Experimenting with Point of View

Since I am a frequent rider on the CTA, I often come to class with yet one more tale from my adventures. This exercise came directly from an experience I had the night before. I had just come off the Red Line, walked through the tunnel, climbed the stairs and whammo! a story wanting to be told. So I told it. Then I asked the class to choose one of the characters in the story and retell it from his/her point of view. They could choose from passive passenger, lady holding the door or the homeless man.

All writers are in Creative Writing II at the Park Ridge Senior Center.

Train Story by Eileen O'Halloran
[Homeless man's point of view]

"I have to get off right now, hold that door for me," I yell as the train door is about to close. I shout louder and louder, some people look at me, others shake their heads, or keep on reading. Finally this woman tries to keep the door open. I gather up my bags of canned foods and move to the door but then I must return to my seat for my jacket and scarf. I am ready to jump onto the platform now. I'm smiling and waving my hands in the air knowing that I was in charge of the train and its passengers for a short time. Some people thought I had a problem, but actually I was testing them and waiting to see if someone would do a good deed. Luckily, one nice woman did help me and I discovered that train rides can be full of surprises.

An "L" Was My Classroom by Jerry Kenney [Passive passenger point of view]

Here I was homebound on the Red Line. It was about 7 o'clock and the train was not too crowded. As I was reading the Sun-Times, I smelled, then noticed a presence. "IT" was about 50, badly in need of a shave and shower and was surrounded by several large plastic bags. We were about to leave the Belmont Station when "IT" bolted for the door, held it open and prevented the train from moving. He yelled back to the riders that he would continue to hold the door open until someone helped him move his plastic bags onto the platform.

I looked around and every one including myself was in shock. Each of us was trying to decide how to react. Someone said, "Maybe we should get the conductor" (who was in another car). Another said, "Use your cellphone and dial 911" but each of us was frozen into inaction.

Finally, one brave of foolhearty soul, a lady, got up and moved the bags onto the platform. "IT" said nothing but scrounged in one of the bags and pulled out 2 cans of vegetables, which, without a word he left in the car. As the train pulled out of the station, we looked at each other and those 2 cans of vegetables. No one moved or said anything. We just went back to reading the paper, staring out the window or whatever.

I became lost in thought. Had we just been given a pop quiz in urban living? Only one of about fifteen people in the car had acted. Were the rest of us "conditioned" to just not get involved or were we afraid? Whatever our reasons, HAD we been taught a lesson in urban survival and had we come through the experience a little wiser? I hope so!

Oh, no one touched those two cans. I suppose someone on the cleanup crew found them and took them home not knowing the story and lesson behind a can of corn and a can of peas.

The Man on the Train by Angela Scott
[Helpful woman's point of view]

As I settled down with my package and my purse on my lap, I looked around and noticed a few people reading or relaxing in their seats. Then I spotted a man with a large bag with canned goods and another bag with clothing. He had a spaced out look on his face -- a shave would have helped his appearance. He looked like he may have been a homeless person. He just stared out into space.

I thought to myself, "I wonder where this poor guy parks himself and his belongings at the end of the day. Does he ride this train all day long just to stay out of the cold?"

We stopped two or three stops for passengers getting on and off. Now we are at the next stop and this shabby man wants to get off the train. He stands up and makes a statement, "I am not getting off unless someone comes to hold the door open for me." We all look at him and think, "What's with this guy?" No one moves; we just sit there. I'm thinking to myself I want to get home so that I could get ready to go to my doctor's appointment. Now he announces again, "I mean it. I am not getting off this train until someone holds the door for me!" I glanced around. There were plenty of people there to help. I thought to myself, "Why doesn't that lady with the baseball hat on help him? She looks strong enough in case he gets goofy." No one is moving, not even the lady with the hat. I thought, okay, I will do it.

I say to myself, "C'mon fella. I am here to rescue you." I held the doors as he fumbled out with his packages. As the door closed after him, he gave a little performance, swinging his bags and doing a little dance. I suppose he was just as happy as we all were to have him off the train. As I settled back in my seat, I heard people talking about this strange man and thank God he got off without any problems.

Canned by Cheryl Hagedorn
[Note: this is how I blogged it and how I told it to the class.]

Tuesday night on the way home for class, I had just boarded the "L" at Washington. The automated announcement said, "Doors closing."

A street person (why do I still hate calling them homeless?) shouted, "Is this Washington? I need to get off at Washington. This is my stop." With that he leaped to the doorway and blocked the door. To no one in particular he repeated that he needed to get off here. While I was wondering why he didn't simply go ahead and get off, he gestured to his collection of bags on the seat he had just left.

"Somebody gotta hold this door so I can get my stuff."

We all just sat there staring at him.

"I mean it. Somebody gotta hold this door or y'all just gonna sit there. Train ain't gonna move while I'm standin' in the door."

Finally a woman front the back of the car went and stood in the doorway in his place. He went to his seat, picked up a bag of clothing and hefted a bag of canned food. Evidently the bag felt too heavy to him and he dumped some of the cans onto the seat. He selected two from the assortment, put them back in the bag. He announced that he was leaving the others and to "help yourselves."

He thanked the lady who had held the door and with a flourish got off. As we pulled out of the station, he was dancing - leaping and spinning on the platform, one bag in each hand.

We, most of us, were chuckling over his audacity, his determination.