Objectively, the 1966 Giants were quite awful. Playing their home games at the old Yankee Stadium, they proceeded to lose every single match except for one. They managed to tie their first game on the road, but subsequently lost the remainder. Not only did they have the worst record in the entire league that year, the 1966 season was the worst in franchise history, with the fewest total wins, and the worst point differential (-238)^[2]. In fact, the season ranks as one of the all time top 25 worst seasons for all teams in the entire NFL^[3].

If for some reason you had wanted to watch that hot mess of a team back in ’66, the New York Central did offer special Harlem Division trains for each of the home games. Leaving from North White Plains, the train made local stops to Mount Vernon before proceeding to Melrose, several blocks away from Yankee Stadium. Round trip fare was $2 from North White Plains through Scarsdale, and $1.50 from Crestwood through Mount Vernon—a $1 discount from the normal coach fare at the time.

Interestingly enough, to facilitate faster egress the train made a reverse move to dispense passengers on the northbound platform, which had exits on both 162nd and 161st Streets, as opposed to the southbound platform which only exited near 162nd (this platform does not exist today—the current platform is located north of 162nd Street, with the end situated where the tracks for the Port Morris Branch used to split off from the Harlem. The location of the old Melrose platform is now covered by the Morrisania Air Rights housing project).

Anyone who rode the special train received a commemorative brochure which explained how to get to the stadium from the station, as well as included a list of players on both sides and current league rankings. We’ve posted some of these before, but I recently purchased a few new ones, and figured I’d share.

https://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsca.70815

https://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsca.70820

https://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/ppmsca.70826

On the way home, the second and fifth cars of the consist were bar cars, and likely the place where many fans drank away their sorrows after the Giants considerable losses.

These special trains were short lived, and although it might be funny to blame their cancellation on the Giant’s abysmal record, it probably had something more to do with the Central’s lackluster financial situation, leading to their merger with the Pennsylvania Railroad two years later.

The famous “Rut Milk” train passes through Mott Haven in the 1950s. The milk trains were eventually replaced by trucks. Photo by Victor Zollinsky.

Milk depots were established at many train depots, and local farmers could bring and sell their milk, which was then transported to the city. One of the Harlem’s most famous freights was the Rutland Milk train, which brought milk to New York City from Vermont – transferring from the Rutland Railroad to the Harlem in Chatham. Every day a swap would occur where a train full of milk changed hands at Chatham, exchanged for the previous day’s empties.

Today’s random tidbit from the archive is a letter from F.T. Hopkins to William Hooker. Hopkins was a milk dealer who operated the Harlem Railroad Milk Depot in New York City. The letter is addressed to Hooker at Wing’s Station – an earlier name for Wingdale.

Borden on the Harlem Line

New York Condensed Milk Company / Eagle Brand condensed milk promotional card.

Even if the milk transported by train to the city was considered “pure” and not of the “swill” variety, it did not last very long before spoilage in the days prior to refrigeration. Condensed milk stored in cans, however, could last for years without spoiling. Not only was condensed milk transported along the Harlem, it got its start here.

There are many ways to describe Gail Borden Jr.: a perpetual wanderer, deeply religious (anecdotal evidence suggests that he bought bibles for placement on the Harlem’s trains), eccentric inventor (he scared his friends by taking them on a ride straight into a river in a self-invented amphibious wagon – the “terraqueous machine”), an endlessly stubborn optimist that never gave up. All of those traits led him from his birthplace of Norwich, New York to Kentucky, Indiana, Mississippi, Texas, Connecticut, and ultimately back to New York and the Harlem Railroad to launch his most successful invention – condensed milk.

For some time Borden had been interested in preventing food from spoilage. One of his first food related inventions was a meat biscuit, made from rendered meat and flour or potato and baked into a cracker, which could be eaten as is, or crushed into boiling water to make soup. He also experimented with preserving and concentrating fruit to make juices, and making coffee extract which took up far less space than regular coffee. Despite winning prizes for the meat biscuit, none of those endeavors were commercial successes. After debts forced him to give up on the meat biscuit and sell some of his property to pay creditors, Borden wholeheartedly pursued his milk preservation idea in Connecticut – starting a factory in Wolcottville. He eventually ran out of money and that factory closed, later replaced by a different factory in Burrville. Unfortunately, the Financial Panic of 1857 marked the end of that venture as well.

The first successful condensed milk factory, Wassaic, New York

The original Borden factory today, now occupied by the Pawling Corporation, which manufactures architectural products.

A chance encounter on a train ride, however, brought Gail Borden and financer Jeremiah Milbank together, and Milbank found promise in Borden’s idea. With Milbank’s money, Borden founded the New York Condensed Milk Company in Wassaic, New York, right next the the tracks of the Harlem Railroad. Borden’s tenacious spirit had finally paid off this time around, as his product became a commercial success. Another factory was constructed along the Harlem in Brewster to keep up with demand – and condensed milk became a staple for members of the Union Army during the Civil War.

After Borden’s successes he moved back to Texas, but upon death was returned by train to New York. He forever remains next to the Harlem Line, buried in Woodlawn Cemetery with a large monument that bears the following quote:
“I tried and failed. I tried again and again and succeeded.”

Borden’s final resting place at Woodlawn Cemetery

Today’s artifact is from 1889 – a special Harlem Division brochure advertising railroad specials for the fair, including fare and admission. Held in White Plains at that time, eventually the land on which the fair was held was sold and led to several years of dormancy.

While the horse racing is, of course, to be expected, don’t forget the big event – the BABY SHOW! All the handsome babies of Westchester county are competing, after all!

The fair also featured a dog show and sale…

The main event – horse racing at the fair.

Midway at the Westchester County Fair, circa 1900. Photos from the Library of Congress.

After several years of dormancy, the fair was revived in the ’40s before going defunct again, only to be revived in the ’80s, and again later cancelled.

With the aid of old timetables, I was able to track the history of the banner, and the trains it once represented. Though the train number changed a few times, for the majority of it’s life, the it was for a Sunday-only morning train from New York to Chatham.

Unknown – 1958: Train 1053, which made a stop at Boston Corners.
1958 – June 30, 1964: Train 905. Ghent was blacked out in 1959 when it was removed as a stop.
July 1, 1964 – November 30, 1968: Train 909.
December 1, 1968 – March 19, 1972: Train 9009. Number was changed after the Penn Central merger.
March 20th, 1972 – unknown: Eliminated stations were covered in black paint, and used for Train 9013, a Saturday and Sunday train.

Early photo of Grand Central’s lower level, showing two departure banners, and the cabinets the banners were stored in when not being used.

After purchasing the banner, I was slightly torn as to what I should do with it. Keep it as is, as a testament to what happened when Penn Central eliminated the Upper Harlem? Or should I restore it, to what it once was, showing all of the original stops? Part of what swayed my decision was that it was obvious that the writing underneath was not completely gone. You could just barely make it out under the black layer of paint, but it was still there. I decided to see how difficult removing the black would be, and to my surprise, it wasn’t that hard. With a little bit of elbow grease, I revealed a line once hidden under black – “Visitors not permitted through gate”:

I made my decision. I was going to restore this banner. I started next on the paint covering the station names… Ghent and Chatham are revealed:

The big reveal was, of course, getting the original destination at the top of the banner to show. Dover Plains has morphed into Chatham…

After revealing everything that was hidden in black, much of the paint was chipped and fading. Repainting was the final step of the restoration.

Although it still needs a little bit of work, for the most part, the sign is done.

In the northeast, Romanesque style train stations were mostly associated with the Boston and Albany Railroad, which designed most of their main line stations in the style (for example, Chatham, which was a joint Harlem Division station), and many by pioneer architect Henry Hobson Richardson. However, the New York Central did have a few – Richardson proteges Shepley, Rutan, and Coolidge designed the Dobbs Ferry, Irvington, and Tarrytown stations located on the Hudson Line. The railroad also hired Robert Henderson Robertson to design stations at Canandaigua (extant, but heavily modified), Schenectady (demolished), and most notably, 138th Street.

R.H. Robertson was born in Philadelphia in 1849, and graduated Rutgers College in 1869. He started his architecture career working in the office of Henry Sims in Philadelphia, later moving to New York and working in the office of George B. Post. By 1871 he established his own architecture firm in New York City, designing a wide array of buildings from libraries to churches, as well as banks, train stations and private homes. Over the years he worked in various styles, including Queen Anne and Victorian Gothic, but by 1880 became heavily influenced by Richardson’s Romanesque revival style. Robertson was, however, described as “[taking] up the style in his own way.” His prolific New York City career led him to design various buildings that are today designated landmarks, including the Lincoln Building at Union Square, and Fire Engine Company 55‘s firehouse in Little Italy.

    
138th Street Station shortly after construction. Original photos from the Andrew Dickson White Architectural Photograph Collection, Cornell University Library. Photo restoration work by HarlemLine.com

Constructed in 1886, Robertson’s design for 138th Street was a 2 story brick building with peak tile roof, at a cost of $65,000 (about $1.6 million today). Typical of the Richardsonian Romanesque revival style, the building featured various arches, squat columns, cylindrical towers, and rusticated stone. Adding to the character of the building was a large clock tower, 80 feet high, and catching the eyes of all who passed by. Originally the station was at grade level, with two tracks crossing 138th Street, however upgrades were soon needed.

With the railroad’s steadily-growing service, and new requirements set forth by the US Army in regards to clearance for ships around New York City, significant upgrades were made to the right of way in the south Bronx and northern Manhattan in the 1890s. Primary among the changes was a viaduct raising the tracks above 106th Street to 149th Street, a new bridge crossing the Harlem River, expanding the tracks from two to four across the river and allowing better clearance for ships passing below, and adjusting the track curvature in the Bronx. The 138th Street Station was unfortunately in the way of these plans, and dealing with the station became an additional part of the project. Then was, of course, a rosy time, with railroads at their height and what appeared to be a never ending stream of profits. New York Central brass gave the go-ahead to draw up plans for the nearly insurmountable task of moving the large station without harming its delicate brickwork and intricate terra-cotta designs.

 
The moving of the great station, images published by the Scientific American in 1894.

Diagram of the station after moving, with new platforms.

The railroad hired B. C. Miller, who was no stranger to moving the near impossible – having relocated the 5000 ton Brighton Beach Hotel a few years previously. Despite being lighter than the hotel, the station posed more difficulty as its weight was very unevenly distributed. The tower alone – 19 feet square and 80 feet high – was estimated at 500 tons, and the entire station about 1200 tons. Using a series of fourteen jack screws, nineteen men gradually turned them in unison, timed by the sound of a bell. With each turn the station very gradually moved, taking an entire week to be situated in its new location. Not everyone was impressed with the move, however. In an article discussing the work of Robertson, the author described the changes as “[having] been carried out with a quite ruthless disregard of or insensibility to the merits of the work, and have destroyed or mutilated the dependencies that were integral parts of the composition.” Likely the author refers to the new porches and walkways erected around the building, allowing passengers to access the newly elevated track platforms from the second story of the structure.

 
 

New York City’s staff photographer Percy Sperr captured these images of the station, circa 1935. From the collection of the New York Public Library.

By the late 1950s, the cash-strapped New York Central looked to sell many of its passenger stations, and 138th Street station was one of several on the Harlem Line to be put up for sale (most prominently, Mount Vernon was sold in 1959). By 1964 a buyer – Golden Eagle Inc – had materialized. A real estate development company run by John A. Dilliard, Golden Eagle found value in the 56,517 square feet of land attached to the sale, but not the station itself. (Dilliard attempted to buy land on both sides of 138th Street near the station, which later led to legal battles with the bankrupt Penn Central and the City of New York) New York Central’s employee magazine Headlight paints a rosy picture of the sale of the “historic landmark” in its June 1964 edition, calling the depot “the finest and most complete way station in the country” upon construction. The more realistic depiction, however, made the front page of the New York Times on Sunday, April 26, 1964: “Picturesque Depot to Be Razed in Bronx.” For reportedly $170,000 (approximately $1.3 million in today’s dollars) the New York Central parted with the old station, and it was torn down shortly thereafter.

 

Trains at 138th Street in 1958.

 
138th Street in photo and in paint – Alfred D Crimi painted this rendition of the station circa 1950.

 
Alfred C Loonam photographs of 138th Street, circa 1955. Photos from the Museum of the City of New York.

Whether anyone mourned the loss of this great station is unknown. Its destruction came right on the heels of the loss of the great Pennsylvania Station, though it was a year shy of the establishment of the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. Though there is no doubt that had the Commission existed they would have bestowed this noteworthy station with a Landmark title, it is uncertain if anyone would have truly fought the railroad if it pressed for sale and demolition, as many did for Grand Central. Even with the loss of its grand depot, 138th Street remained a stop on the line, with a small replacement station constructed by the Central. Eventually all stations were to receive high-level platforms to accommodate the line’s new “Metropolitan” MU cars, and the station’s curvature and tight space deemed it not worthy of such an upgrade. The November 28, 1972 timetable is the last to list the 138th Street, and shortly after even the small replacement station was demolished. With a subsequent track realignment, little trace of a station ever being here remains. It seems that although 138th Street could survive one major landscape change, it couldn’t survive a second.

Other than among the biggest rail buffs, 138th Street station has been largely forgotten, with information about it hard to come by. Several name changes over the years no doubt adds to the confusion and enigma surrounding this place. Although the architect always knew it at 138th Street (it was this name that was designed in terra cotta on the station’s front), many (including the railroad) referred to the station in the 1800s and early 1900s by the surrounding neighborhood’s name, Mott Haven. The IRT established a subway station across the street which also went by the name Mott Haven, but a local businessman petitioned the subway in 1921 to change the station name due to confusion between it and the next stop of Mott Avenue (today’s 149th – Grand Concourse station). Following suit, the name Mott Haven fell out of favor for even the New York Central’s station, but the railroad was also known to simply call it The Bronx. After spending long hours searching all three names of this station (including examining rolls of microfilm for property records at the Bronx Business Center) and slowly gathering an array of tidbits, I was able to weave what seems to be the most complete history to date of this lost station. Although the station itself might be gone, there is still a story to be told – one of 138th Street’s current state and future.

In Bill Volkmer’s widely-forwarded slideshows of NH locomotives, you’ll find this shot at 138th Street

Over its 184-year history, the New York and Harlem Railroad has certainly seen stations come and go. Much of the railroad’s abandoned former right of way in Columbia County, for example, has reverted back to wilderness. However, it is hard to imagine any part of New York City proper reverting back to the wilds. In some ways, though, 138th Street did return to that state. After the great depot was knocked down in 1964, nothing else was ever constructed on the land south of 138th Street. Once the station itself was finally eliminated in 1973, and the underpass covered up, the slices of land next to the tracks on both sides of 138th sat dormant. Abandoned, to become slowly reclaimed by nature (and at some point reclaimed in property ownership by the City of New York). Around 2008, however, various individuals and groups including For A Better Bronx and More Gardens! noticed the land on the south side and worked to create a community garden there. By the winter of 2009, La Finca del Sur was founded on the site of the former station platform and exit, and the garbage and high weeds were gradually removed from the lot. In their stead came planting beds and trees. Largely led by Latina and Black women, the farm has plots open for members to grow their own plants, and occasionally holds farmers markets and events for the community. Members have the ability to further their knowledge through practical applications in the garden, as well as taking classes at the NY Botanical Garden in subjects such as soil testing, composting, and pruning.

You’ll find a wide and varied amount of things growing in La Finca: sunflowers for phytoremediation, plums, apples, pears, peaches, grapes, marigolds for attracting insects, roses, strawberries, onions, mint, garlic, cilantro, lavender, basil, tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, and more. Metro-North trains rumble by every few minutes, and the ground underfoot vibrates with the passage of a subway train below. Among the planting beds are various grates that lead directly down to the subway tracks, and the occasional message from the platform’s PA speakers can be just barely heard. The grates serve as an emergency egress from the subway, but are old and rusted, and now surrounded by protective orange fencing erected by the MTA.

While the loss of such a monument as 138th Street is quite heartbreaking, from the ashes has slowly risen this farm – something that the people of the South Bronx can be proud of. Many of the people I met at La Finca were unaware of the grand station that once stood there, but perhaps now that the history of this place is known, the legacy of 138th Street will live on.

  
 
  
 
   
  

Special thanks to Marilyn Ibach from the Prints and Photographs Division at the Library of Congress and Nancy Ortiz-Surun, Gloria Weiss, and Wilfred Gonzalez at La Finca del Sur for their contributions to this post and my research.

La Finca del Sur is always looking for donations and volunteers – if you can spare a hand, drop them a line at infosbufc@gmail.com.

Much of Daniels’ promoting came down to a persistent tagline – “Send a stamp to George H. Daniels.” Any soul that would send off a letter to the man in Grand Central, and enclosing a two-cent stamp – of any country, in fact – would be returned travel-related literature pertaining to their specific interests. Perhaps a businessman would get a map of global trade lines, undoubtedly featuring the fine rails of the New York Central and its connections stretching across the United States. A science-minded fellow would find descriptions and diagrams of mighty steam locomotives in use by the railroad, or the newest technology found in use on the road. And a sportsman might find a guide to fishing in upstate New York, complete with photos of the varied fish found within each body of water. Daniels and his team created a litany of brochures for just about any interest, railroad or not. For the more philosophical, there was the reprint of Elbert Hubbard’s “A Message to Garcia” – of no relation to the railroad, yet complete with a map of the line as a reference point. Certainly one of his most prolific publications, it can only be argued that after being printed by the railroad the story went “viral” – and Daniels promised to print as many copies of it as were desired, even if it took a century to do so. The story was subsequently made into two different motion pictures, sold over 40 million copies, and was translated into 37 languages, largely due to Daniels’ influence.

One of the early publications by Daniels for the Chicago & Pacific, and his photo from 1889

Born in 1842, George Henry Daniels grew up on the farms of Hampshire, Illinois, not far from the border with the territories of Wisconsin and Iowa. Daniels landed his first railroad job at the age of fifteen for the Northern Missouri Railroad, one year before that road completed its main line from St. Louis to Coatsville. Fifteen years later when that road fell into financial difficulty, Daniels made the jump to the Chicago & Pacific Railroad, as a general freight and passenger agent, landing an office in Chicago. In between those years, however, Daniels’ labor of love was contributing local news to a newspaper in Chicago. He continued his writing while in the employ of the Chicago & Pacific, using it to promote the railroad. He published a historical account of the road in 1873. He spent eight years at the Chicago & Pacific, before returning his previous railroad company, which had by then been absorbed into the Wabash, St. Louis and Pacific.

Daniels later moved on to hold positions as the commissioner of the Iowa Trunk Line Association, and further out on the frontier as the commissioner of the Colorado Traffic Association not long after that territory was granted statehood, and the Utah Traffic Association when it was still a mere territory. By 1886 hw had become the commissioner of the Central Passenger Committee, which later became the Central Traffic Association, of which he was elected vice-chairman. He then rose to the chairmanship of the Chicago Eastbound Passenger Committee, which attracted the interest of the New York Central, who offered him a position as the General Passenger Agent of the railroad in New York City.

Brochures published by Daniels during his tenure as General Passenger Agent, and the special stamp featuring the Empire State Express

Though one could hardly imagine that a single man out of an office in New York could effect the prunes of California, the apples of Oregon, or the mail from Australia, Daniels’ influence was both far and wide. Commanding both the trains of the Central and the power to spread a news story, Daniels served up prunes and apples – carrying them by freight to the east coast in conjunction with the Southern Pacific, having them served in all train dining cars, and promoting their superiority in the news. As for Australia’s mail, how exactly did a letter mailed from Australia, bound for London actually arrive in the year 1899? Using the Central’s trains to set a record, mail traveled by ship to the west coast, was transported by train to the east coast, and then sent yet again by boat to its final destination – a grand total of 32 days. In instances like these Daniels felt he was not only a promoter of the railroad, but of the entire country of the United States – showing the world the mighty steam trains and other products of American ingenuity.

Harlem Division timetables that bear the name George H. Daniels

Pull any timetable from the era printed for the New York Central, and on the bottom you’ll likely find Daniels’ name. In addition to the brochures he printed touting travel destinations, Daniels launched a full blown travel magazines from Grand Central Station, naming it the “Four-Track News” (the Central’s moniker at the time, the “Four Track System,” was coined by Daniels, highlighting its history as the world’s first four tracked railroad). That magazine operated in some capacity until 2003, under the names Travel and Travel Holiday. He also coined the name “Empire State Express” in 1890, and was tasked with promoting the Central’s newest train that made the trip from New York to Buffalo in just over six hours, making it the fastest scheduled passenger train in North America. Later on, he further promoted the Empire State Express with the locomotive 999’s 112.5 MPH speed test, specifically targeted to get people’s interest on the Central in time for The Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, where the record-breaking locomotive was placed on display. Daniels even managed to get the US Postal Service to print a commemorative stamp featuring the locomotive, one the first stamps printed in the 20th century. Arguably, however, Daniels’ most notable achievement was the concept and launch of the “20th Century Limited” – the New York Central’s most famous train.

Retiring from his position as General Passenger Agent in 1905, Daniels became the director of the New York Central’s new advertising department. He served in that capacity until 1907, when he retired permanently, living his final year split between Buffalo and Lake Placid, before passing away in 1908.

Note: Wikipedia and other sources claim that Daniels was at one time a patent medicine salesman, or that he once worked on steam boats, however his contemporary biographies, and various obituaries make no mention of this. The only sources I can find for this claim were newspaper articles written more than 50 years after Daniels’ death, of which I am interpreting as erroneous.

A collection of brochures published by Daniels during his tenure as General Passenger Agent

Strangely enough, the railroad also played a part in the establishment of various cemeteries. As the city itself grew larger, not only did some former rural cemeteries get displaced, people with money wished to be interred in an attractive rural setting. Woodlawn Cemetery was established in 1863, and took in the remains of cemeteries displaced in the city proper, and grew to become a venerable place of final rest for thousands. Such growth was undoubtedly assisted by the nearby railroad, easily allowing loved ones to visit the graves of their friends and family. Further north along the Harlem Division, the Kensico Cemetery was also established as a beautiful, rural final resting place. Truly appealing to the wealthy of the city, Kensico offered a private railcar for rent for funerals which would transport people directly from Grand Central to the cemetery’s very own train station.

Though Woodlawn and Kensico may be the two most commonly known cemeteries that owe their growth to the Harlem Railroad, there is another slightly more unique cemetery that also falls into that category – the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery. Just like its brethren, the Hartsdale cemetery has seen gun salutes, bagpipers, and is the final resting place for thousands of friends – however the majority of them just happen to not be human. Buried within its grounds you’ll find the graves of war dogs, police dogs (including at least one MTAPD K9), a search and rescue dog that lost its life on September 11th, thousands of other cats and dogs, humans that opted for their cremains to be interred together with their beloved pets, and even a lion. It is also home to the War Dog Memorial, celebrating the animals that fought alongside their human handlers in the Great War.

Established in 1896, the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery (originally called the Hartsdale Canine Cemetery) was simply an apple orchard at summer home of New York City veterinarian Samuel Johnson. After a distraught patron’s animal passed, he offered a spot for the animal to be buried on his land. After a newspaper got wind of the story and wrote about it, calls came in from many more distraught pet owners, and Johnson established a three acre section of his orchard for further pets to be buried. The usual arrangement entailed a deceased pet being delivered to Johnson’s office in New York, and from there the animal would be fitted into a casket and taken to Grand Central, where they would be loaded onto a Harlem Division train to Hartsdale. As news of the cemetery spread far and wide, one canine was even shipped by rail from Kalamazoo, Michigan, to be laid to rest at Hartsdale. Though the cemetery has grown since then, it is remains an idyllic place for a furry loved one to be buried.

Recognizing the cemetery’s long history, it was recently placed on the National Register of Historic Places. Though it may not be as close to the railroad as Woodlawn or Kensico, today’s Harlem Line played an integral part of the Hartsdale Pet Cemetery’s history. It is, however, within walking distance of Hartsdale station, and worth a visit to anyone in the area.

For those interested, the cemetery will be holding its annual Tree Lighting Ceremony on Saturday, December 6th at 4 PM, along with a “four legged” food drive to help local animal shelters and rescue groups.

                       

Postcard view of Mount Vernon station

From the platform level one would hardly notice the history that surrounds this Metro-North station. A walk around the property at street level one discovers several exits long closed and covered in concrete. Behind masses of tall weeds is another former exit, the concrete marked with a 1916 date. The diamond in the rough, however, is the old station building, or rather its fa̤ade. A sgraffito panel bears the traditional symbols of transportation Рthe winged wheel and the caduceus Рpositioned between the text identifying the station as one of the New York Central Railroad. Besides this panel the adornments on the building are few, with the exception of a few sculpted flowers, surrounded by what could possibly be oak leaves.

  

Detail shots of the sgraffito panel on Mount Vernon West station.

Though the building is now covered in grime and graffiti, it is undeniable that at the time of completion this red brick building with limestone paneling was quite beautiful. Its sgraffito panel – an art technique which uses colored plaster applied to a moistened surface and scratched to reveal details – is unique among local train stations. While the building is not quite as embellished as the station at Yonkers, it is still a significant building reflecting the importance of Mount Vernon.

Q&d map of Mount Vernon showing the locations of the old and new stations, and how the rail line was rerouted through town. Based on a map found in the 1914 edition of the G.W. Bromley & Co. Atlas of Westchester County, via the David Rumsey Map Collection. If you want to download the high res original, which shows individual tracks and sidings click here.

In the early 1900s Mount Vernon was experiencing significant development and was certainly an important stop on the Harlem Division, certainly warranting a new, larger station. However, there was yet another important reason why the town needed a new train station. If you’ve ever had the joy of being arrested by the MTAPD and taken to their station in Mount Vernon you are familiar with MacQuesten Parkway, the street on which the police station is located. MacQuesten Parkway was once known as Railroad Avenue, and the Harlem Division ran not far from where that police station is today. As the Harlem Division was electrified up to North White Plains, some adjustments were made in its route, one of which was in Mount Vernon. Just north of the border with the Bronx the line was raised and shifted about two blocks to the west. This allowed the elimination of a grade crossing in the city, and allowed the line to be four tracked.

An older face of Mount Vernon – the #7 trolley line connecting Yonkers and Mount Vernon ran right next to the station. The first photo, from the book Metropolitan New York’s Third Avenue Railway System shows an eastbound trolley just west of the station. The lower photo from SoYo Sunset shows two trolleys crossing under the New York Central’s tracks, and a northbound train departing Mount Vernon station (which is at left, out of the frame).

An array of businesses have found homes in the old station over the years, from a silversmith to a pharmacy, a photography shop, and even a karate studio in the building’s upper floor. The north wing that was demolished and rebuilt has been various banks over the years – in the ’80s the Bank of New York, today Chase. Original details on the inside are very few, but some design work can be found on the walls of an upper hallway.

The current train station, which consists of the tunnels under the tracks, is hardly noteworthy except for the old “M Central” signage and the Arts for Transit piece by Martha Jackson-Jarvis. Upstairs on the platform level one can see the back of the once great train station, now covered in graffiti. It is mildly amusing to note that the words sgraffito – the art found on the station, and graffiti – the spray marks tagged on the historical building both share the same origins. I generally appreciate the graffiti along rail lines, but it is a shame to see it mar a nearly hundred year old station… it seems to be the final, sad outcome of a once proud station, reflecting the downfall of a once great railroad, now long gone.

 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
  

Months before even being scheduled to open, Fairfield Metro was already covered in graffiti, perhaps by citizens unhappy about the name ;) [image credit]

It isn’t too hard to find a few awkward names along Metro-North’s tracks – just note the Port Jervis Line, which has the honor of having stations with the two longest names in the system. Looking back at the history of the line, the main portion of rail which went through the busy centers of the local towns was abandoned in favor of a roundabout ride through the sticks previously used only for freight. Middletown, which previously had a station, was left without one. As to not forget the passengers it once served, a station was established on the new rail line and was called Middletown, despite it actually being in the town of Walkill. Thus the station was dubbed Middletown – Town of Wallkill. Salisbury Mills – Cornwall follows a similar convention, being located in Cornwall, but a (far older) station had once been historically located in Salisbury Mills.

State Hospital and Wingdale stations were combined to create Harlem Valley – Wingdale.

Mashup station names aren’t exclusive to the west side of the Hudson – one is located right on the Harlem Line. Harlem Valley – Wingdale is a combination of two former station names, both long closed. The Harlem Division once had two different stations in Wingdale – one for the Harlem Valley State Hospital, which went by State Hospital for short, and one just called Wingdale. In 1977 the two stations were consolidated, and given the name Harlem Valley – Wingdale to represent the two. If any station is deserving a name update, it would certainly be this one. With our increasing dependence on technology for train information, and Metro-North’s lack of naming consistency, finding information about this station can be a pain. While sales/ticketing seems to prefer Harlem Valley W’dale, Customer Service’s preferred abbreviation is Hm Valley Wingdale – causing digital havoc. For almost two entire years riders could not access mobile train information for the station unless they knew the magic “hm” abbreviation, which of course, nobody ever mentioned (after moving to the area I complained about it several times… the bug has since been quietly fixed at some point within the past few months). Despite the history attached to the name, isn’t it about time we end the difficulty and just call the station Wingdale again?

While politics likely played a role in the aforementioned naming of Fairfield Metro over the public chosen Blackrock, it was certainly the case in the renaming of a station in New York. In the early 2000s the town of Southeast petitioned Metro-North to change the name of Brewster North station. Southeast had been founded in the late 1700s, but most people knew nothing of it – only of Brewster, one of its villages, because of the train station. That station was established in 1849, when James and Walter Brewster invited the New York and Harlem Railroad to build a station on some land they had recently acquired. From then on the area became known as Brewster’s, and later just Brewster. In the late 1970’s a new station on the Harlem Line was established to provide ample commuter parking, and named Brewster North – much to the chagrin of the town. The railroad had dictated the geography of their town once, and they weren’t about to let it happen again – hence the request for Metro-North to change the name to Southeast.

Brewster North was changed to Southeast at the request of the town.

The official statement will always be that the change from Brewster North to Southeast was to eliminate confusion between that station and Brewster village, but considering that ticket machines still list it (ten years after the fact) as Southeast (Brewster North) just seems to make it more confusing (and quite a mouthful). If the names are really so confusing, why don’t we also change other potentially confusing names? Maybe White Plains and North White Plains (NWP would have an obvious other name – Holland Avenue, which was formerly used as a platform for changing trains when there was no electric further north)? Or East Norwalk and South Norwalk? Maybe Mount Vernon East and Mount Vernon West (which historically were never problematic, as they were on two different railroads)? Explaining the true motivation rather succinctly, a town of Southeast employee stated: “I wear a name tag that indicates I am town clerk of the Town of Southeast. Nobody ever recognizes it. Perhaps, now they will.”

Sometimes station renamings are subtle. I first became interested in station, and local area names several years ago when I moved to Goldens Bridge. Or is it Golden’s Bridge? At the time I had no idea investigating a mere apostrophe would open Pandora’s box. Unlike other station names like Hartsdale, Brewster, Wingdale, and Millerton – which can all be directly attributed to the name of a specific person – nobody really knows the true origin of Goldens Bridge. Old railroad maps, and even transcripts from the New York state senate have used the alternate Golding’s Bridge. Despite the sketchy details, we know it was named for a man, and a bridge he likely owned. Wherever the namesake bridge once was, the spot is likely flooded by the reservoir today. The man for which it was named remains even more of a mystery. According to Lewisboro town historian Maureen Koehl, his name may not have even been Golden, “the bridge may have belonged to a gentleman called Golding, Goulding, or Colden. I have heard all of these names.” Either way, the preferred name today is Goldens Bridge – without the apostrophe. Metro-North quietly omitted that little piece of punctuation from signage in 2003. I’m still waiting for them to come and retire the apostrophe in Purdy’s.

So why all this talk of names? I happened to catch an article this weekend regarding some folks in the Bronx already disgruntled with the name of their new Metro-North station – a station that is only in the earliest planning stages (and not even guaranteed to be built). Fortunately for us, the citizens say that they are open to compromise, “we’re okay with sharing the name, we just want to make sure it’s in there.” That can mean only one thing – get ready for a nice, long, hyphenated name. Perhaps it will even be able to compete with Middletown – Town of Wallkill!

The photos capture an intriguing “slice of life” on the Harlem Division – we see Hillsdale’s station agent, Elliott Hunter, and his wife Marion. We see the occasional crash and derailment that brought gawkers from all around. And we see the softer side of the Harlem, as it hosted the “Plug the Dike Train,” collecting donations for victims of the 1953 North Sea flood. In all, this is a great little set of photos… thanks again for sharing these with us, Ron!