Underground New York

Magic time on the subway


There are multiple millions of people in New York City and multiple millions more who come from outside the city proper every day.

A great deal of this flow of humanity, this ant-like thrum of activity, takes place below the city.

I'm a fan of the subways ... I've even found myself riding them just to read (This might be only a couple of stops from Crazy Time Station, where I eat sandwiches out of the garbage, count empty seats with religious fervor, recite the next subway stop information with savant-like detail and clean my toenails with coffee stirrers on the Broadway local, but I think I'm a ways away yet. Then again, did those guys know they were on the way? Did they think, "I'm a ways away yet."? Or did they just wake up one day and decide it might be fun to grab a book and ride the A train from the Rockaways to Inwood ... and maybe grab half a sandwich and a cup of coffee along the way?)

Future mental prospects aside, I -- being of sound mind and body ... for the moment -- profess to be a big fan of the subways.

There are a million stories in the naked city and almost all of the characters crawl underground at some point. The range of faces is global. The range of voices, musical. The subways are magic.

They are freedom for $2 a trip (a lot less if you buy the unlimited-ride cards. I figured my ride costs last month at well under 80 cents per ride.). From practically anywhere in the city you can get to practically anywhere in the city 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

They are entertainment. Between the subway buskers and the subway riders, there is never a car that doesn't have something to watch.

They are inspiration. Billy Strayhorn would have told you that. Duke Elington's directions to his house ... "Take the A Train" ... inspired a jazz classic. I can attest to it. A bad advert on the J Train worshiping "Mighty Cod" inspired a play I just wrote. Sketch artists and actors, musicians and storytellers all draw from the pool of ideas seething beneath New York's streets.

They are home to the walking dead. Ride the 6 train at 5:30 p.m. on a financial district work day and believe.

The are home to unbridled life. Check out the same train two hours earlier when the kids are on their way home from school and believe.

They are rock shows. A group of European wanderers ... obviously high on life ... breaks into a rousing rendition of "Bad Moon Rising". Five black kids start singing "Just Another Brick in the Wall." iPod rappers stare dead straight and unblinking while they atonally parrot the tunes pumped in their head. I've even been practicing my toenail cleaning song. It wanders the musical landscape in time with the clacking of wheel on rail and goes like this: "Take good care of your feet, my children, and they'll take good care of you. Let them breathe, let them breathe, let them breathe. Believe. Believe."

Millions of people are crammed together and few make more than fleeting contact, but the subways are magic. Yesterday, I caught the J train before 7 a.m. (see post below) and found myself in a regular coffee club. A group of commuters from different stops going to different stops have been riding the same car at the same time every morning for so long that they have become friends. The conversation ranged from work to grandkids to the health of someone who missed the train to the Mets vs. the Yankees. And it ends when they leave the car, to be picked up the next day.

Next time you are in the city, do yourself a favor and go underground. "Take the A Train". Keep your eyes and ears open. Have fun. You'll be glad you did.