The New York Subway is a place of endless fascination… its dark and noisy and hot (or freezing cold). In a single journey, I can hear half a dozen languages spoken, converse with a man in a gorilla suit, listen to a remarkably good (or bad) busker and be tempted to buy anything from a new pair of shoes to a plane ticket.
A couple of weeks ago, in a disused subway station in deepest, darkest Brooklyn, I met a time machine named Bob..
It happened during a visit to the NY Transit museum. I’m a big fan of museums – they tell us so much about ourselves. And this one is no exception.
Some space is devoted to buses – but mostly it’s all about the history of the subway.
The disused station is still connected to the current subway – and parked along the platform were carriages dating back to the time when riding on the subway was an adventure, not a daily commute.
There’s only one regular passenger on these carriages now – a chubby and friendly grey cat named Sadie… who guards the secure carriage that was used to transport money.
Well… when I say guard, I really mean sleeps inside.
I digress – cats have that effect on me.
Webmaster John, having trainspotting tendencies, was happily investigating engine bits and points and things. I was busy reading the advertising inside the train. From soap to beer, cars to jobs – those ads were a snapshot of daily life from different eras.
We usually don’t take guided tours – but I found myself drawn into one. How could I resist when the guide’s talk was peppered with things like… “As I recall, back then….” And “As a kid, I used to watch…”
Bob wasn’t reciting some prepared spiel… he was remembering. A retired NYC cop, Bob spent some time riding the subways, before they had dedicated transit police. Before that he was a kid – and kids just love trains. Especially back then, before smart phones and video games and TVs, when families didn’t have one car, far less two and kids made their own fun.
Seeing the ultra-violet lights that were supposed to kill germs on the train was great – but hearing Bob talk about the weird purple glow in the windows was even better.
Bob had a some ‘unoffical’ stories too – like how enthuiasts hid carriages inside disused tunnels instead of destroying them as ordered – because they knew one day there might be a museum that needed them.
There are times I wish I wrote historical novels. Just think what fun it would be to sit down with someone like Bob and listen to him talk about his childhood. Imagine the pictures he could paint of a time long gone.
Thanks for the tour Bob – and for the memories.