You don’t want to be Todd Martens.

Red Line train at Union Station

Above, first-hand account by Los Angeles Times staffer Todd Martens on the murder that took place on the subway car he was riding in last week.

I’d read the stories in the Times earlier, but this blog account is much more detailed and written in a way that any of us might write it if we were witnesses, as opposed to being journalist-witnesses.

I hadn’t realized that the murder took place in the first car in front – directly behind the operator cage.

This is usually the car I choose to ride in if I can – I know it’s got an empty wall for bikes, and usually there’s fewer people – though certainly not at rush hours. Also, like Todd points out in his post, you can see through the front windows of the train in that car and actually see what the tunnels look like, what the stations look like from afar, etc.
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Which is why a father took his small son to that car that day for his first train ride. This, almost impossible to believe. Who wants to bet that was the first and last train ride this kid will ever have?

This stabbing murder last week was the first homicide on Metro since it started. Since then, there’s been another stabbing, this one in Pasadena, so far not fatal.

It’s not going to make me stop riding Metro – I saw that as one of the advantages in moving back to Los Angeles from Palm Springs, that I wouldn’t need to use a car for every single trip anywhere.

But it does give you pause. The other night I entered the Red Line in that first car with my bike on a fairly quick trip home to Valley Village, only 5 quick stations between Sunset/Vermont and North Hollywood, the end of the line. Like it’s said, you never know what you’re going to get, and what I got was a really loud drunk man (another “transient” – don’t know – dirty backpacks, skateboards – what is it with the weaponization of skateboards? – and scary looking pit bull, who was not a service animal… you get the idea) who was trying to encourage the train occupants to sing Happy Birthday to him, or to “party” with him in some way. He didn’t appear to physically threaten anybody and the dog was, I have to say, well behaved, probably embarrassed for its owner. But this guy was verbally frightening, especially considering the recent events. And we were trapped in a moving train, buried beneath the bloody earth of Hollywood. I thought most of the passengers did their best to ignore him, looking out the windows at the black walls shooting past, or at their shoes. As I’d hoped, he, the dog and another companion left the train at Hollywood and Highland, which seems to be an area with a lot of these types anyway. The train car was again silent, and sped away into the night.