Below are our posts discussing subway heroism, including advice on how to survive such an incident as well several reader’s thoughts and experiences on both committing and benefiting from acts of sudden heroism in the subway and elsewhere.
When Heroism Beckons
“About ten years ago, I did jump down onto the tracks at the Penn Station IND to help lift a woman who had tripped, and was lying on her back looking shocked. Two other guys who did the same and I lifted her back onto the platform, and people reached out and pulled me and them up. I am surprised that no one helped this time. I am still disbelieving that I did that. Proud, but scared by the impulsiveness. When I watch how fast the trains come around the curve I can only shake my head in wonder that I, and they survived,” – PdM, Long Island. (Hat tip: David Carr)
Jen Doll considers why “falling or being pushed into the subway tracks is one of the commonly held great fears of city living”:
Like a plane crash, when it does happen it is not a small event. It is often tragic and both physically and emotionally disruptive to not only the victim but also to the witnesses of the event and to the city at large. And when it ends as well as we could hope—no one dies—there are extreme reactions as well: We laud the subway heroes who thought, or didn’t think, but simply jumped, and succeeded. We wonder: Would we have done the same? What would we do if we were victim; what would we do, almost as horribly, if we were witness? Would we be a subway hero, or would we take the other course—run away, hide, shield our eyes, switch quickly to another train and get out of there as fast as we could? Would we stand and document; would we freeze? Would we try to help, and fail? And if we didn’t try, could we live with ourselves afterward?
In another post, Doll relays an MTA subway conductor’s advice on what to do if stranded on the tracks:
The best thing you can do is run as far down the platform as you can (in the opposite direction from where the train enters the station) and wave your arms frantically to get the train operator and passenger’s attention. Believe me, the passengers WILL be doing the exact same thing, as nobody wants to see you get run over and their train get delayed. If you can get to the far end of the platform, it gives the train more room to stop, and there is a ladder at the end of each platform where you can climb back up — do NOT try to climb up from where you are. So many people have been killed trying to jump back up rather than getting away from the entrance end of the station.
Brian Palmer’s advice:
After assessing your surroundings, you should consider four options. Obviously, the optimal choice is to get back onto the platform, often with the help of bystanders. Dramatic subway rescues are somewhat common. In 2009, for example, an off-Broadway actor rescued a stranded man by hoisting him back to safety. (The good Samaritan said his stage role at the time required him to lift and carry other actors.) If you can’t boost yourself up in time, look for a space beneath the platform edge. In some stations, particularly in Manhattan, there is enough room between the train and the platform to accommodate a person. If the platform appears flush with the approaching train, you could take shelter in the space between the two sets of train tracks. This is a dangerous choice, though, because you’d have to traverse the third rail, which carries 660 volts of electricity, more than enough to kill a person. A final option is to simply lie flat—there may be enough clearance for the train to pass over you. In 2007, when a seizure caused a man to fall onto the tracks, a Vietnam veteran saved his life by pinning him to the ground between the rails until the train passed. Both men sustained minor injuries.
A reader sends the above footage:
A couple years back a drunk woman fell on to the subway tracks in Boston, and the whole incident was caught on tape. With a train coming at full speed, the only thing bystanders could do was to wave and point in the path of the train, which stopped inches – inches! – short of the woman. The stumbling woman kicked – but was somehow not electrocuted – by the third rail, and was finally helped back on to the platform. No wonder no one jumped in front of a moving train.
A reader shares his story:
I once jumped off the platform to help someone. It was about 15 years ago, give or take. Lower Manhattan 2 and 3 train; probably the Park Place station. An older woman lost her footing and fell down onto the tracks. There was the headlight of a train in the tunnel but it was quite far away and not at all an imminent threat. The platform was crowded with people. I jumped down immediately and so did one other guy. People on the platform closest to the train entrance waived their arms to signal the train driver, who very easily stopped before entering the station.
Half of the woman’s scalp was hanging off of her head; I flipped it back over so it was in place and covering the wound. She couldn’t get up, so the other guy and I told her just to lay there still and wait for more help. We waited with her; no one was very near the third rail. The police arrived fairly quickly and joined us on the tracks. I told a police officer about the woman’s scalp wound, since it was no longer clearly visible. The cop yelled, screamed, and swore at me, telling me essentially that he knew what he was doing and he didn’t any of need my help. He put his face right up to mine as he screamed and snarled in anger. That’s the part I remember the most – the thanks I got from the NYPD. (I’m happily living on the West Coast now.)
I certainly didn’t feel heroic; I just automatically tried to help. I don’t know what I would have done had the train been closer, but I’m sure that if it had been very close I couldn’t and wouldn’t have done much.
A reader writes:
Your subway “hero” thread is very interesting to me. Ten years ago or so I got a phone call from a very smart honorable friend. He was currently in graduate studies in political theory at Harvard with plans to enter government and politics. He told me that he was walking down the street and saw two or three men bullying/harassing a smaller man. He crossed the street to avoid the incident, worried that maybe one of the harassers had a weapon.
The reason for his call was shame. He thought how could he possibly have a role in government if he couldn’t put himself at risk to help an endangered citizen. He dropped out of Harvard that week and joined the Marines. He is now a firefighter.
That call and decision were powerful to me and the timing was fateful. That same week I was working as a waiter in NYC. I was on my way home at 2:30 am waiting on the subway. A man about 100 feet away passed out and fell onto the tracks.
There were maybe seven people on the platform. I started running down the platform passing people just standing worried and confused. I jumped down onto the tracks and found I couldn’t lift the unconscious man alone. The people on the platform saw this but nobody moved. Finally, I pointed to one man and said, “Get down here and help me lift him,” and then to another man, “stand closer and help us get him on the platform.” They both immediately reacted and did what I asked. We lifted the unconscious man onto the platform. I then ran upstairs to the booth to get the MTA attendant to call for police and ambulance (which today, there probably wouldn’t be an actual person there) .When I came back down, the train had arrived and had a group gathered around the man. I didn’t know what to do at that point and didn’t want to make a fuss, so I just got on the train.
If I just hadn’t had a philosophical discussion on responsibility and citizenship (not heroism), would I have done anything? Would I have also told another citizen to jump down and endanger himself to help the unconscious man? I don’t know. Was I disappointed there was nothing in the newspaper the next day about a mysterious hero who saved a man and disappeared without taking credit, yes.
A reader writes:
Regarding the reader who had to order a person down into the subway tracks, I have found that the vast majority of people do absolutely nothing in situations like these and it is only a very few that will react to save or help someone. My story:
My partner and I were frolicking in the waves at Santa Cruz beach just off the Boardwalk. We are both good swimmers, but seriously out of shape. There is a river that empties out into the ocean at the beach, and there were some people in it, but we were the only people in the ocean itself.
All of a sudden there was a young boy’s head past us in the surf. While my brain was trying to figure out the logistics of how exactly he got there, it also registered the look of panic on his face. Simultaneously without saying a word, both my partner and I dove and swam out to him as fast as we could. My partner reached the boy first and held him up out of the water, but he could not swim to shore with him. I reached them and held my partner’s hand, but could not swim and pull them to shore either, as the receding current was too strong. So I swam around behind them and repeatedly pushed them towards shore.
During this long process of pushing, swimming back up to them and pushing again, I was facing the beach and saw the boy’s mother on the shore screaming in absolute hysterics. She was utterly alone in a beach full of people – none of them were doing anything about the situation.
We all managed to get on dry land safely and my partner and I went to rest. After a bit, we went over to the mother, who thanked us. They were from the interior of the state and the boy did not know how to swim, and the current in that river was abnormally strong that day.
About five minutes later the lifeguard drove up.
My partner was furious that nobody else did anything and it scared him that if we weren’t there when and where we were, that boy would probably have drowned. This incident affected him so much that he still refuses to go swimming in the ocean, lest something like this happens again.
A reader writes:
I had mostly been ignoring this thread, but the previous post got me. I am in the unfortunately position of having survived a drowning incident while one of the people who came to rescue me didn’t make it. In this case it wasn’t a stranger, but a friend of mine. I was 14 and leading a group of friends across a river in Northern California. I got stuck in a current draining a pool and reached out my hand to my friends for help. I really don’t think they understood the danger at all, but did the natural thing trying to help their friend. Three of them got pulled in also. One got pulled under and emerged in the next pool okay. One’s head I was able to hold above water until a stranger did come and help us and pulled her out. And a third got stuck up against a log under the water.
Luckily I have never felt guilt for the death of my friend. Because I know it was just something that happened and I would have done the same for her. I have no idea if I would feel differently had it been a stranger who died trying to help me.
The stranger in this case was unable to help me out. My head was above water, but I was stuck. After the second friend was saved (at this point I didn’t know about the others), I just gave up fighting. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I just let go of caring. And then I had this amazing experience. From somewhere I got this burst of energy and determination and I was able to climb up the side of a rock face. To this day I don’t know if it was internal, some other power, or if it came from my friend dying beside me – whether in fact her last act was to save me.
After I was out, I saw the first friend crying hysterically downstream and learned that the third friend was stuck under the water. Both the stranger and I went around to try to get her out. I could see her and put my hands on her body, but could not dislodge her. The (slightly drunk) stranger at this point started praying for God’s help. To which my 14-year-old self responded by cussing at him that God wasn’t going to help us; he had better do something. But there was nothing to be done. It took the fire department to get her body out.
It has been 18 years, and sometimes I wonder about that stranger and feel bad that I never did thank him. I doubt he reads your blog, but for the first time publicly, “You did the best you could in the situation and we were lucky that you were there. Sorry I unloaded on you. Thanks.”
The Dish 