(Source: New York Times)

Day after day, night after night, Francisco Hernandez Jr. rode the subway. He had a MetroCard, $10 in his pocket and a book bag on his lap. As the human tide flowed and ebbed around him, he sat impassively, a gangly 13-year-old boy in glasses and a redAfter getting in trouble in class in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, and fearing another scolding at home, he had sought refuge in the subway system. He removed the battery from his cellphone. “I didn’t want anyone to scream at me,” he said.

All told, Francisco disappeared for 11 days last month — a stretch he spent entirely in subway stations and on trains, he says, hurtling through four boroughs. And somehow he went undetected, despite a round-the-clock search by his panicked parents, relatives and family friends, the police and the Mexican Consulate.

Since Oct. 26, when a transit police officer found him in a Coney Island subway station, no one has been able to fully explain how a boy could vanish for so long in a busy train system dotted with surveillance cameras and fliers bearing his photograph. hoodie, speaking to no one.

Francisco told the paper that he spent his time on three subway lines, the D, F and 1, and would ride the trains until the last stop then hop on the next one going back the other way.  He ate whatever he could afford from subway newsstands, like potato chips and jellyrolls, then neatly folded the wrappers and saved them in his backpack, while drinking bottled water. He drank bottled water. He used the bathroom in the Stillwell Avenue station in Coney Island.

Otherwise, he says, he slipped into a kind of stupor, sleeping much of the time, his head on his book bag. “At some point I just stopped feeling anything,” he recalled.

(Source:  Infrastructurist)

Image: Nostri-imago@ flickr

So, the absent minded editor of a certain infrastructure news site recently had an adventure in losing things on Amtrak trains. The experience was revealing and – spoiler alert – the much-slagged government owned and operated rail line acquitted themselves beautifully on matters of beyond-the-call-of-duty customer service.

 For simplicity’s sake, let’s just call this editor “I.” Anyway, I was headed from Washington DC to New York on the 11 a.m. Acela. When the train reached Penn Station (on time), I gathered the various bags and coats I’d brought and exited the train. Not among the gathered possession was an iPhone, which was left unattended on the seat. I realized this as I was about to catch the subway home to Brooklyn, by which time the Acela had already scooted off for Boston.At this point the situation looked glum. It remained so through the course of the first conversation I had with an Amtrak employee. The gentleman, white haired and in his 50s, gave the classic bureaucrat’s shrug. “You gotta call lost and found in Boston,” he said. Shrug.

“Are they open today? Will they be open when the train arrives?” I asked. It was Sunday.

“They’re closed today,” he said. Shrug.

I gave him a pleading look. He shrugged again and turned away.

So even if some heroic individual wanted to return the device, it would take a return visit to the train station in Boston to actually be able to turn it in – assuming, say, she didn’t get off the train in Stamford or Providence or…

I went to the Customer Service office. There, a genial woman named Karen became my new best friend. She immediately began coordinating a multi-city search and rescue operation. Before I even finished explaining the situation, she was on the phone with an agent in New Haven to make arrangements for someone to dash onto the train and look for the device during the brief stopover there. She called the lost phone about a dozen times in hopes that someone would answer. At some point, a man did answer. His name was Mark and he was a conductor on the train. He promised that he would get the phone back to New York safely that evening. Karen’s liaison in New Haven organized a complicated hot handoff across the platform between Mark and a conductor southbound train. About four hours after I’d got off the train without, an Amtrak conductor walked up to me in Penn Station with a sealed envelope containing the lost phone. It was carefully bubble-wrapped.