I happened to be in South Station today and the place was bustling with people either coming in or leaving Boston for the Thanksgiving holiday. Other than Logan Airport, South Station has got to be the second busiest place during the holidays. With the Red Line underground, Amtrak and the Commuter rail lines at ground level; add to this the bus terminals above the rail lines and this makes for one busy place to be in Boston.
As I was waiting for the 2:05 Needham local commuter train, I had approximately 45 minutes to kill. Having spent the last 2 hours walking from Quincy Market, where I had a slice of pizza, to the North End, where I picked up some things to make an antipasto for Thanksgiving dinner, and finally walking to South Station I was desperately trying to find a place where I could rest my tired and out of shape body. I had no such luck.
I decided to drown my feelings of ill fortune by buying a coffee and a croissant at Au Bon Pain, which I could have easily done away with and later felt bad about letting my weakness get the best of me. I desperately wanted to find a place to sit where I could enjoy my unneeded snack and circled the interior of the terminal again without success. I went outside hoping to find a ledge or by that matter anything where I could at least rest my coffee on. The closest thing was the rim of a circular trash container. Nah, I thought, I don’t want my croissant to get near anything that resembles trash. I didn't want to contaminate it.
Thankfully the sun was shining brightly and had warmed the air by about 20 degrees from the time I left my house. I noticed a thermometer across the street and it registered 46 degrees. I continued to walk, hoping that I wouldn’t get bumped and lose my dessert, and spotted a wall just outside of the terminal. I noticed that the area was bathed in sunshine and proceeded to go there only to find someone smoking there. I had no choice but to eat my croissant in what must have been the designated smoking area. Thankfully the girl soon put out her cigarette on the floor and left. I looked down and saw approximately a dozen cigarette butts in the immediate area. I know that some people would have been turned off by the scene to the point that they wouldn’t have been able to eat, but it didn’t deter me one bit from enjoying the raspberry croissant and coffee.
Another smoker across the way at the bottom of the stairs was watching me between drags from his cigarette enjoying my little repast and all I could think of as I read his mind was that he must have been saying to himself, ‘look at the fat guy stuffing his face.” Again I didn’t let that bother me.
I savored every last morsel of that croissant and washed it down with the coffee. I returned inside again hoping to find a chair to sit on. It was not to be found. Chairs were being occupied as fast as they are during the playing of musical chairs. As I was coming inside I noticed that people were boarding the Acela train headed for New York and remembered that this would probably have freed up some seats on the benches that are normally occupied by these far off travelers.
Sure enough at a distance I notice a spot for at least three people on the bench closest to the ice cream stand. I walked over and staked my claim at one of the circular ends of the bench. There was room on either side of me to fit a few more weary travelers. As I sat there I observed people going and coming. At one point I made the observation that there seems to be an increase of Asian people coming to Boston and started to think about how the demographics of Boston would probably be when my sons get to my age. I couldn’t help but think that WASPs would probably be in the minority twenty to thirty years from now.
My thoughts were interrupted by a man announcing on the loud speaker that people in line purchasing Amtrak tickets could avail themselves to several automated ticket machines to save themselves some time.
As I was scanning my surroundings, I noticed someone resembling either a police man or security guard slowly approaching from my left. At first I thought he was looking at my back pack that was resting between my feet on the floor. I know that this wouldn’t have been the first time that I was being profiled as some suspicious character. A few months ago I was followed by a cop after he spotted me taking pictures of the area. As the young man dressed in a black jump suit got nearer, I spotted a patch with the words Transit Police on his right shoulder. H e walked past me and stopped. He started to question a young man sitting with a baby carriage in front of him a few feet from my right.
I looked straight ahead as if nothing was happening. The police man wanted to know what that man was doing there. He responded, “nothing.” The policeman said that he had been observed sitting there with the baby carriage on two successive days. It seemed rather suspicious as why he would be there two days in a row. The young man answered that it was not true and if so what was the problem. He told the transit cop that he could point out other people who had been there as long as him.
I had thought about getting up and leaving, but then decided that I didn’t think that there was any danger by staying there and plus I was now intrigued by what was transpiring a few feet away from me. I was being somewhat entertained in what was up until that time a rather boring half hour wait.
The young man with carriage had no form of ID on his person I found out by the continued interrogation. He wouldn’t answer the question of whether he was ever arrested. Throughout the entire interrogation, I never once turned to look at the man, but had gathered enough information just by sitting there that I could use to find him in the future if I wanted to. I knew that his name was Bruce with a last name the same as the color of grass in the spring. He lived in Malden and he was waiting for his girlfriend who was in the Post Office at some arbitration hearing. The only thing I couldn’t memorize was the man’s social security number since he quietly rattled the numbers off to the cop.
I must say that the cop handled himself in a professional manner, answering the man’s questions as to why he was being interrogated or rather harassed. I give credit to the young man for not losing his cool as some other’s might have.
When he first gave his name to the cop, I figured that it was a fictitious name, but later when the cop called the information in to get it verified, he found nothing out of the ordinary even though the young man eventually did admit that he had been arrested a few times in the past. He didn’t have any outstanding arrest warrants.
The young man had asked if he could leave a few times during the proceedings but the cop told him he couldn’t. When he finally got clearance from the person at the other end of the phone, he told the young man that he didn’t have to leave, it was ok for him to stay there. The transit cop at no point after all was said and done offer an apology. He just walked away.
A few minutes later I turned to my right only to find that the young man had left also. All of the above took approximately fifteen minutes and I was left thinking about national security after 9/11.
Are people more vigilant? I could see the benefits of the training that our law enforcement personnel have received.
But what about me? Am I really observant of my surroundings? As I went out the platform, I couldn’t help but observe all the people that travel with either a backpack or some form of bag. How easy is it for someone to carry an explosive device anywhere in the city?
Then I thought about the incident again. Was that harassment or profiling of an individual for the sake of protecting others? Why had that person been spotted for two days sitting there with a baby carriage? I could see if that had been a woman, but a man with a baby carriage? It sure looks suspicious.
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