Subways and Sardines

It's impossible to ride on a subway train during rush hour without thinking about sardines.

In a sardine can, the sardines are aligned in straight little rows. And the sardines touch one another.

In the subway, however, no matter how crowded it gets, there's almost no touching. There's always a little space -- some air -- between you and the next person. (Sometimes the air doesn't smell so go, but there's always some air.)

At these times, the people on the subways are very quiet. They don't speak to each other. They don't make eye contact. They just stand quietly, not touching and trying not to touch as the subway train rocks from side to side or slows or accelerates quickly.

I've noticed that the sardines in the can are quiet, too. And they don't make eye contact with one another, either.

All in all I think I'd rather be on the subway.

Subways And Beggars

Hopping on a subway train at West 50th at 9:00 o'clock at night always promises an adventure... in human nature... if nothing else.

There were probably only about ten passengers in the car in which I was riding last Wednesday evening after a very late meeting. People were spread out and doing their own thing.

Some read. Some sleep. Some eat, pulling tidbits from inside of a plastic bag. We never know what they're eating. It comes out of the bag and into their mouth.

If you're not familiar with subway trains, you may not know that it's possible to walk from one car to the next while the train is underway. When the door opens, the sounds of the track and the wheels intensify. There's a gush of air followed by the slamming of the door. It's human nature to look up to see who or what has caused the disruption.

During the day, it's usually someone looking for a seat. But at night, it's a whole different story. This night it was one of New York's bag ladies... carrying a small yellow bucket with the sign "Need food. Please help."

While beggars are everywhere in New York, they're usually off to the sidelines. You don't have to look at them if you don't want to. On a train, however, their close to you... in your face.

I looked away in the opposite direction to avoid detection. Then a woman five seats to my left dropped a few coins in the bucket. You couldn't miss the sound.

And when the bag lady came to me, I reached in my wallet, pulled out a dollar, and put it in the bucket. She barely glanced at me, but went on her way. No one else gave. The door between the cars opened again. The sound of the tracks and the wheels. A gush of air. The door slammed. She was gone.

I remembered conversations with my old friend Ed Wilson. I'd say to Ed, "How do you know if they really need the money, or if they're just trying to scam for easy money?"

His response was filled with wisdom. "You don't know. You can never know. But what does it hurt to give? If you knew they truly needed the money, you'd probably feel badly knowing you didn't give and that your help would have made a difference."

He'd go on to remind me that what was important was our giving -- and the spirit in which we gave. We didn't need to make a judgment pertaining to how legitimate the need was. The act of giving... the act of helping... was what it was really all about. "Giving purifies the soul and blesses the person who is doing the giving. If it happens to truly bless the person who is receiving, all the better," he'd say.