parking lot for the drive home to their families.

The car was always filled with smoke, especially when the Bar Car became the only smoking car in the train. The thick fog and choking haze, combined with the sticky, wet, alcohol-coated floor and often past-their-prime, white-collar workers made an indelible impact on this young ad exec. While it isn’t fair, the drunken, middle-aged business women made the biggest impression on me. It was startling. And sobering, for me, at least. I tried to imagine what it was like when these dads and moms opened the door to their home at the end of their commute and greeted their families.

It was a short step to imagine myself in those very seats, twenty years in the future.

I chose to end the commute and open Mascola Group at home in New Haven, two miles from my house. No commute, no trains, no bar car.

Never look back. Goodbye Bar Car. And, thank you.