A Subway Save

A caring community can be formed in a flash

Photo by Charl Folscher via Unsplash.

Things happen fast in New York City.

Tourists are often amazed to see people running full-out in the subway station, to transfer from one subway line to another. Locals are so close to the doors you can see their breath fog the windows. They are poised at the ready so they can explode out of the train at top speed in the hopes of making their next train instead of watching it pull out of the station just as they get to the platform.

Riders are in their own world, and more than one unfortunate incident has happened during the pursuit of getting onto or off of a train. Anthropologists would find it fascinating to witness the juxtaposition of the commotion of inter-train transit activity with the checked-out detachment of the riders inside the actual train cars.

Those same hypothetical anthropologists might also team up with other researchers and correlate that the frenzy of activity, and the tension of commuters, are directly correlated to the length and frequency of train delays.

It kinda makes me think we are reinforcing the misperception that city-folk are self-involved and just don’t care. I marvel at these phenomena even as I’m also often a full participant, sheepish as I am to admit it.

So it’s even all the more encouraging when humanity reminds me that life in the subway, and the city for that matter, is still a team sport.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on my way to teach. Usually, I take 2-3 trains to commute to the studio, and on most days, it’s a pretty smooth process. When I got off the first train, I sprinted to the second train’s platform (and if you don’t know why I was sprinting, go back and re-read the intro to this piece).

When I arrived on the platform, I looked at the sign for ETA times, so I could calculate whether my best option was to wait for the express train or take the (longer ride of the) local. To my dismay, the express train was not coming anytime soon. Generally speaking, a wait time of 5-6 minutes during the workday is the max, and anything over 8 minutes is rare. But on this day? The wait time was in the double digits! I knew I would have to take the local, which would make several more stops, and was still about 5 minutes away.

By the time the local arrived, a bunch of us crammed onto the train, hyped-up and anxious to depart. The doors hung open and a family boarded with large suitcases in tow. As the train proceeded to make all the local stops, the family began to discuss their exit plans. Since the train seemed to be held in the station for a couple minutes at every stop we made, tensions amongst other riders were mounting and the tourists’ conversation was a welcome distraction from the stress of becoming more and more likely to be late for wherever we were all headed.

The family was trying to determine at which stop they should exit the train. A couple of locals across from me heard them and started to engage in the dialogue. I, too, began to listen more intently, and even confirmed their desired destination. The consensus of us locals was that they should ride to 79th Street, a local stop, as it would be closer to their actual destination than their original idea to disembark at 72nd Street, an express stop. It seemed like the family was all set. Inconvenient miscalculation and extra blocks of lugging suitcases were averted.

And then came the announcement over the intercom at 72nd Street.

Given all the (unexplained) delays along the route, the train was now going to run express from 72nd to 96th Street. The family surely needed several more minutes to put the pieces together and realize what was happening, but the three of us locals knew what that meant – it meant the train was no longer going to make any stops in between, including the stop we’d told them they wanted to take.

The doors of the subway car were already open and would close in a matter of seconds. The two local men across from me told them, with great urgency, that they needed to get off the train right now, wait for the train that will come in behind ours (the next local) and ride to their stop. The family looked dazed. What the heck? After all, didn’t we all just tell them they could stay on this train?

We didn’t have time to explain. I blocked the door with my body, so it wouldn’t close on them and the three of us urged them, “Go, go, go. This train won’t stop there now – you need to get off here. Now! Another train is coming. Get off and wait for it. The doors are gonna close any second. You’ve gotta go!”

Most of them made it to the platform, but the doors started to close as the last one was stepping out. Between my body block of the door and his quick surge in speed, he squeezed by and I saw the family on the platform, the whole family, realizing what just happened and that the swift actions of three locals saved them a lot of confusion (as well as about 15 blocks).

It was a good moment and a great start to the rest of my day. As a New Yorker, I was proud and honored to be a part of a team, drafted by who-knows-what, that could think of someone else’s needs in the heat of the moment, and provide assistance. As we hurtled toward 96th Street, my assurance that I’d get to the studio on time wasn’t the only thing renewed. So was my faith in each other.