The mother — Denise — came up and hugged me at Providence. She thanked me. She said, "You held that line. You didn't give her what she wanted. That's why she moved to me." I said, "I'm sorry she ever moved to you." She said, "You're not the one who owes me an apology." Her son — the nine-year-old in the Patriots jersey, whose name was Malik — high-fived me. He said, "Mister, I think that lady was lying." I said, "I think you're right, buddy." Robert Kaminski, the retired NYPD lieutenant,

got off at Providence. He shook my hand on his way out. He said, "Kid, you kept it clean. I was watching you. You did the right thing by not arguing with the camera." I thanked him. I have been telling the Robert Kaminski story at cocktail parties for eleven months. He was, for the four minutes he spoke, one of the most impressive humans I have ever met. I have thought, on more than one occasion, that every city should have a retired police lieutenant on every Acela to New Haven just in case.