VANISHING EL

This is the age of swift, rapid transportation. But, ah, me. I'm just an old New York City elevated car. Weather-beaten, browbeaten, just plain beaten. Oh, I'm by no means alone in the world. Quite a few of my kin have escaped the cannon pile up to now. But, all signs point to our days being numbered. The Third Avenue branch is the last remaining limb of my family tree. I remember how, when a youngster, we did our family chores with wood-burning engines. But, soon we were taught that if we were to grow into a good, healthy system, we'd have to lead a cleaner life. So, they taught us all about electricity, and we grew and grew until our structures became the transportation backbone of the largest city in the world. Our gable stations were a new high and architectural achievement when built. All went well until the 1930s. We noticed that subways were undermining our security. When we failed to carry our customary total of over a million passengers a day, zip, the props were pulled out from under us. Our acetylene torches did the rest. A horrible, horrible death for the poor old Second, Sixth, and Ninth Avenue branches. Our traffic noise, if you ask me, is one big reason for our downfall. But, can we help it if the canyons of buildings we run through kick our sound around? Do you folks realize that we have our quieter side? Why, one of our spurs mingles with the stately trees and fragrant flowers of the Bronx Park. I have to take a run downtown now. If you stay with me, I can show you a New York City no other means of transportation can. From my windows, you will get glimpses of the most famous buildings in the world. From my windows, well, just wait. We have to pass through the dense Bronx tenement district before coming to Manhattan. It's an overall trip of 15 miles to South Ferry. From there, you'll be able to see the Statue of Liberty. This stretch, sandwiched between the tenements, I always call Clothesline Alley. In a sense, it's my gateway to Manhattan. For outside it, just around this big curve, we cross the Harlem River, which separates the Bronx from Manhattan. Here, under my bridge, is where East Side kids swim. Straight as a die now, down Third Avenue, toward Midtown. Out of my windows along the way, I'm much too often reminded of my fate. Old blocks of old New York, being turned under to make way for the new. Even though the Third Avenue L is the last of the L's, there are still over a thousand people employed in operating us, and we carry 270,000 passengers a day. Kind of a melting pot on wheels I am. I carry the old and the young, the dignified and the not-so-dignified, the pious and the hopeless. The towers of the Waldorf-Astoria, where millionaires and visiting royalty stay, tell my passengers that we have reached Midtown Manhattan. The Chrysler Building, Grand Central Terminal, the Empire State Building, all in sight from my trembling station which stands in the middle of famed 42nd Street. With the swirling activity of Midtown behind us, we now proceed south to Brooklyn Bridge and the Lower East Side made famous in song. The New York of the Smiths, the Canters, Jessels, Winchells, the Rooneys, and the O'Gradys. The mysteries of the Bowery and Chinatown are ever present under my rails. In Chinatown's Chatham Square, our route divides itself. The train to the left is ours, proceeding to South Ferry as I promised you we would. The other is on its way to our City Hall terminal. Neighboring the Woolworth Building. On we go, our route becoming ever narrower, like a mountain stream cutting its way through a deep booming gorge. We cross Wall Street and arrive at the little station where many a banker has paused to rub his palms. Not in anticipation of the day's financial gains, but to warm his hands over the friendly hot-bellied stove. Finally, our route swings out into the comparative open. And from my windows, the confining walls of skyscrapers give way to the maritime scene in New York Bay. South Ferry, where all the L's used to terminate. Passengers transferring to Staten Island ferry boats or for the Statue of Liberty. To a lot of people, I I mean a lot of things. One sight-seeing guide often refers to my structure as the eighth wonder of the world. During L construction in the 1870s, the big wonder used to be how we'd keep from toppling into the street. To the aged, I am their past still living. To childhood, I am fascination. To folks living along the tracks, I'm everything from a noisy nuisance to something as natural as morning, noon, and night. Well, that's the picture as of now. Time, borrowed time, will tell the rest.