The Washington Post, December 25th, 2000
I love to tell the story, because I know 'tis true; it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do. A Red Line train pulls into Union Station, and amid the morning rush of workers one man scurries unnoticed out of the middle car, a couple of steps down the platform and back into the very next car. The bing-bong does its thing, the doors close, and just as the train begins to move, Fisher Yang, squarely in the doorway, one hand on a pole, the other holding his hymnal, loudly says, "Good morning, 'scuse me," and in a firm but scratchy, heavily accented voice, he begins to sing. Most people refu...
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