Look for a new post the first week of every month!

Thursday, February 7, 2008

SOUND: The G train Recharging at Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn

On a typical day, the G train runs from Court House Square, in Long Island City, to Smith-9 Streets, in Red Hook, mowing a green zigzag swath across the outer boroughs. After discharging its last passenger in Brooklyn, the G continues along the tracks to the 4 Avenue F train station, in Gowanus, to recharge before chugging back toward Queens.

I used to live near this stop, an elevated outdoor platform with sweeping views of the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty. But the sight I enjoyed most was the apple green circle at the front of the G train emerging over the railway bridge, its headlights dim. It chugs to a stop on the center track, sighs, flexes its brakes in rhythmic thrusts. It exhales a whoosh of pressurized brake steam, then shudders to stillness. The digital window signs still flicker from CROSSTOWN LCL to LAST STOP/SMITH-9 STS. There’s a metallic hum. The car lights dim. Sometimes a conductor moves through the cars with a broom.

Inevitably, an F train hurtles into the station, pings its doors open and closed, and sweeps out, hardly casting a glance at its hick cousin, who will never have its floors anointed with bags from Zaro’s Bread Basket, will never know the thrill of burrowing beneath the East River or the corner of Central Park.

But the G train has had a moment to collect itself. There is a clicking. The window signs go blank, then flash LONG IS. CITY/COURT SQ. The lights brighten. The train brakes suck in air as they get ready to roll. Folklorist Amanda Dargan claims that she hears the first musical phrase of the song Somewhere– as if singing “There’s a place for us” when this happens on the 4, 5, and 6 lines. But I can’t say as I’ve ever heard the G train sing.

The wheels turn over once, squeal to a stop, and rotate again with increased confidence. A shiver, then a grinding lurch. The pigeons that have settled on top of the cars scatter. The green G recedes against the skyline of a city it will never enter. It feels like--for a moment--I knew the G train, having witnessed its most vulnerable moment. But now it’s unreachable once again, like an old friend who’s moved on.

6 comments:

Mike Rauch said...

Hi. Great to see the first post! I'm looking forward to the next, and the next, and the next. When will we see the 2008 inductees to the "People's Hall of Fame"?

deenah said...

City Lore blog is a great idea!

I'm glad the G Train is finally getting some good press. It's a charming little bugger, and no, not all trains need to touch Manhattan.

NYC flaneuse said...

Love the idea and your first article. I do believe that sound memory is a potent carrier, which lasts beyond (or is it, beneath?) other types of memory.

Anonymous said...

Love the idea that trains, as people, quibble over the Manhattan vs. Brooklyn hierarchy. Poor little G...I used to ride it every morning and and miss it. I imagine stepping on board now would feel a lot like you describe at your story's end--an old friend, once constant and now, remote. Well written.

vducat said...

has anyone ever noticed how the PATH trains smell exactly the same as the Red line trains in the Boston subway system. Possibly the same manufacturer? just emailing with someone in Boston about that sensory impression earlier today.
Vivain

Wesley said...

I am so glad I'm not the only one who hears Somewhere!