The Tale of the Cable Car Driver

All his life, Harry wanted to be a cable car driver. 

One day he enrolled in cable-car operator school in New York. He was a fair student, but not great, and after several years of study, he graduated with a C-average and was assigned as part of a job-placement program to a route in Manhattan.

He loved his new job and everything was great for a while until one day he wasn't paying very close attention and lost control of his cable-car. It hopped its track and careened off of a pier into the Hudson River. All of his passengers were killed, but Harry managed to swim back to shore. He was terrified of what would happen so he fled the scene (and, eventually, the city) before police and rescue crews could arrive.

He settled in Houston under an assumed name and took a job in a grocery store, trying to keep as low a profile as possible. He lived a quiet life, and every day he would watch the Houston cable cars going up and down the street and he longed for what he had lost.

One day, he decided that he couldn't take it any longer and enrolled in cable-car operator school again, this time in Houston and under his new name. He did a little better this time, having been through the classwork before, and graduated with a B-average and was assigned to a nice route in La Porte.

His passengers loved him and he loved his job. But one day, he wasn't paying attention and lost control of his cable car. It hopped its track and ended up in Trinity Bay. All of his passengers were killed, but Harry managed to swim back to shore. Fearing that authorities would put this accident together with the one in New York, he again fled the scene.

This time he ended up in San Francisco with yet another assumed name. He figured that, if he couldn't operate his beloved cable cars (for fear of getting caught), he could at least see them everywhere he went, as San Francisco is the cable-car capital of the world.

This satisfied him for a little while, but eventually he couldn't take it anymore and enrolled in cable-car operator school yet again. He excelled in his classwork this time around (having been through the program twice before) and graduated magna cum laude. He was assigned the highly-coveted Market Street route and drove it for quite a while without incident.

But one day, he wasn't paying attention and lost control of his cable car. It hopped its tracks and ended up in the San Francisco Bay. All of his passengers were killed and as Harry swam back to shore, the police were waiting for him.

In the subsequent investigation and trial, prosecutors put all the pieces together. They figured that he was the same guy who killed all those people in Houston and New York. It was the trial of the century and at the end of it, Harry was sentenced to die in the electric chair for his crimes (the actions having been deemed so egregiously willful and persistent as to constitute premeditation).

He was transferred to Alcatraz to await his execution. He was a model prisoner, never causing any trouble, and every day he woke and did exactly 52 jumping jacks and 52 sit-ups and 52 push-ups in his cell to keep himself occupied.

The day before his scheduled execution, the warden came to him and asked what he would like for his last meal. Harry thought about it for a minute and said “I would like a rotten banana, a rotten apple, and a glass of spoiled milk”.

The warden stared blankly at him. “Harry,” he said, “we have access to the best chefs in the world. This is your last meal, and you can have anything you want. Steak, lobster, you name it!”

Harry shook his head and repeated his request for a rotten banana, a rotten apple, and a glass of spoiled milk. His disgusting meal was brought to him and he wolfed it down hungrily.

The next day, his head was shaved and last rites were administered, and Harry was led to the electric chair and hooked up. At the appointed time, prison guards threw the switch and counted to ten before turning off the current to the chair. But Harry was fine. Smoldering a bit at the spots where the contacts met his skin, perhaps, but otherwise the picture of health.

Flummoxed, the guards took Harry back to his cell and began the long process of checking and rechecking their equipment for malfunctions, but they couldn’t find anything. A new execution date was set for one month later, and Harry went back to his morning exercise routine of 52 jumping jacks, 52 sit-ups, and 52 push-ups to keep his mind and body occupied while he waited.

The eve of his second execution arrived and the warden visited Harry again to take the order for his last meal. “A rotten banana, a rotten apple, and a glass of spoiled milk,” Harry said. The warden just shook his head and asked him Harry was sure, then arranged to have his meal brought to him.

The next day, guards shaved his head again, Harry was administered his last rites again, and he was marched to the electric chair and hooked up again. This time, though, they weren’t taking any chances. At the appropriate time, they threw the switch and left the juice flowing for a full minute. And when they were finished, Harry was just fine.

The warden was nervous. A little known California law stipulated that the state could only make three attempts to execute a prisoner three times, and if that failed they had to let him go. Harry was returned to his cell where he resumed his daily morning exercise regimen of 52 jumping jacks, 52 sit-ups, and 52 push-ups. 

Another month passed, and on the eve of his third execution, Harry was visited by the warden, who just said “let me guess” as he wheeled in a cart with a rotten banana, a rotten apple, and a glass of spoiled milk. Harry thanked him politely and ate his dinner. The next morning, they shaved his head (AGAIN!) and delivered last rites (AGAIN!) and marched him to the execution chamber, where he was hooked up (AGAIN!) to the electric chair. 

This time, prison officials weren’t taking any chances. The entire Bay Area power grid was diverted to Alcatraz. They threw the switch (cutting electricity to millions of customers) and left the juice running for a full half hour. The execution chamber buzzed with the awesome power being fed into the chair. You could taste the ions in the air. And when they turned off the power….

Harry was just fine. The warden shook his head in disbelief. “Well, Harry,” he said, “We have to let you go. California law stipulates that we can only make three attempts at an execution. But before I do, I really have to know. How did you survive three executions? Was it the jumping jacks, the sit-ups, and the push-ups? Was it the rotten banana, rotten apple, and spoiled milk? What IS your secret?”

Harry just shook his head and shrugged, “I guess I’m just not a very good conductor.”