Article December 10, 2001 Issue

One night on the subway. . .

By Marilyn C. Jones Sentinel staff

A Few Years Ago I was riding home from work one night on the subway. A baseball game had just ended, and the train was jammed with fans. I sat next to a window, and despite the noise and activity, I wanted to finish a magazine article I'd been reading.

A father and his grown son got on. The father sat next to me, and the son stood directly in front of us, near the doorway. The dad was a robust, hard-nosed-looking kind of guy, and he and his son were having a very involved discussion about the ballplayers and the game they'd just seen.

In a few minutes, two teenaged boys got on and sat directly behind us. I was enjoying this urban experience on the subway with major league baseball fans, having just recently moved east from a small town in California. As I continued to read, though, the two boys behind me began swearing and snickering and jostling each other. At first I just tried to ignore their juvenile, smutty humor. After all, the bustle and talk around me about the game hadn't been a problem, so I thought I should be able to just shut out the bad language. But I couldn't concentrate on my article. And I was becoming really annoyed that my space was being invaded. I thought I should turn around and say something to them, but I felt so schoolmarmish—that just didn't seem to be the answer.

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