The National Catholic Review  A subway ride marks the beginning
of my work days at America, and given the diversity of the
nearly four million passengers who use New York City’s subway
system each day, it offers an ever-varying picture of humanity.
For commuters like me, the actual ride does not begin on the
subway car itself—it starts on the sidewalk, as riders hurry
along toward the entrances of their preferred stations. During
the morning rush hour, some break into a jog-trot if they are
running late, and on reaching the entrance they all but hurl
themselves down the stairs to the platform below, then break
into a dash toward the opening doors of an arriving train. If
the doors are already closing, they often fling an arm, leg,
purse or backpack between them. Then one can hear the voice of
the conductor say—sometimes angrily, sometimes
pleadingly—“Please release the closing doors.” I once heard a
conductor announce, in the tone of a grade-school teacher
dealing with unruly children: “We will all just sit h