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How the Other Half Rides
by Brian Dunne
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Joe Tarnecke, a New York City resident and a
lifelong MTA commuter, is a blogger who believes that the media and the
public are not giving the MTA a fair shake. Tarnecke believes that the
complaints about the poor condition of the subways are often inflated
and occasionally fictitious. I contacted Tarnecke and he asked me to join him on his morning commute to show me first hand that the subways aren't as bad as the media portrays them. I met Joe on a crowded platform of the First Avenue station of the L line at 8 AM on a Monday. The station is far from aesthetically pleasing. The walls and platform are blackened with dirt and grime and the air is heavy with the smell of petroleum; creating a unique gloom that can only be found in a New York City subway station. Joe concedes that the First Avenue station could use a little work, but he reassures me that as we get closer to the more touristy station stops their appearance will improve drastically. Our final destination this morning is 59th street, which means we’ll have to transfer at Union Square to catch the uptown 4 or 5 train. After riding the subway for more than 30 years, Tarnecke still maintains a child-like fascination for the underground system. As our train approaches, he inches towards the edge of the platform to watch the train’s lights glide along the winding subway tracks. As the train pulls into the station, he takes in a deep breath of the train’s breeze and turns to me smiling to see if I am appreciating the rush of subway air. I am not. I notice the crowd on the platform and begin to wonder how all of these people will fit onto the train. Joe is quick to point out that the MTA has hired extra staff to monitor the subway platform during rush hours. According to Joe, these employees assure the trains remain on schedule by not allowing commuters to hold the doors open or overcrowd the trains. Armed with flashlights and confusing body proportions, these employees also provide visible reminders of the MTA’s wasteful spending. During off peak hours, they can be seen flipping through newsstand magazines or just throwing stuff on the tracks. As the L train comes to a stop, I can see boarding this train will be a challenge. The doors open, but only one person exits the train. Further down the train someone throws a walker onto the platform to make more room on the train. Joe and I courageously step forward and after much squirming, we manage to board the train. We are the last people that could possibly board this train. But inevitably there are commuters who feel that there is always more room, who Joe affectionately calls yaks. In a battle for territory these yaks forego waiting for the next train and opt instead to lower their heads and butt their fellow passengers in an attempt to gain footing on trains that have already reached their capacity. On this particular morning we are fortunate to encounter a woman trying to get onto our already overcrowded train car. After several damaging blows to passengers on board the train, the woman is able to find room by placing one leg in a baby carriage and the other on the shoulder of an orthodox Jew. The pressure inside the car is now intolerable. It appears that Joe’s strategy to hold his breath to make room for his fellow commuters will do very little to help our situation. I can taste the shampoo of a passenger below me and my lungs are on the verge of collapsing. Suddenly there is a release and the situation remedies itself. The woman survives four door closings on her head before she falls off the train unconscious. An MTA employee illuminates her limp body with his flashlight and stands over her confused as this has exceeded his formal training. Shortly after that the doors close and the train pulls away. I can’t recall the first leg of the trip because at some point during the passage from First Avenue to Union Square I lost consciousness. I suspect it was due to the lack of oxygen and the stifling heat inside the car, but Joe suggests it was the sheer excitement of riding the L train that did me in. He reassured me that I had a pleasant trip and he called me a trooper for waking up after only one revival attempt. Joe gave me a hand up off the platform and returned the defibrillator to the CPR station attached to the wall. As he returned the defibrillator he took the opportunity to point out how well prepared the MTA is handle an emergency like the one I had just encountered. As we walked towards the 4 and 5 train platform we reached an incredible bottleneck. I asked Joe what could be causing the delay and he suggested that an unruly commuter was probably holding everyone up. But as we got closer to the platform, the problem became clear. The MTA estimates that 7.6 million people use the subway each day. While the subway cars have been made larger and the subway trains run more frequently to accommodate the heavy traffic, the stairs leading onto the platform remain exactly 46 inches wide resulting in the astonishing bottleneck we’re currently experiencing. I asked Joe if this was a fire hazard , but he pretends not to hear me. We reach the platform by carefully stepping over people who have fallen to exhaustion. Again our train approaches and we cram into the car. A bell sounds and the doors close sealing us all in. In attempt to make conversation, Joe cheerfully asks if I have ever seen Schindler’s list. I nod my head and the conversation ends there. The train starts with a jolt. One man dies immediately as he’s crushed by passengers falling back on him, pinning him up against the wall of the subway car. The train makes a high pitch whirring sound as it struggles to gain momentum. Shrieks from the train’s wheels are accompanied by brilliant flashes of electricity as the train rushes through the darkness. The air inside the car becomes hot and stuffy. The smell of gangrene lingers in the air. Faint moans of human misery are heard in the darkness. In the far corner of the car a woman goes into labor. Her husband cries out for a doctor, but his pleas are returned with icy silence. We whip past 23rd Street and then 28th Street only getting brief glimpses of each stop before plunging back into the darkness. Somewhere in the darkness between 28th Street and 33rd Street a man nods at me before opening an emergency window and throwing himself onto the tracks below--freeing himself from pain at last. With the free space, Joe manages to free his arm to wipe the side of his cheek clean of saliva that has fallen from an open mouth above him. The situation is desperate. But before it deteriorates any further, a frail, balding white man beside Joe begins singing a soulful Negro spiritual. The song expresses the mood and uplifts the spirits of all the passengers. First one joined in, then another and before the balding white man passed on the entire train joined in the most sublime song Joe and I had ever heard. The train slows to a stop and the doors open. Joe informs me that this is our stop so I dismount the elderly man I rode from 14th Street to 59th Street. Like me, the old man seems relieved, but a little heavy-hearted. It’s the end of our trip, but before we part ways Joe encourages me to enjoy one last cultural experience the subway has to offer. As we stand there listening to a Slovakian man’s interpretation of la Vida Loca on the accordion I realize that perhaps Joe is right. Perhaps the criticism of the MTA and the conditions on the subway are exaggerated. Critics claim that forty people die on the subway each day, but today I only witnessed two souls lose their lives. Perhaps if critics viewed the subway through Joe’s optimistic eyes they might not be as quick to pass harsh judgment on the transportation system that an entire city grew up around.
Read more of Brian Dunne's satirical work at his website:
www.brian-dunne.com. |