I liked the Tri-met MAX story with just enough villainy to make one pay attention and hiss, but no real tragedy. A man got ready to get off the light-rail train in Portland, and his three-year-old ran ahead. Something happened and the door closed between them. He pounded on the door. His toddler was already crying on the platform. A woman on the other side pounded on the door. Everyone was in an uproar. The train operator didn't hear, or didn't care, and the train pulled away. The frantic father waited for the next stop, got off, and took the next train back. It took him seven minutes. No parent can read that story without shuddering. A three year old! But when he got to the platform where he had left his son, a nice, young woman was waiting there with his little boy.
Here she is! The father was so distraught he didn't get her name. But then the newspaper tracked her down and printed her picture. What a perfect person to be on the platform for a little, lost boy! I mean, I take MAX sometimes; and the platforms are often full of people who look like they might kill you.
That is an exaggeration, the people are usually fine, but they don't look like this pretty, kind girl. It just nice to know they are still out there -- the good person who has to step up and comfort a toddler for ten minutes, missing their own appointment, or class.
There was more. The operator of the train said he didn't hear the father. But when they checked out the intercom system it seemed to be working fine. I am sure there will be more. But I don't need to hear the rest of it, because the best part was the little Madonna on the platform.