Article September 24, 2001 ISSUE

Compassion on the Green Line

By Gwendolyn Joy Forest

IT WAS A RAW New England night. The passengers were all wearing overcoats. Even the man who appeared to be passed out on a seat in the corner had on a thick suede jacket with sheepskin lining. We all looked down at the muddy floor so we wouldn't make eye contact with any of the other passengers —it's a "tradition" in subway riding. I noticed one young woman who had on thick, white nursing shoes, well-worn and scuffed. An aide in a nursing home or hospital, I figured, getting off a 3 to 11 shift.

Suddenly the drowsy rocking of the train was interrupted by a sharp staccato announcement on the intercom: "This train is ending its run at Kenmore. All passengers depart at Kenmore Station." I could almost hear the collective mental groan as we all braced to step back out into the cold and wait for another train.

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