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Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Below I offer an email sent to me by my friend Rafi Rodriguez. Rafi's a young fellow who recently began working as a trainman in the NYC subways. The tale he shares is amazing for several reasons.
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On Friday night there were major delays on the One line at 2:30 in the morning because I was saving a man's life. I had been operating down the line when upon leaving 110 St. noticed something odd on the middle track running next to the track I was on. From a distance it looked like a garbage bag, but it moved a bit and for some reason the idea that it might be a dog popped into my mind. I slowed the train as I pulled along next to the area where I had seen the moving object. What I saw was a man curled up on his side; his back was to me and he was wearing a gray shirt covered in blood. I immediately stopped the train and called control to get some EMS down there and get permission to go down and check to see if he was okay.
After control made sure all the trains in the area had stopped and were sending help, they finally gave me permission to go down to the road bed. But before I could, the man had actually dragged himself to the front of my train. The sight of him covered in dirt and blood, tears running down his face, screaming for help lit only by my headlights scared the living shit out of me. Using whatever strength he had left he pulled himself up onto the train as I unlocked the storm door in the front. He collapsed at my feet, hugging my legs and crying. He told me how he'd been stabbed twice in the back and how he had been lying there, thinking he was going to die, and how all he wanted to do was see his wife and son again.
I moved the train to the next station so we could discharge the passengers and await EMS and police. While I was making sure that all the other passengers had left the train, the man had dragged himself out of my cab and was screaming for me not to leave him, at which point I ran back to make sure he stayed awake. He kept grabbing for me, wanting some kind of human contact. So here I am sitting on an empty train with a bleeding man wrapped around my legs, and I'm just trying to keep him talking so he doesn't pass out. I talk to him about his wife and his son, I talk to him about his job. Turns out he fixes computers. I tell him I just bought a new one myself. He asked if it was a Dell. I lied and said yes. He mumbled how it's a really good computer and I made a good choice. Needless to say, in his current condition he couldn't fix my sound driver problem. But it was enough to keep him going till the EMS finally showed up and took care of him.
I never asked what happened… how he got down there, or who did it to him. I was more concerned with getting him help, but I think part of me was also afraid that even speaking of these actions might cause perpetrators to appear! Silly, I know, but it was still there. I never even asked his name, I didn't think of that …I don't know why. i just kept calling him "sir." Well, Mr. Victor Vasquez was cleaned up and taken off to St. Luke's hospital. I don't know how long Victor was lying out there by himself, bleeding in the dark, scared as all hell, just wanting to see his wife and son. I wonder how many trains passed by and didn't see him, or just didn't bother to stop. I didn't get a "thank you," I didn't even get a "good job "or a "job well done."
When, after a half an hour of taking care of Victor, I finally got my train rolling again I was met with nothing but angry people waiting for a train. They cursed at me. They threw stuff. Even the people at the station I was sitting in waiting just kept asking how long we were just going to sit there, or they just watched poor Victor laying there crying, at which point I yelled at them to get away. Nobody cared, but I know I saved a man's life last night.
*********************************************************************
What can I add to that? Only that the combination of pride (the last line, for instance), honesty (confessing his own fear and resentment), humor (the 'puter chat) and decency (the whole fucking thing) is vintage Rafi, who in his mid-twenties is as fine a man as I know. Contrast this with the all-too-unsurprising coda regarding the commuters.
Observe the human race:
Criminal scum, brutalizing a father who's only trying to get home to his family.
That terrified and agonized man, desperate for assurance and help, longing for his loved ones and raging against the dying of the light.
A mob of obnoxious, piss-ant commuters, concerned only with their own convenience to the extent of abusing the one man willing to help another.
That one man who gives a shit, trying to do the right thing despite his own confusion and fear. And doing it.
And of course, EMS on the job.
When I was a kid I rode the 5th Avenue bus each day, and one afternoon a straphanger suddenly clutched at his chest, gasped and fell down. After the initial hubbub, I noticed a good number of my fellow passengers sighing and checking their watches. An early lesson.
If I'd been in Rafi's shoes (unlikely, since he works for a living), what would I do? Probably faint like a goat.
Lesson? None here. Rafi never intended this for public consumption, but I wanted to put it here as a slice of life and a "thank you" to my friend, on behalf of all my fellow goats. In a world as horrid as this one, it's worth remembering that people like Rafi exist. It's an honor to call him my friend.
***************************************************************************
On Friday night there were major delays on the One line at 2:30 in the morning because I was saving a man's life. I had been operating down the line when upon leaving 110 St. noticed something odd on the middle track running next to the track I was on. From a distance it looked like a garbage bag, but it moved a bit and for some reason the idea that it might be a dog popped into my mind. I slowed the train as I pulled along next to the area where I had seen the moving object. What I saw was a man curled up on his side; his back was to me and he was wearing a gray shirt covered in blood. I immediately stopped the train and called control to get some EMS down there and get permission to go down and check to see if he was okay.
After control made sure all the trains in the area had stopped and were sending help, they finally gave me permission to go down to the road bed. But before I could, the man had actually dragged himself to the front of my train. The sight of him covered in dirt and blood, tears running down his face, screaming for help lit only by my headlights scared the living shit out of me. Using whatever strength he had left he pulled himself up onto the train as I unlocked the storm door in the front. He collapsed at my feet, hugging my legs and crying. He told me how he'd been stabbed twice in the back and how he had been lying there, thinking he was going to die, and how all he wanted to do was see his wife and son again.
I moved the train to the next station so we could discharge the passengers and await EMS and police. While I was making sure that all the other passengers had left the train, the man had dragged himself out of my cab and was screaming for me not to leave him, at which point I ran back to make sure he stayed awake. He kept grabbing for me, wanting some kind of human contact. So here I am sitting on an empty train with a bleeding man wrapped around my legs, and I'm just trying to keep him talking so he doesn't pass out. I talk to him about his wife and his son, I talk to him about his job. Turns out he fixes computers. I tell him I just bought a new one myself. He asked if it was a Dell. I lied and said yes. He mumbled how it's a really good computer and I made a good choice. Needless to say, in his current condition he couldn't fix my sound driver problem. But it was enough to keep him going till the EMS finally showed up and took care of him.
I never asked what happened… how he got down there, or who did it to him. I was more concerned with getting him help, but I think part of me was also afraid that even speaking of these actions might cause perpetrators to appear! Silly, I know, but it was still there. I never even asked his name, I didn't think of that …I don't know why. i just kept calling him "sir." Well, Mr. Victor Vasquez was cleaned up and taken off to St. Luke's hospital. I don't know how long Victor was lying out there by himself, bleeding in the dark, scared as all hell, just wanting to see his wife and son. I wonder how many trains passed by and didn't see him, or just didn't bother to stop. I didn't get a "thank you," I didn't even get a "good job "or a "job well done."
When, after a half an hour of taking care of Victor, I finally got my train rolling again I was met with nothing but angry people waiting for a train. They cursed at me. They threw stuff. Even the people at the station I was sitting in waiting just kept asking how long we were just going to sit there, or they just watched poor Victor laying there crying, at which point I yelled at them to get away. Nobody cared, but I know I saved a man's life last night.
*********************************************************************
What can I add to that? Only that the combination of pride (the last line, for instance), honesty (confessing his own fear and resentment), humor (the 'puter chat) and decency (the whole fucking thing) is vintage Rafi, who in his mid-twenties is as fine a man as I know. Contrast this with the all-too-unsurprising coda regarding the commuters.
Observe the human race:
Criminal scum, brutalizing a father who's only trying to get home to his family.
That terrified and agonized man, desperate for assurance and help, longing for his loved ones and raging against the dying of the light.
A mob of obnoxious, piss-ant commuters, concerned only with their own convenience to the extent of abusing the one man willing to help another.
That one man who gives a shit, trying to do the right thing despite his own confusion and fear. And doing it.
And of course, EMS on the job.
When I was a kid I rode the 5th Avenue bus each day, and one afternoon a straphanger suddenly clutched at his chest, gasped and fell down. After the initial hubbub, I noticed a good number of my fellow passengers sighing and checking their watches. An early lesson.
If I'd been in Rafi's shoes (unlikely, since he works for a living), what would I do? Probably faint like a goat.
Lesson? None here. Rafi never intended this for public consumption, but I wanted to put it here as a slice of life and a "thank you" to my friend, on behalf of all my fellow goats. In a world as horrid as this one, it's worth remembering that people like Rafi exist. It's an honor to call him my friend.
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