7 posts tagged “subway”
This is how you know a) you're in New York and b) you're on your way to Brooklyn.
I'm certainly not the first person to blog about this Washington Post article from Sunday, but I felt like giving it a space here, too.
On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?
As a commuter who usually has iPod buds in my ear, I really don't pay much attention to the various Andean musicians, Chinese guitarists, rock-n-rollers, Mariachi players and family bands who populate the subway stations and cars. I have been known to stop and listen, and every time I pass one of them I tend to think of Tracy Chapman, who started out as a busker and made it big. But I'm with one of the passing sentiments in the subway: If you watch, you should pay. If you get something out of it, fork over some cash. By ignoring or moving along, you don't owe anyone anything. So mostly, I don't.
What's actually most fun about this piece for me is listening to Bell's humbled comments; yes, the hoi polloi may be tone deaf but if a tree plays Bach in the forest and no one cares to listen, then does talent even mean anything?
On the flip side, would I know greatness if greatness were -- if not thrust upon me, then placed next to me on the subway? Probably not, particularly with classical music. I'm sure I would have walked by.
But I'd like to think I might have paused, and listened, a bit.
P.S. It's a really well-written article, too.
Ever since I been
Ridin, right on the Subway Train
You can hear the whistle blowin'
Ya might think I'm goin insane
-- The New York Dolls, "Subway
Train"
Kind of lost interest in the story briefly. Primary reasons: Hit a snag with the synopsis in that one section I was trying to synopsize rang as false as a tinfoil bell. So there's that. Secondly, I decided to play a casual game which then ate up several evenings of my life, and the irony is that you're playing with a fake life. It's called "Kudos." I would avoid it at allcosts if you have something useful to be doing. Or even if you don't. I'm not much into games, but when I do find one I like I sometimes just let myself go into it until I get bored, which rarely takes very long. This one is finally boring me, but it's taken three or four days.
The good news is apparently people who play video games better their vision. Who knew.
So I'm coming out of the brain freeze, and so is the city. But the place has been just behaving oddly. First you have all of these semi-anorexics strutting on the runway in the middle of Bryant Park -- or as some folks call it, "Fashion Week."
Then I rode the newfangled "N" train this morning which featured an equally newfangled subway station map inside the train. In the bad old days you actually had to either know where you're going, or check the systemwide map in every car. Then came the adaptations, which included a fixed line-oriented map suspended above the seats, with a station light that filled in as each one was passed. This one, though, was even more advanced (even if my cell phone camera doesn't tell you much). Now the stations read out in LED lights that shift as the stations pass, so the one you're in is
always on the far left, fixed in a rectangular red frame. There's also a section for faraway stations, which again are in LED readout format, with the number of stations away noted beneath.
Personally, I don't mind trains that are a little more low-tech. And with all of this LED'ing going on, the traditional train number/letter in a colored circle loses the color. It feels very sterile and stainless steel. Which means it's futuristic, I guess, but I'm old school with my subway trains.
Then there was the incident at Duane Reade today.
I stopped in after work to pick up some Valentine's Day cards and sneak away with a little of my precious, precious Palmer's bad candy, and was a little befuddled to find a small crowd clustering just outside the doors. Now, it's 26 degrees, if that, and people just don't cluster outside unless something's up. I actually thought they'd closed the store or something and shoved everyone out on the street, but no, the doors were still opening. And as I got closer, there was a crowd clustered inside, too.
They were mostly doing their clustering around what apparently had become a clusterfuck: A store employee was restraining a woman on the floor in some kind of arm lock. She was twisting around and being generally pissed off with the situation. It was hard to see much, and truth is I just made an instant conclusion: Thief, caught in the act. All I could see was some kind of entirely weather-inappropriate Yankees baseball jacket on her, and a sneaker with duct
tape on one sole. She kept insisting she'd done nothing wrong and that he was hurting her. One woman had a cell phone to her ear and stood by the exit calling the police.
I can't imagine being in that situation. But I began thinking that even if she had tried to steal something, and even if she was either drunk or belligerent or both, that she deserved some kind of advocate. And from what I could tell, she was completely alone. So when she implored them to just go find Shirley, the bartender at one of the only remaining Anglo bars in the neighborhood just a few feet away, I thought about it, then went to the bar. I'd been in there once or twice; it should get more traffic than it does, because they always have good music and there are pool tables and it's not seedy, even if some of its customers are. Anyway, I walked in and found a red-haired bartender.
"Are you Shirley?"
"Ah, what's she done now?"
I told her I had no idea, but someone at the drugstore was restraining her and it seemed like she could use someone on her side, just to make sure nothing bad went down.
In a slight Irish burr, she said she'd have to see if she could get away, and thanked me, "darlin'."
I went back to the store. The woman was still decrying her treatment, and as I walked in the cops were just arriving. I picked up what I needed and saw Shirley come in and start taking notes, quizzing a few onlookers, some of whom, it seemed, were on hand also to witness and tell the cops what they saw -- and not all of them were out for the woman's blood. The woman told the cops she'd been punched in the face; someone else said the employee? security guard? had handcuffed her.
I got in line. Said to the young woman clerk, "Having an interesting night, I see."
She rolled her eyes anxiously. "I'm all nervous," she said. "She was my customer."
"So what did she do?" I asked. "Steal something?"
She nodded.
"You're gonna need a drink," I said.
I wondered if I should suggest Shirley, who was walking back to the bar as I headed home.
So, an update to the post below: You have about 5 minutes to get your television on and watch the hero -- whose name is Wesley Autrey -- on David Letterman.
He's gotten more than just a TV appearance, too: He got that medal. According to this story from the AP:
Autrey, whose knitted cap was brushed with grease and dirt from the train passing overhead, played down his daring act as he accepted the Bronze Medallion -- for exceptional citizenship and outstanding achievement -- from Mayor Michael Bloomberg....
While Bloomberg called Autrey a "true hero" and the New York Post newspaper dubbed him the "Subway Superman," the construction worker -- who went to work as normal after the incident -- said the real heroes were U.S. troops in Iraq.
Along with the civic award, Autrey was also given a year's worth of free rides on New York's subway and buses, then met with real-estate mogul Donald Trump, who gave him a $10,000 cheque, along with two other cheques from undisclosed donors.
The Walt Disney Co. gave Autrey and his family a one-week fully paid trip to the Disney World theme park in Orlando, Florida, and tickets to the Broadway smash hit musical "The Lion King."
The New York Film Academy, where Hollopeter studies, said it had given Autrey $5,000 and offered scholarships to his daughters, while The New York Daily News reported Autrey had been offered a television show apartment make-over.
Autrey -- whose boss didn't believe his excuse for being late to work until he saw on the Internet what Autrey had done -- is also scheduled to appear on both "The Late Show With David Letterman" and "The Ellen DeGeneres Show."
"Good things happen when you do good," Autrey said. "What better way to start a new year than saving a life?"
Indeed!
And who says they aren't in New York City?
From the New York Times:
Mr. Autrey was waiting for the downtown local at 137th Street and Broadway in Manhattan around 12:45 p.m. He was taking his two daughters, Syshe, 4, and Shuqui, 6, home before work.
Nearby, a man collapsed, his body convulsing. Mr. Autrey and two women rushed to help, he said. The man, Cameron Hollopeter, 20, managed to get up, but then stumbled to the platform edge and fell to the tracks, between the two rails.
The headlights of the No. 1 train appeared. “I had to make a split decision,” Mr. Autrey said.
So he made one, and leapt.
Mr. Autrey lay on Mr. Hollopeter, his heart pounding, pressing him down in a space roughly a foot deep. The train’s brakes screeched, but it could not stop in time.
Five cars rolled overhead before the train stopped, the cars passing inches from his head, smudging his blue knit cap with grease. Mr. Autrey heard onlookers’ screams. “We’re O.K. down here,” he yelled, “but I’ve got two daughters up there. Let them know their father’s O.K.” He heard cries of wonder, and applause.
Amazing.
I don't think I could have done that.But I know I've loooked into that subway well more than once and wondered if I could fit somewhere if I fell, and had 5 seconds to wedge myself in.
That man deserves a medal.
Either riding the subway is getting weirder, or I'm just noticing it more.
Scene No. 1
The train: The Uptown 6
The time: Weekday, around 6:30 p.m.
While standing in the indented well between seat benches, near the sliding doors, I'm waiting to get to 42nd Street so I can change for the 7. Metallica's "Unforgiven" comes on the iPod. We reach one of the local stops and the doors slide open on the opposite side. In come two black men, one older with a graying faint beard and a cap, slight; the other heavier-set, with a black nylon do-rag (I can't help it, I see those and I hear the convenience store guy in "Raising Arizona" tell Nicolas Cage: "Boy, you got a panty on yo' head").
Do-rag is on the verge of passing out. His face looks swollen, and though he's clasping a yellow convenience bag that looks new, he's pretty rough all over. Scratches on his hands, generally slovenly appearance. Hat guides them to the pole between the two sliding doors and spends the next several stops insisting that Do-rag not fall asleep, which he is on the verge of doing. At first Hat is just grabbing on the guy and pulling him up against the pole; as this fails to work and the heftier Do-rag continues to sag, Hat's hand slips and Do-rag's head whomps on the pole. This gives Hat an idea, and for a good stop or two he keeps Do-rag awake by regularly pounding his head into the pole. Not like "hey, tap, tap," but whomp. And whomp. And whomp.
I kept wondering if Hat was preventing Do-rag from sleeping because he was OD'ing and they were on their way to Lenox Hospital or something, but frankly, I've got no idea. I exited at 42nd Street, and they went on. Whomp.
Scene No. 2
The train: 6 downtown
The time: Around 10:30 a.m.
I'm reading my Stephen King book when I hear some clicking, plastic on plastic. It's got an almost musical, yet completely annoying, quality, and doesn't just happen once or twice. Finally I get up and look: A girl is sitting against the wall of the end of the subway car, swishing her braided hair (with white beads on the end) back and forth. She doesn't appear to have any musical device attached to her ears; she's getting this song from some deeper core. She's also wearing squared-off sunglasses, and I have a moment of Stevie Wonder imagery happening. But then a stop or two later she gets up and strolls down the train car, half-dancing, completely oblivious.
