Rock Rock Rockaway Beach

Mr NYC has never been much of a beach-goer, my preferred swimming venue generally being lakes. But now that summer humidity is choking the city, I thought it high time to check out one of our many local shoals and bake by salt water. A good friend directed us to Rockaway Beach on the south shore peninsula of Queens and off we went to the "Irish Riviera."

We arrived on a Saturday afternoon, the zenith time for beach crowds. Yet while the beach was heavily populated, it wasn't unbearably crowded. There was plenty of space for us to layout on our towels and lie down comfortably. Best of all, no one was blasting music or making a scene. Plus, the beach was clean, not much trash on the sand, so you don't always have to look under your feet.

And while you can wade in the water wherever you want, you can't swim everywhere on the beach -- just between certain sections divided by jetties, where lifeguards in bright orange outfits patrol the shore. If you are doing anything even the least bit dangerous, the lifeguards will loudly blow their whistles, keeping you safe. The waves and surf are intense so you need to be very careful when going in the water (make sure the "undertow" doesn't blow you off your feet). That said, once you do get in, the water is cold and refreshing.

We spent about three hours there and, man, it relaxed me. Although I still have some issues with sand (it really irritates my girlishly sensitive skin), consider me a beach convert.

A few things you should know about Rockaway Beach:

1. The lifeguard hours are from 10 AM-6 PM daily. The best way to get there is by car although you can also take the A train and walk a few blocks to the beach. If you do go by car, make sure to get there early -- while there's lots of free parking around, much of it is unavailable later in the day.

2. The neighborhood around the beach is not the best. Lots of people park around there so your car will be probably be safe but make sure you know where you're going, you don't want to get lost in this area.

3. Rockaway Beach has a rich history in books, TV, music and film: "Rockaway Beach" is classic 1977 song by the Ramones; Woody Allen's Radio Days is largely set near there; the classic Seinfeld episode "The Marine Biologist" episode centers on Rockaway beach; and the beach is cited in great American novel Moby Dick by Herman Melville.

4. There is another beach nearby called Jacob Riis Park. This is NYC's only beach with a topless/clothing optional space. If you're with a loved one or feeling naughty or just want to run free, you should check it out.

NYC Ferry Routes

My previous blog post about the repurposing of an old Staten Island Ferry boat turning into a party boat, reminded yours truly that NYC actually has LOTS of ferries darting around the city's waterways.

As a city of island, how could we not have a full fleet of ferries? 

The Staten Island Ferry is just one of the oldest, and best known, ferry routes but there are others that serve each borough of the city: the East River Route, the Rockaway Route, the South Brooklyn Route, the Astoria Route, the Soundview Route, the St. George Route (i.e. the other Staten Island Ferry), the soon-to-be Coney Island Route, and the Governor's Island Route.

Here's all the info you need to find your closest ferry route and where it will take you. Also, there's a great map that shows you all these routes and their various ports of call, presented here:

District NYC

The physical, political, and societal composition of New York City is complex. Its geography encompasses over forty islands and part of mainland America. It contains five boroughs that are spread over five counties in New York State. And imposed upon this huge mass are over 300 neighborhoods, from Far Rockaway to Chelsea, from Bayside to Red Hook, from Riverdale to New Dorp, it's quite a jumble.

But wait -- there's more! If you've familiar with this city, specifically Manhattan, you've probably heard of various "districts", mostly areas centered around certain kinds of businesses. You probably have a rough idea of where they are but didn't want to admit you didn't know exactly what blocks they lay on. These districts were hotbeds of economic activity back in the days when NYC was more of a manufacturing town. Today, some of these districts endure while others exist mostly in name only. So here is my short little guide to these districts and where to find them.

The Diamond District: West 47th street, between 5th and 6th avenues. This is still as bustling and busy an area as it was fifty years ago.

The Silk-Stocking District: Better known as the Upper East Side, stretches from 59th to 110th streets, east of Central Park. While it used to be home to the richest zip codes in the world, neighborhoods like Tribeca and Soho have surpassed it in wealth -- although it still retains Old New York charm.

The Meatpacking District: Runs from West 14th street to Gansevoort Street. Today it's better known for being the place where lots of bars and nighclubs are in residence but there still are one or two meat packers still plying their trade.

The Flower District: West 28th street between 6th and 7th avenues. It used to be much bigger and has been basically reduced to one little block. But if you go there during the day, you will be struck by one of the most unlikely and beautiful sights in the city -- a greenhouse in the street.

The Financial District: Yes, it's still there. Goes from City Hall Park to Battery Park. You know what goes on there.

I'm sure there are some other districts that I'm forgetting but these are the most famous ones. If you know of any other districts within this city, please let me know!

Surfin' NYC

It's like ... it's like ... I'm psychic! 

Two weeks ago I did a big blog post on the Rockaways and then, late last week, what does my eye spy in the media? A new book about, about ... ready for it? The Rockaways!

Not of the first time, Mr NYC has been ahead of the curve. 

A reporter for the Times named Diane Caldwell is, like yours truly, a product of upper Manhattan, a city kid if there ever was one, a denizen of the streets. About ten years ago her life was unhappy but then a weekend out on Long Island where she learned to surf changed her life. She become a huge devotee of the "sport" -- and eventually moved out to Rockaway Beach, living in a bungalow with some dude, surfing all the time, and transforming from a resident of the city's concrete jungle into a citizen of its beaches. 

How inspiring! It really is a different, fascinating world out there. 

Because NYC is so huge and diverse, where you live or what neighborhood you grew up in becomes small compared to the rest of the city (and it is). Growing up in upper Manhattan, the Rockaways might have well as been in the Middle East, not Queens -- it felt that far away, that distant, that wild, that otherwordly from the tightly organized world of "the city." Ms. Caldwell, like so many New Yorkers, discovered that there was another, magical world, just a subway ride away. 

You shoud read her article about how she came to write the book as well as an excerpt.

Apologies but ... surfs up!

Fall is finally here ...

... and not a moment too soon. Mother Nature has finally vanquished this most miserable of Indian summers. May it rest in peace.

In Mr NYC's humble opinion, there's no better time of year in NYC. As fall descends, the heat and swelter of summer give way to cool breezes, the leaves begin to turn, the farmer's markets sell hot apple cider, it gets darker earlier, and we begin to look excitedly towards the holidays (the holidays always being more fun to anticipate than to actually live through). Fall is a reflective time, a penultimate moment, as we begin to think about the end of the year, what've done and what we still hope to do.

May New Yorkers from Rockaway to Riverdale enjoy this fall, truncated though it may be. Soon the blusters of winter will be upon, and this fall will be a fond sigh in our memories.

NYC Subway Record Holder

So this is a thing: there's a Guinness Book of World Records holder for the fastest trip around the entire NYC subway system. And as of May, 2023, there's a new certified record holder: someone named Kate Jones who is, interestingly enough, a native New Yorker living in Switzerland (but who made a trip home to beat this record).

Ms. Jones completed her record-setting route in 22 hours, 14 minutes, and ten seconds. To get a sense of this daunting mission, it required hitting all 472 stations in NYC that covers 665 miles of track. Her journey started way out in Far Rockaway and ended on the far west side of Manhattan. Interestingly enough, the previous record holder completed this mission in less time in 2016 (about 21 1/2 hours) but, since then, three new subway stations have been added to the system (the 2nd Avenue line) thus the obstacle was a little higher. 

So congrats to Kate Jones, this is an amazing achievement! And if you want to read more about what it's like to travel around the entire NYC subway system in a whole day, read this previous blog post from 2018 (the republishing of a Daily News article from 1974). 

Living on the NYC Fringe

The basic definition of "fringe" is the border or outer part of an area or group. It's the tassles around the rug, the frame around the picture, the person or thing at the very edge of the photgraph, the inside of something that's almost outside, someone or something peripheral to the main host, the mainsteam.

It's being a part of something -- but barely. 

In New York City, all of us probably feel like we're living on the fringe, whether it's our neighborhood, our communities, or our jobs. To live in NYC is to live on the edge, so of speak.

This is a city of, by, and for the fringe.

But when you read these two stories you realize how some people in this city truly live at the fringes of it, both literally and figuratively. 

First, this big story about the residents of Broad Channel, a neighborhood of islands in Jaimaca Bay -- between JFK airport and Howard Beach on one side and the Rockaway Peninsula on the other -- where people live in houses on the water, get around in boats, and are devoted to a quiet, simply life while peering across at the skyline of Manhattan, inhabiting a different world. The people of Broad Channel love and are completely devoted to it but climate change is challenging life there. The water levels are rising along with more frequent and nasty storms, and life in Broad Channel is under threat. How people are adapting to it in this "fringe" of NYC will tell us a lot about how much climate change threatens not just Broad  Channel but the city as a whole.  

Second, this fascinating profile of a young playwrite who is so devoted to his craft that he is literally staging plays in people's living rooms. In a city teaming with talented and creative people, who crave an audience for their work, this writer -- who is well outside of the mainstream of NYC theater -- is willing to go to the people, hunt for an audience. Instead of waiting for them to come to him, he goes to them. It's arguably a "fringy" way of being a playwrite but it shows you how far some people will go for the love of their art.

So I admire and respect those New Yorkers who live and work on the fringe of the city -- in some ways, this is a fringe blog, a weird outlier of the NYC media world. And I think that's cool!

"Around the Town in 26 Hours and 36 Minutes"

In 1974 a very brave Daily News reporter took a marathon ride across the NYC subway system -- and wrote about the entire journey.

Reprinted here for the first time anywhere, go back in time and take the trip of a lifetime around a very different NYC.
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AROUND THE TOWN IN 26 HOURS AND 36 MINUTES 

New York Sunday News March 31, 1974 

The Lefferts Blvd. Station at four in the morning could be the loneliest place in New York. Or maybe just the coldest. Wind blows across the elevated tracks. I look out the train – suspended here – waiting for the return runs to Manhattan. Outside the night is dark except for some metal lamps on the deserted platform. Bare light bulbs form little circles of heat in the cold air. I am absolutely alone. Reflected in the train windows are its baby-blue walls splashed magenta and orange with graffiti. Beyond them I can see the black tops of trees, the low buildings of Queens stretching west toward Brooklyn. Far off, a yellow glow indicates Manhattan. Shivering, I cross to the open door and step out onto the platform. It is very still. A quarter moon hangs over Ozone Park, where all sensible people are asleep.

It might be warmer below near the token booth. Perhaps there is even a candy machine. But if the train should suddenly pull away…? No, I decide. Even if there is a machine, it won’t be working. There are some 6,600 vending machines in the New York Subway System. I know of four that work. The Interborough News Co. owes me eighty-five cents. Dear Sirs … I begin composing a letter in my head – then stop. If I give the locations of all the stations where I lost coins yesterday, they’ll think I’m mad. Some of those stations are 50 miles apart!

It seems to me that I have been here an eternity. I look at my watch: 20 minutes. This wait could ruin my chance at the world record. It stands at 21 hours and 8 minutes.

The first subway riding record – traveling the entire system of routes for a single fare – was set October 27, 1904: IRT Opening Day. The subway, an historic 9.1 miles, extended from City Hall to Grand Central, turning west across 42nd Street to Times Square, and then up Broadway to 145th St. After an official opening trip by city dignitaries – with Mayor McClellan holding a silver controller – followed by several hours of invitational rides, the subway was opened to the public at 7 p.m. 111,881 passengers paid a nickel each to ride that day. Scheduled time for an express was 26 minutes; the local took 46. Although those early riders were conscious of making history, it is doubtful that they had any thoughts of setting track records. It was just too simple.

The new subway generated appendages almost yearly. It reached Brooklyn via tunnel in 1908. The success of the IRT encouraged more construction. The Brooklyn Rapid Transit (after 1923, the BMT) began operations in August 1913, and the city-operated IND was opened Sept. 10, 1932. Under the dual contracts by which the city had financed construction of the privately operated IRT and BMT, it had also retained the right to purchase them. In 1940 both were acquired for $326,248,000. The three lines were unified under city control on June 12 of that year.

Two days before unification, Herman Rinke, a curious and still indefatigable electric railroad enthusiast, decided to tour the existing system for a single five-cent fare. He had no thought of setting a record. With unification, the IRT-operated 9th Ave. El was scheduled for demolition. His trip was a 25-hour sentimental gesture. It turned out to be the first recorded try. Since that day, 66 people have ridden the entire system in 24 recorded trips. These records are kept in an unofficial file at the TA Public Relations Dept. No one knows how may kids have done it just for fun. The 1961 subway map cited the example of a Flushing youth who had ridden all the routes in 25 hours and 36 minutes for a single token. The TA’s aim may have been to point out the scope or convenience of the subway, but that record – set Jan. 25, 1957, by Jerome Moses, 16 – instead seemed to invite competition. During the 1960s, subway derbies became a fad with urban students; 11 of them were completed during the peak years of 1966 and 1967. On April Fools Day of 1966, the M.I.T. Rapid Transit Club began a highly publicized ride. They had used a computer to route their attempt and informed the newspapers. On April 2, they were feeling foolish by 1 hour and 1 minute. And Geoffrey Arnold, who had held the 24 hour, 56 minute record since 1963 when he was 17, remarked “Pacific St. was a ridiculous place to start.” That June, nine boy scouts from Troop 290 in Queens further shamed the computer by logging 23 hours and 18 minutes. And on Aug. 3, 1967, 16-year-old James Law, with six buddies, rode from 168th St., Jamaica to Pelham Bay Park in 22 hours 11½ minutes; a time cited in the current Guinness Book of World Records.

When the Bronx Third Ave. El was closed in August 1973, subway route mileage was diminished 5.5 miles. On Oct. 8, Mayer Wiesen, 35, and Charles Emerson set a “modern record,” riding over 230.8 route miles, changing trains many times, and passing through the 462 operating stations, in 21 hours and 8 minutes. A record which looks as if it will stand unless I get out of the Lefferts Blvd. Station.

At 8 yesterday morning, I am just starting out, entering the 168th St. terminus of the Jamaica spur, an old elevated line taken over and extended by the BMT. The 1893 span between Alabama Ave. and Cypress Hills may be the oldest el track still in continuous use. The train I board is one of the oldest also: rolling stock built in the mid- 1930s. Sixty-watt bulbs light the cars. Hanging down from the ceiling are fans with black blades. I make my way to the front car, intending to ride looking out the window next to the motorman’s cab, but a handsome black kid, about 13, has got there first. He stands, hands in his pockets, nose to the glass, alert, ready to “drive the train.” At 8:03 we head toward Manhattan – looking down long streets of old houses, over expressways clogged with morning traffic, rattling past Cypress Hills Cemetery where miles of tombstones cast small, neat shadows in the early light. At Broadway-Myrtle, I change to the M train, yoyo-ing up and back to cover the Myrtle Line – past houses whose third-story windows, with pulled blinds, are often no more than six feet from the train.

9:15. Manhattan comes into view from the Williamsburg Bridge. The huge building blocks that pile its shore jut powerfully at the sky. Below, the East River is gray. It is a postcard approach. The train “zooms-in” like a 1940s movie – so familiar that I almost expect to see titles flash across. No matter. The Manhattan skyline still makes me gasp.

10:00. I am changing trains in Brooklyn when I see the kid from the Jamaica el again. We grin in recognition. “Hey,” I shout, “Are you doing the system too?” As the train doors shut, I see him nod. He swings off to Coney Island, while I race up in search of the Astoria train. On the DeKalb overpass I spot a snack bar and buy a Coke for breakfast. Aside from some coins in my jeans, a notebook and map, I have decided not to carry anything – sort of an urban Camp Fire Girl.

11:12 – En route to Flushing on a blue World’s Fair train. To my left Shea Stadium passes; while off to the right lies Flushing Meadow. The ribbed Unisphere and skeletal towers of the ’64 Fair rear up out of the flat landscape – fossilized like dinosaurs.

12:05. Returning to Manhattan, I change at Jackson Heights for the newer IND. On the underpass is a Nedicks – coffee and a hot dog – breakfast is shaping up. I am wiping mustard off my fingers when I reach the underground Roosevelt Ave. platform. On May 2, 1970, this was the site of the first subway fatality due to collision or derailment, in 42 years; two GG trains collided during evening rush hour, killing two passengers and injuring 71.

1:55. The F train to Coney Island is one of the new, longer R-44 models: pristine and elegant, with seats of muted orange and yellow. Panels of fake wood are set into its walls and fluorescent lights line the ceiling. Just before the doors close, a chime sounds – rather like the Avon doorbell. The advertising cards, color transparencies lit from behind, glow. These are the poshest cars to travel the subways since No. 3344, “The Mineola,” rolled through in 1904. No. 3344 was the private coach of financier and IRT organizer August Belmont. His car had real wood, mahogany, with velvet-draped picture windows so that guests could enjoy the flashing signals while white-coated stewards broiled steaks in the galley and served iced champagne. Above them, Empire ceilings arched, pale green and gilt; the washroom windows were stained glass. If one cares to make a comparison, the Mineola can be found in the Branford Trolley Museum at East Haven, Connecticut.

I am about to succumb to the quiet style of these long, air-conditioned cars, when I notice that the doors between them are kept locked. Existing subway tunnels were built for 60-foot cars, more the size, if not the décor, of the Mineola. These new, 75-foot units do not mesh properly on curves; the space between cars becomes dangerous. Motormen, conductors, and presumably transit police, have keys, but New Yorkers are naturally leery. Many feel that being trapped in one car could become a risky situation.

The IND Coney Island line becomes elevated for a brief span entering Brooklyn; the highest point in the system, 87.5 feet above street level, is at the Smith and Ninth St. Station. Here the view is open in all directions: back toward postcard Manhattan, out into the harbor. Little automobiles crawl over the arched expressway ahead; below, the Gowanus Canal and Red Hook. Too soon, we are underground.

At Church St. the line ramps upward again, joining the 1919 BMT el track at Ditmas Ave., where it emerges and begins the long approach to the ocean. Coney Island, cold and closed, decorates our passage. Orange and green spokes of the Wonder Wheel circle blue sky; flags and bits of banner blow. A deserted but honky tonk air prevails. We pass the roller coaster, webbed and delicate in the afternoon light. The air is bracing.

2:54. The Brighton Line heads back to Manhattan, for a while paralleling the sea. Short views down streets end in ocean. The pastel acres of Brighton Beach Baths stretch, patterned, toward the sand. We stop at Sheepshead Bay before heading northwest, traveling over the old ground level tracks of the 1890s Brighton Railroad, widened in 1907 to cut through the tree-hung backyards of Victorian mansions facing Buckingham Road.

3:15. At the Prospect Park Station hundreds of high school kids mill, going home. Cops range the platform and one accompanies us onto the Franklin Shuttle. The kids are wonderfully natty; boys and girls stride aboard wearing platform shoes that defy balance, pants with big bells, hats, lots of jewelry, elaborate hair-dos. While I am aware that teenagers in groups are responsible for a fair amount of subway crime, I cannot imagine this stylish group doing anything to muss their clothes. Subway history is full of accounts of rampage and vandalism. Two days after the 1904 opening, eight youths armed with buckshot blowers boarded the new subway at 145th St. and proceeded to shoot out the electric lights while doing gymnastic stunts on the straps. Two were arrested at 96th St., the rest escaped. But this was not the first subway crime. That occurred opening night. During the crowded ride north from Brooklyn Bridge Station, someone lifted the $500 diamond stickpin that had been holding down the tie of Harry Barret of W. 46th St. When he reached Grand Central, his necktie was flapping.

3:50. The return shuttle is almost empty. As it approaches Prospect Park again, we pass near Empire Blvd. In November of 1918 it was still called Malbone St. The name was changed after the Brighton Beach Special, jammed with evening rush hour passengers, failed to make a curve at the tunnel there. Five wooden cars, taken over from the old Brooklyn Union Railroad, were dashed to bits, and passengers thrown rapidly along the tunnel walls, literally had their faces rubbed away. Ninety-seven lost their lives, 150 were injured, and for days the accident drove World War I right off the front pages, When motorman Edward A. Luciano gave himself up, he was found to have had only two hours of instruction before being given the controller at Park Row in Manhattan. Earlier that morning – before motormen walked out in a dispute over unionization – Luciano had been a yard switchman. His promotion was sudden – this was his first run. He was acquitted, and the union made its point.

5:02. I am picking up a few stray miles under Rockefeller Center when evening rush hour begins. While I know the total 3.8 million daily subway riders cannot all be taking the D train tonight – it feels as if they are. Jammed shoulder to shoulder, passengers have nowhere to look but up. Above our heads, “Miss Subways” stares out of her poster, giving us a strained smile, “hoping to do some modeling.” Since 1941, when the contest began, over 200 New York working girls have become “Miss Subways.” In the early years, a new face showed up every month. Currently, two winners, out of six finalists, are chosen every eight months by passenger vote. Miss Subways receives a $40.00 charm bracelet dangling silver tokens, and her picture decorates the 6,700 subway cards for a three-month period. I ride standing all the way to 205th St., Bronx. Sheer endurance does not win a girl the title.

6:10. At 168th St. and Broadway, I change trains again, and descend into the IRT on a hot automated elevator to ride the Seventh Ave. local to Van Cortlandt Park. The ride is through the deepest section of track in the whole system: 180 feet below street level at the 191st St. and St. Nicholas Ave. station.             

7:00. Moving under Harlem on the No. 3, a rather splashy train with big graffiti – mustard yellow and pink predominate. Despite $10 million spent to remove graffiti and 1,562 arrests in 1972, the TA is losing the “spray can war.” I read off the names: Supreme King 219, Snake II, Lopez 138, and amuse myself trying to think up my own subway logo – in case graffiti should become legal. Outside the stations pass, dingy, written all over. Two Black Muslims move in and out of the strap-hangers selling Mohammed Speaks. On this line, I am a “token white” – the pun lifts my spirits.

8:02. TA police range the E. 180th St., Bronx platform where the No. 2 pauses. One boards, walkie-talkie mumbling at his waist. He will be riding until 4 a.m. Since May of 1965, a uniformed transit patrolman has been assigned to every train during these hours.

10:30. I stand in the first car, face pressed against the glass, speeding through a dark, underground world, the lighted coach behind me forgotten, as the black tunnel comes on. Tracks in perspective lines rush, disappearing under my feet, crossing, converging ahead. Signal lights change: yellow – “proceed with reduced speed,” green over yellow – “on diverging track.” Express lines mount, as local tracks sink in the dark. In the distance, tiny orange lights flicker above the tracks, then disappear where track-men carrying lanterns dive into the sidings. Now the square, metal-pillared cut rounds into a tube; we approach the old, 1908, Battery-Joralemon tunnel. Green lights signal us through. I make myself useful peering intently at the dark curved walls, checking for leaks.

1:12. The Wilson Ave. station on the Canarsie line is a narrow, double-decked curiosity: one track occupies each level – the eastbound track emerges, briefly elevated, traveling above the underground westbound span. We pass the deserted platform in half light. It faces – a single track away – the Cemetery of the Evergreens. No one in his right mind would get off at Wilson Ave. at 1:12 in the morning. No one did.

2:30. The A train heads out over the waters of Jamaica Bay, leaving behind the huge glow of JFK that arc-lights the eastern sky. I have made the Rockaway Round Robin on schedule and can relax. Only between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. is it possible to cover the entire Rockaway peninsula on a single train. This 19th century summer beach resort was linked to the L.I.R.R. until 1956, when service was transferred to the IND. The train moves further out across the vast, dark bay. Only feet below on either side, water laps the narrow trestle. Far out, a crescent of lights veers gently inward on the long railroad stem. Beyond that brilliant curve, the ocean pounds. For miles around the night is black and cold, the water deep. A strange place for a New York subway train.

4:00. And farewell to Lefferts Blvd.

5:30. Waits are long now. The work trains move slowly underground through nearly empty stations, picking up trash and cleaning out tunnels. The New York bars have closed, and some standees on the Hoyt St. platform bear witness to this fact. A heavy black woman joins me; she walks as if her feet hurt, and I suspect she has just got off work. The trains always take a while at this hour, she tells me. We stand together on the platform, unacknowledged sisters, re-enforcing each other. In 1907, the Hudson Tubes were still running Women Only Cars with guards aboard to insure protection. I guess we have come a long way.

At 6:26 the sun rises over Greenwood Cemetery where I am passing, for the second time, over an elderly bit of track known as the Culver Shuttle; 1.1 miles still bear tribute to Andrew Culver, who built a steam railroad to Coney Island that passed over this site in the 1880s.

7:00 – Coney Island for the second time in two days! Crossing the Stillwell Terminal overpass, I go by the employees cafeteria and smell breakfast. On the Sea Beach Line, morning rush hour is just beginning. This is the third rush hour I have ridden through without leaving the subway. The poignancy of that situation might be enough to make one who has dined off Zagnut bars, peanuts, and Lucy Ellen orange slices for two days, get a cramp. I try not to think of hot coffee.

8:10. Changing trains at Union Square I am especially careful, warned by history. The first subway passenger accident occurred here Opening Day, 1904. A Miss Sadie Lawson, 26, of Jersey City, who had been riding north and south for several hours, fell getting off the southbound train and broke her hip. I grab a metal strap and hang on tightly all the way to 42nd St. 

8:25. Times Square. The 42nd St. shuttle contains 2,700 feet of original 1904 IRT track, now isolated. In 1928, the second worst accident in New York subway history happened just south of here on the Seventh Ave. line. A defective switch broke as the ninth car of a 10-car theater rush-hour train was passing over it. The rear wheels switched to a diverging track and the ninth car, running suddenly at right angles to the others, was sheared in two by the steel pillars between tracks. This mechanical “crack the whip” killed 18 passengers and injured 100.

9:30. The Lexington Ave. Express emerges into bright sunlight just before the old Yankee Stadium. Once, under a glaring blue sky, its lacy wood trim gleamed white like decorative icing – a great hollow cake with a short right field. Now, under the ungentle touch of the renovators, the place is growing unrecognizable. At the Woodlawn terminus, the leaves have lost their Fall colors, but on the golf course below, lucky men tee off across rolling fairways. It is a splendid day for riding elevated trains.

10:39. Pelham Bay Park. I have made the trip – on 67 different trains – in only 26 hours and 36 minutes. 26 hours and 36 minutes! The thought that I may be the first woman to complete the ride does not console me at all. But the sun is shining. And I have my logo: Ms. Subways 114.
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You can read this essay and other great ones just like it in How the Camp Fire Girls Won World War II by Rebecca Morris. 

Also, read more 1970s subways coverage from the Village Voice here.