A Brief History of New York Penn Station
Perhaps the greatest quote about New York Pennsylvania Station is that of Vincent Scully, a quote celebrating the old station and scorning the new: “One entered the city like a god. One scuttles in now like a rat.”
I remember my first trip to New York City, which was also the first time I visited Penn Station. I had taken the bus on my way to New York, which meant traveling through Port Authority, but I opted for the train for my return. “Surely the busiest train station in the Western Hemisphere must be much nicer than Port Authority,” I thought to myself. But as I took the escalator down to the station, I realized I was wrong. Penn Station is situated completely underground where there is no natural light. That is to say, one must scuttle about the various waiting areas and corridors before boarding one’s train. But it wasn’t always this way.
Penn Station opened in 1910. It’s called Penn Station because it was originally owned by the Pennsylvania Railroad. Prior to its opening, travelers had to transfer from their trains to a ferry to enter Manhattan as there was no tunnel for trains to directly reach the island.
The old Penn Station actually had two opening dates. One was on September 8, 1910, when a small section of the station containing the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) platforms opened.
That LIRR passengers no longer needed a ferry transfer was a big deal. The New York Times article about the station’s opening had the subtitle, “Time of Commuters’ Travel Cut In Half and Outlying Towns Rejoice — Jamaica Celebrates Most.”[1] On that day, New York got bigger, and the world just a little bit smaller.
The next day, The Times reported that 35,000 people traveled through the tunnel serving Penn Station on that first day. As the article stated, “Many of the passengers were in groups traveling together for the novelty of the ride.”[2]
Penn Station’s second opening date came a couple months later on November 27. This was the opening date for the Pennsylvania Railroad at New York Penn Station. In other words, this was when the entire station in all its glory opened to the public.
As the doors opened, “a little man ran through first and, running all the way, reached the first ticket booth to be opened and bought a ticket to Elizabeth, N. J., and return. He has the distinction of being the first person to buy a ticket in the new station for a station not on Long Island,” reported The New York Times. Others marveled at the station’s beauty: “As the crowds passed through the doors into the vast concourse on every hand were heard exclamations of wonder, for none had any idea of the architectural beauty of the new structure.”[3]
(Public domain)
I only have photographs to know what the old Penn Station looked like, but the black-and-white photos alone are enough to appreciate its Beaux-Arts grandeur — the marble Corinthian columns, the vast tile floors and granite walls, the sunlight pouring in through the arched windows. Seeing the photos reminds me of looking at a cathedral, but unlike a typical cathedral, its grandness wasn’t dedicated to a saint or deity — rather, it was dedicated to humanity and to the cities in which we live.
This monument to humankind and urbanity did not last long. With the increase in air travel, the establishment of the Interstate Highway System, and the station’s rising upkeep costs, it was torn down in 1963 and rebuilt into the station we now know today. And so now, instead of admiring sun-drenched waiting areas, we walk through a maze of fluorescent-lit hallways.
I can only imagine what it must feel like to be the septuagenarian New Yorker, born and raised — to have spent one’s formative years in the City and to have seen the original Penn Station, to have walked through its concourse and waiting areas, and to have felt important merely by existing in such a monumental gateway to the City. I can only imagine what it must have felt like to have entered adulthood with the destruction of the station. And I can only imagine the sense of wistful loss, the sense of one’s own mortality that our septuagenarian must feel when commuting through the station today.
But there are still little reminders of that former station when one walks through the new Penn Station.
For example, when taking the escalators down to the artificially lit LIRR waiting area, there’s an illustration overhead of the old Penn Station with the words, “YOU ARE HERE.” I am only able to read those words with a certain New Yorker sardonicism.
One of my favorite artworks in Penn Station is Ghost Series by Andrew Leicester. With bas-relief murals, he depicts a fallen Corinthian column, crumbling on the ground, to remind us that we are walking through the ruins of a once great station.
But Penn Station might regain some of its old dignity. Construction is underway (and much of it is now completed) to renovate the area with a new entrance and train hall. And so maybe, just maybe, our septuagenarian New Yorker will live to see the day that commuting through Penn Station is once again a beautiful act.
[1] “GREAT PENNA. TUNNEL IN OPERATION TO-DAY,” The New York Times, September 8, 1910, p. 1.
[2] “DAY LONG THRONG INSPECTS NEW TUBE,” The New York Times, September 9, 1910, p. 5.
[3] “PENNSYLVANIA OPENS ITS GREAT STATION,” The New York Times, November 27, 1910, p. 7.
