Don’t Mess with Momma on the Train

Three years ago, during a confrontation on Chicago's L train, my wife's fast-acting and firm peace-making role became a memorable part of Baron family lore.

In case you were unaware, there’s a heated debate over whether the 1988 action movie “Die Hard” should be considered a Christmas movie.

Go ahead and type “Is Die Hard…” into a search engine and see what pops up—great chance the next words are “…a Christmas movie,” at which point you can go down plenty of rabbit holes.

Bruce Willis in his portrayal of the intrepid, indefatigable John McClane.

I bring this up because we’re nearing the third anniversary of a memorable experience that I had with my wife, Bridgett. We were riding the fabled and gritty L (short for “elevated”) train, heading into downtown Chicago. Because it happened two days before Christmas, I think it’s abundantly reasonable to call it a Christmas story.

And while Bruce Willis had the safety and security of playing New York City cop John McClane in a make-believe Hollywood flick, Bridgett played her spunky, spontaneous, courageous self in real-life. No second takes, no stuntmen, no camera crew to capture a concocted scene.

Let’s take you there:

The air is smoky.¹

It’s about 10 minutes since we got onboard the L bound for downtown Chicago and Bridgett and I detect a mysterious cigarette smoke. We can’t identify the source. Figuring it must be some covert sneak-smoker we’re not able to spot, at the next stop we scoot onto the platform and into the adjoining car.

Fateful move.

Less than a minute later, five boys, each about 14 or 15 years old, move from the other end of the car past us. As a cluster they stroll right up to a group of two or three young adults—it’s unclear who is with whom. Facing the teens with a smirk is a man of about 30 years old who appears street-wise and a bit rough around the edges.

All of this barely grabs my attention until what happens next: without any words spoken, one of the teens and this older guy shove each other. There are no punches, but also no telling what could come next.

In the next instant, here’s what goes through my head:

There appears to be a history between these two sides, whether moments old or as part of a longer feud, I have no clue.

Just about everyone on the train is a spectator—leery of putting ourselves in the thick of this abrupt danger. There’s one exception: while I’m processing my thoughts, Bridgett’s leaping to her feet.

She’s garbed in two-toned purple socks, blue jeans and puffy green jacket, with her red hair peeking out from under a pompom-topped winter hat. She surges between the man and the teens and spreads out her 5-foot-2 frame, her arms extended like an umpire calling a baserunner safe.

Shaking her head and applying a tone she’s perfected over 18 years of motherhood, Bridgett exclaims through her COVID-19-era mask, “Absolutely not!!!”

From the next day, a re-enactment of how Bridgett looked, minus the purple socks.

Where there had just been a silent menace rising, now an adamant, don’t mess-with-me maternal authority takes command.

Both parties stand down. Bridgett adds loudly and firmly, “There’s more than you on here.”

She’s speaking up for the dozen other passengers who simply want to get to our destinations in peace. No reply comes from any of the would-be combatants.

I am on the edge of my seat, not wanting to disrupt the peace-making momentum but also mindful that my wife has put herself on the line. A few moments later, the teens drift back to the other end of the car. Bridgett stands her ground.

If either party has any notion of reviving the showdown, she has presented an authoritative barrier. A minute later, after peering back and forth to monitor the situation, I stand up to establish a larger (by nearly one foot and 100 pounds) physical buffer.

Roll credits and cue the (Christmas) story title: Don’t Mess with Momma on the Train.

*UPDATE*

For those who may be wondering: of course, if anyone had responded negatively to my wife’s intercession, I'd have jumped in to defend and protect.

I gauged the situation, moment by moment, and felt any intercession by a much bigger person (like me) early on could have been misperceived aggressive and therefore aggravated the situation.

1. The title of this column pays homage to Throw Momma from the Train, a 1987 movie starring Billy Crystal and Danny DeVito. A memorable line in that movie—“the air was moist”—inspired my choice of this story’s first line. Ironically or fittingly, the smoke we detected was apparently from the teen who pushed the adult. After the showdown that Bridgett shut down, we saw this kid smoking defiantly on the other end of the train.