Lou Hollander is a caring, sensitive man who experiences joy and pain intensely.

Speaking with Lou for this essay, one thinks of a ride on undulating tracks—sometimes on the dark subways, sometimes on the rise and fall of a rollercoaster. Many of us have such life rides; those who do, get this.

When someone tells you they ran ten miles, it might have been nine. But if they said they ran eleven miles, it was eleven because you’d know—they notched each mile.

Lou Hollander was with the MPs at the Dĩ An Army base in Vietnam; their job was to repel attacks from the perimeter. Usually, the attacks included the incoming blasts of fire and flying steel of mortars.

Lou endured eleven days of mortar bombardment. He knows it was eleven days—he notched each one of them.

Lou said, “They were eleven scary days.” He said he was lucky to survive. It was fortunate for him, his family, and America.

Before Vietnam, Lou was a dockworker. His dad was a dock boss for the United States Lines at the piers of 18th Street and 12th Avenue in Manhattan.

Dockwork was a family occupation. Lou, his two brothers, his brother-in-law, four uncles, and four cousins were dockworkers. But his dad told Lou to find another career, saying automation would take over. 

Before moving on to another career, Lou was drafted into the army at nineteen on 10/13/65.

Soldiers going off to war and cops and firemen going off to work are not the only ones in harm’s way. Those “safe” at home are also vulnerable to illness, injury, and death. And fate can be a fickle chooser of who lives and who dies.

The last time Lou saw his father was when he left for Vietnam. Lou’s dad died at 59 while Lou was in Vietnam. His dad never collected Social Security or lived to know Lou’s son and daughter. Lou was discharged from the Army two months early to assist his grieving mom.

When Lou left the Army, he remembered his dad’s career advice and took the test for the NYC Transit Police at Franklin K Lane High School. 

Lou worked the subway in plain clothes, and anti-crime arrests for robbery, grand larceny, and felony assault were always good collars. But, graffiti was a big problem for NYC’s subways in the eighties, so all officers had to be alert for graffiti artists. One such arrest by Lou was memorable.

One day, Lou saw a graffiti artist marking the blacked-out ad spaces on a station’s platform’s walls. He moved in and cuffed the young man. During the booking process, the twenty-two-year-old man pulled a catalog from his backpack and said he had his artwork at a recent museum show.

The man was renowned artist Keith Haring, shown here performing the same act for which Lou arrested him:

Haring was released with an appearance ticket for a future court date. But unlike the expected reaction of arrestees, Haring was unusually pleasant. He insisted Lou keep the catalog and even included some of his art on it for Lou to take home to his wife, Barbara. 

Haring died in 1990 at age 31. The following year, an art show in Tampa featuring Haring resulted in a Tampa Times interview with Lou Hollander. The museum curator offered to buy the Haring-drawn art on the catalog. Lou agreed and received $1,400 for it.

Lou loved being a Transit cop. He retired just before the 1995 merger of the Transit Police and the NYC Police, or “hostile takeover,” as Transit cops called it. Lou was sad to hear of it because he said, “The Transit Police were no longer to be.”

When Lou attended a Florida luncheon reunion with Brother retiree Bill (Woody) Wood, he saw a hundred and ten retirees show up. Lou thought a weekend reunion would attract twice as many.

1997 Lou and Woody organized a weekend New York City Transit Police Florida Reunion. Three hundred sixty-two members participated.

The NYC Transit Police, having worked in one-man patrols in a challenging environment, are a solid Brotherhood. The reunion was so successful he continued it for twenty-one years.

Although the reunion committee leadership has changed, Lou’s initiative has caused hundreds of Transit cops to migrate from across the country to the Brotherhood reunion yearly.

Lou began his Transit Police newsletter, updating retirees on various issues, like city’s attempt to mug retirees of their long-established Senior Medicare and replace it with a dis-Advantaged Medicare plan.

Lou posts obituaries for deceased Brothers or Sisters in almost every newsletter publication. We super-seasoned Transit Police are increasingly riding the E train, the Eternal Express, off planet Earth.

Lou sometimes feels like the Grim Reaper bringing these dark items to our group, so he’s glad to include my usually upbeat Leebythesea blog.

Lou was the youngest of three boys and a girl in the Hollander family. Lou said, “We were always close, and I can honestly say I’ve never had a fight with any of my brothers or my sister, never in my life.”

A polio survivor, one brother, Warren, had a bad limp, but despite it, he, too, worked the Manhattan docks. Warren later got into a car accident that made him wheelchair-bound. One night, about five years ago, due to a late-night cigarette, a fire killed Warren and his wife, June. That devastated Lou.

“These passings really hit close to home,” Lou says. Only Lou and his sister, 94, still live, and she’s in a nursing home.

Lou spoke of people most of my readers won’t know, like Floyd Hollaway, a brother officer who did so much for the Transit Police in Albany. Lou said, “That really hit me hard.” He also mentioned Gary Brown, his partner on the job. Lou said many passings touched him; but their names are too numerous to list.

Of his partner, “Gary was a legend; we were like brothers. He was the funniest guy I ever met.” But he said, Gary, “after a night tour, walked into a bodega while a robbery was going down, he got shot and almost died.” Lou said, “Gary stayed on the job for a few more years. He died about a year ago.”

You likely don’t know Holloway or Brown, but you’ve had Holloways and Browns in your lives, people who were like family to you. And when they die, “it really hits close to home,” as Lou put it.

Lou has a serious heart condition. Fifty-three years after leaving Vietnam, he was finally granted 100% combat-related disability as his type of heart condition is directly attributed to the defoliant Agent Orange.

Lou’s heart condition and the deaths, family, friends, and member obits have taken a toll on Lou Hollander. He said, “I had to go on medication.” But Transit cop Lou Hollander—keeps rolling on.

Some days the sun does shine:

Lou and his wife Barbara have two children, Christine and Louis III. The Hollander family has four Louises: Lou’s dad was Louis, his son is Louis, and his nine-year-old grandson is Louis IV, or Lotto, as he is called.

In January, Lotto asked Lou to attend his class on career day, February 11th. Lou said he’d be flying from his home in Florida to the school in Atlanta. Lou was thrilled. I could hear his excitement when he said, “I never did anything like this. It should be fun. My grandson is excited.” Lou could use some fun.

On February 17th, I spoke with Lou when he returned from Atlanta. He had a fantastic time at the International Charter Academy of Georgia. He said the two other Career Day participants were so professional that they had no doubt done it before.

One was a planner for Samaritan’s First, and the other was a school psychologist. So when Lou approached the podium in his Honor Guard uniform—with gold braid and stripes added—the young eyes widened. Lou said, “They treated me like a rock star.”

Lou had two question and answer sessions with the students, one in their classroom:

Second Question and Answer session was in the gym:

Even the school receptionist,  Heidi Walker, asked to be photographed with rock star Lou Hollander:

Ironically, the school art teacher, Ms Lovely (how could one not love her?), is a huge fan of Keith Haring. A few years ago, she and her students painted the walls and staircase with Haring art.

Lou’s grandson, Lotto, will have many happy memories of the day grandpa—in full uniform—showed up for his Career Day.

Lou’s rollercoaster life continues, sometimes with peaks like this and sometimes with dips we do not know.

Yes, Lou Hollander is a caring, sensitive man—that’s who he is. Only people like him can understand life’s pains and joys as he does. Those who perform in uniform defending America or protecting its citizens, need to be appreciated for not hardening their hearts through their experiences.

Lou loves his family, the Transit Police, and America. He told me that when the National Anthem is played at a ballgame, he stands with tears in his eyes.

Be well,

Lee,

shedding a little light where the sun don’t shine.

See my sunny side blog: Leebythesea