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Tales From the City


Racing to the train—or not.

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As a gift, I treated my brother Pat, home to Providence from seminary, to a musical in Boston. The return-trip timing was tight. As we ran downstairs to the Back Bay tracks, the train doors were still open. “Come on, Pat, we can make it.” I dashed to the nearest car and leapt in, leaving room for Pat. But no Pat showed. In due time, he made his appearance at Union Station Providence. “Sorry, Bill,’’ he said, “but it’s below my dignity to chase a train like that.’’

Bill McNamara / Warwick, Rhode Island

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