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insisted repeatedly, “I guarantee it.”After the class training, which lastedabout four weeks, we spent twoweeks on trains, operating under thesupervision of experienced conduc-tors. Right on the first day, a strong black man who stood on the platform,whose right arm was bigger than bothof my thighs put together, made asudden attempt to punch me in theface as I leaned out the window toobserve the platform. The conductor who supervised me assured me thatsuch things are very dangerous andhappen every day.Also during the break-in period, Isaw a horrible incident in the East New York section of Brooklyn. Ahorde of black teenagers descendedupon a black boy who was sitting qui-etly by himself. Within seconds, they beat him from head to toe, thenquickly fled before the doors closed.We tried to talk to the boy, who wasin bad shape, asking him if he wantedmedical help or the police. When hesaid he didn’t want either, we askedabout the attack. It turned out he wason his way to the first day on a job.The gang beat him up because theydidn’t want him to work.After the break-in period, I wasqualified as a conductor and began tooperate without supervision. It didn’ttake long for our instructor’s predic-tion to come true. I was conducting aD train in the Bronx when I noticed alarge group of black men gathered onthe platform, just outside the conduc-tor’s window. I felt their threatening presence instinctively, but the rulesrequire that the conductor lean out thewindow and look down the platformin both directions before he closes thedoors. I had no choice but to open mywindow and take the risk. As soon asI opened it, one of the men spat rightinto my eyes. I was wearing safetygoggles but still got some of the sa-liva on my skin—regulations requirethat goggles be worn primarily to pro-tect against passenger assaults.Throughout the four years I spentas a conductor, blacks and Latinoswould hide behind posts or other cover and spit at me—with astonish-ing power and accuracy. Other timesthey would throw things at me, try to punch me, or yell vile and sometimesinarticulate things at me.One attack involved a black manof about thirty, who threw a large,glass bottle at my face. I managed toclose the window just as the bottlestruck—it hit with such force, that pieces of glass stuck in the acrylicwindow of my cab all the way to theend of the trip. As we came into theterminal, I spotted a black supervisor on the platform and couldn’t help ask-ing: “What am I supposed to do whensomeone attacks me as I operate, andthe attack is really nasty?” “If youhave an injury, you pull the cord andcall command to send for the policeand the ambulance,” was the reply.
Jared Taylor, Editor Stephen Webster, Assistant Editor James P. Lubinskas Contributing Editor George McDaniel, Web Page Editor — — — — — — American Renaissance is published monthly by the New Century Foundation. NCF is governed by section501 (c) (3) of the Internal Revenue Code; contribu-tions to it are tax deductible.Subscriptions to American Renaissance are $24.00 per year. First-class postage isan additional $6.00. Subscriptions to Canada (first class) and overseas (surface mail)are $30.00. Overseas airmail subscriptions are $40.00. Back issues are $3.00 each.Foreign subscribers should send U.S. dollars or equivalent in convertible bank notes.Please make checks payable to: American Renaissance, PO. Box 527, Oakton, VA22124. ISSN No. 1086-9905, Telephone: (703) 716-0900, Facsimile: (703) 716-0932,Web Page Address: www.amren.com Electronic Mail: AR@amren.com
American Renaissance - 3 - January 1997“But what if you have no injuries?What if he almost killed you but youlucked out?” I continued. “Then thereis no problem,” said the supervisor,“you keep on going.”On another occasion, when con-ducting a “D” train in the Bronx, a boy in a crowd of high-school stu-dents threw a heavy stone right at myface with great accuracy and force. Iinstinctively held up my hand toshield my face and was injured se-verely enough to go to the emergencyroom. At the hospital, the nurse toldme that a bus driver, also injured in anassault, had just been treated and re-leased a couple of hours earlier.When operating during the “schoolhours,” the early afternoon when stu-dents come home from public schools,rowdy students—none of whom wasever white or Oriental—would rou-tinely disable the trains. They would break windows, pull the emergency break, and tear open the seats so theycould cut out electric switches. If thetrain crew couldn’t fix the problem,we would discharge the passengersand transfer the train to the storageyard for repair. When we dischargedtrains, black and Latino passengerswould threaten violence, accusing usof deliberately disabling trains so thatwe could “go home early.”My ordeal did not end with thework-day. The commute home was just as agonizing as time on the job. Inthe late hours, when I usually mademy way home, the trains were largely bereft of normal, working people. Of-ten there were gangs of “youths”roaming the trains, walking from car to car, jumping on seats, startingfights, and harassing passengers. I of-ten locked myself in the conductor’scab, as I did on the job.One night, after work, as I wasclimbing the steps from the subway platform in my own neighborhood, atall black man came running the other way and crashed into me. He was so badly dressed he looked like a bum.He was carrying a box of Chinesetake-out food, which he dropped whenhe slammed into me. There went hisdinner. Although the collision wasentirely his fault, he began threateningme, cursing me, and demandingmoney. I looked around to see if therewas anybody else in the station—notthat one can expect help from whites
I felt their threateningpresence instinctively,but the rules require thatthe conductor lean outthe window . . . .