The electrician and the sleepy attorney commuted home on the Long Island Rail Road to the same station -- probably for years -- but I doubt they had acknowledged each other before this moment:
"Hey, pal. We're in Bay Shore," the tough-looking contractor says in a soft but assertive tone while alerting the napping litigator with a gentle nudge on the arm.
For four years, I spent over three-and-a-half hours a day riding the Long Island Rail Road to work in Brooklyn. Riders always had plenty to whine about -- what with the delays, the shutdowns and the exorbitant ticket prices that always seem on the verge of being hiked. But for those riders who pick their heads up from their smartphones now and then, there are plenty of feel-good moments to be seen and heard.
I once watched two riders team up to map out the quickest way to reach Jamaica via subway from Atlantic Terminal in Brooklyn, after word spread that railroad service west of Jamaica was shut down "indefinitely." Believe me, I have tried this, and it's no picnic.
The two men analyzed the giant subway grid on the wall, then weighed the friendly and a bit too ample advice of a disheveled passerby. Finally, they walked to the Lafayette Avenue subway station.
There, they chatted about work and commuting before catching an A train to Broadway Junction, where they ambled up the steps to the elevated platform and soon boarded a J train bound for Jamaica. The two stayed by each other's side until they squeezed onto an LIRR train in Jamaica.
Romance -- depending on its form, of course -- is nice to witness on the train. One rainy evening commute home, I caught a glance of a smartly dressed middle-aged man standing under an umbrella on the Islip station platform.
My train crept to a stop and I got a little choked up as the door of the train slid open right in front of where the man was standing and a woman stepped out into his warm embrace man before the couple clasped hands and walked down the platform stairs. As the train pulled away, I watched the gent lovingly guide the lady to the passenger door of his car. In a flash, they were out of sight.
What made this so heartwarming was that it was clearly a daily routine. How else would the man know just where to stand on the platform to greet his lady friend?
On another commute home, it was sure nice to find a $20 bill on the floor of the train, even though I may have pounced on it a little too fast. Out of guilt, I asked the nearest person, "Does this belong to you?"
He said, "No." That was good. Good to find the 20 bucks, good to keep it and good that the man was honest.
The train was always good for chance encounters with old friends. For me, it was bumping into a former Daily News colleague, a high school football teammate or a fellow parent from my time living in Bethpage.
It was always a pleasure bumping into the coach of my daughter's soccer team on the ride into work. Bob and I boarded in Patchogue, but Bob would hop off the train 20 minutes later for work in Babylon.
Commutes with Coach Bob represented the best of both worlds for me. I got just enough stimulating conversation before Bob's stop. Then, when he left, I was able to kick back, read the paper and tinker with my iPhone.
It was a pleasure watching old friends meet and hug. And it was nice to see a young family board the train together, embarking on an exciting trip to The City. They would worry about things most commuters don't: Should we sit in a seat facing the direction we're traveling in? Do we change in Jamaica? What time do we arrive at Penn Station?
I frequently saw regular riders switch their seats on the train to make room for a couple or a family to sit together.
It was wonderful to see a commuter who speaks fluent Spanish step in to serve as translator between a conductor and an elderly Hispanic man who had boarded a train without a ticket. The Hispanic man clearly did not understand the conductor's English -- even when the conductor spoke very loud and very, very slow.
From what I could tell, the amateur interpreter asked the man in Spanish, "What station are you getting off at?" I was able to make out "qué estación."
The man replied, "Jamaica." Then she informed him -- in Spanish of course -- that if he didn't have money for a ticket, the conductor needed to see "identificación."
The man quickly dug up his I.D. and the last I saw of him, he was on the platform filling out paperwork.
It was especially good to see common sense prevail on the train, like when a regular rider realized it's a new month, but was already on an evening train back to Long Island and hadn't purchased his monthly ticket. When the conductor came around to check tickets, the rider barely uttered the syllable "for-" in the word "forgetting," before the conductor recognized him and quietly agreed to give the guy a pass for the ride home.
What makes the LIRR good -- even great -- on many days are the riders. Sure, they can be cranky and gruff and want their quiet and their space, but given the opportunity to reveal their goodness, they rise to the occasion again and again.