Bye, Bye, Redbird
When I moved out of Mom & Dad's on Long Island, the best apartment I could afford was a gigantic one-bedroom in a pre-war building in Elmhurst, Queens. The Manhattan apartments in my price range, what few there were, were unrenovated pits with wavy floors, to walk upon which left one feeling distinctly drunk, and the Brooklyn units were in rather unsalubrious neighborhoods. So there I was, situated equidistant between the E/F/G line and the number 7 elevated. At first, working as I did in midtown, the 7 was the train of choice, to be supplanted in later years by the E/G when I moved employment to the Wall Street area. Shortly after moving in, the MTA declared the need to completely refurbish the entire 7 line before it collapsed into Roosevelt Avenue, and announced a 5-year moratorium on express service. It didn't matter too much to me, although the effect on Flushing residents was fairly extreme. Every morning I rode the "Redbird" into Grand Central and back again every night. These ancien regime carriages have now reached the end of the line. I know they're old and that the cars that will replace them are sleek, more efficient, even roomy (comparatively), but there are aspects of these trains that anyone would miss, and probably should, primarily among them the "wishing spot," a childhood story that claimed a place in the front car as a magical location. It was, too, if not in a fairy tale fashion. The lead car, with the motorman's compartment, was no differently constructed than any other, any car therefore capable of serving as the "engine," if you will. Each car had a doorway at either end so that passengers and crew could pass between the cars (although you weren't supposed to, especially while the train was in motion, a hazardous undertaken routinely employed by subway riders to achieve a more desirable situation, a seat, even). The lead car's front door was located next to the motorman's compartment, the door to which was sometimes left ajar, and it had a window, making it the most coveted spot of all - for subway enthusiasts and children. Many times I made it a practice to insist that out-of-town visitors stand with me in this spot. Even underground the view thus afforded was spectacular, magical. I particularly enjoyed the burst of light that occurred upon leaving the tunnel and arriving at the Grand Central platform, but also the expansiveness that lightened my heart once we left Hunters Point for the elevated tracks through Queens. There was also the little thrill of seeing the rise and fall and gentle curves of the track ahead once Queens Plaza had been left behind, and the suddenly looming presence of Shea Stadium as you approached Willets Point. There will be windows in the new trains, but not that front one, so no more wishing spot and a forever altered commutation, one that lacks the communion with the trains themselves.