The Power Control Center oversees the operation of over 218 substations dispersed throughout the city. Information from these locations is relayed to the panels, giving operators the ability to see what’s going on and to control the subway’s power from a centralized location. For unexpected changes or ongoing situations, such as police presence, an array of magnets can be placed upon the board to keep everyone apprised (if there was a special cat-faced magnet for de-energizing the tracks for a feline rescue, I did not see it). Hidden within the collection of tracks and magnets are other tidbits, including the message, “in the I.R.T. failure is not an option”—assumedly a more down-to-Earth play on the fictional words uttered by the heroic operators employed in another green hued control room.

If you get a retro nuclear control room vibe from the seafoam green panels, that’s not surprising. Many control rooms—from the bridge of the Queen Mary 2 to the nerve centers of nuclear power plants around the globe—use a similar color scheme. Earlier subway control panels used white lines atop a black background, similar to the model boards found in old towers, but were upgraded to these green colored panels in the early ’80s. Design tastes and prevailing science often shift, and at the time such installations were considered optimal for readability, preventing eye fatigue and reducing glare. For nuclear applications dark colored backgrounds on Human-System Interfaces remain inadvisable (though a light gray seems to be the popular choice over dated seafoam today), but many railroads still use negative polarity color schemes in their control centers, and such “dark mode” schemes are popular with consumers. Ultimately, the best solution for readability depends heavily on ambient light, which is probably why Amtrak’s CETC dispatchers have long used black background interfaces in dark rooms.

In the collection of photos I snapped while at the Power Control Center you’ll note that Loby makes a reappearance, in red and looking very serious, along with a much happier photo of Eric, who works in the PCC. Sometimes it is pretty easy to tell when someone really enjoys their work, and Eric says that he is very proud of the job done by all at the Power Control Center. With over 665 miles of mainline track and 472 stations, the employees of the PCC certainly bear a large responsibility to keep the lights shining and the trains running on a subway system that uses more power than the state of Vermont.

On a whim, I sent Mr. Lobenstein a note with a few questions regarding rotary converters related to the article I was writing. Although I had a pretty good idea that throwing a bucket of sand into one would hardly paralyze an entire transit system, my unsated curiosity insisted on knowing what might actually happen. In all honesty, I wasn’t expecting an answer. Yet the next morning Loby, as he is known among friends, surprised me with a response. Through various email correspondences he humored my eccentric inquisitiveness, though there were times I was certain his mind was torn between whether I was either some garden variety terrorist, a time traveler plotting nefarious deeds for the past, or a third rate fiction writer penning a dreadful period piece where the saboteur antagonist would at least be historically accurate.

Loby’s wisdom on the subject of rotary converters comes from a combination of both practical application and historical knowledge. He started his 40 year long career with the subways at the Essex substation in Brooklyn. While working he uncovered a treasure trove of artifacts that piqued his interest and inspired his secondary career—Power Historian. Not only were there stories, blueprints, and photographs to collect at Essex, there were also rotary converters. While hardly feasible to take one of these imposing machines home after a long day of work, Loby may have done the next best thing—making sure a few of them are preserved and restored for the benefit of future generations.

Perhaps it is just my delusions of grandeur speaking, but I feel like I understand the desire to preserve the past and the calling to be a torch bearer of sorts, carrying the knowledge of yesterday forward. There is a certain exhilaration in rediscovering a bit of long lost lore, yet I can only imagine the immense sense of pride that would derive from such a noteworthy undertaking as saving a rotary converter or dynamo and restoring it to working condition.

After using his insight to publish the aforementioned article about rotary converters and saboteurs, Loby was generous enough to offer me the chance to see a real one up close and personal—or as close as you’d want to be to one without injuring yourself. I met Loby one chilly afternoon at old Substation #13 to get a glimpse of Rotary #1, which operated from 1904 to 1999. Manufactured by Westinghouse, #1 was a 1,500kW unit that first powered the third rail for the IRT, the city’s original underground subway, and later its successors. While many rotaries converted AC to DC power inside nearly 75 substations scattered throughout the city for the subways, the obsolete machines were gradually being replaced with more modern equipment. But thanks to the efforts of various people who felt preservation imperative—including Loby—not all of these dignified dinosaurs were destined for the scrap heap. #1 proved an optimal candidate for restoration as its control circuits were basically intact, and the rest of the unit was largely in good condition—a testament to the stately old machine’s fortitude, and to the decades of skilled maintainers that Loby likened to magicians.

Today Substation #13 provides two different glimpses into the power history of New York City’s subways—the magnificent rotaries of yesteryear, and the decidedly less spellbinding solid state rectifiers that have replaced them. Most notably, #1 can be fired up as a DC motor, spinning at 250 revolutions per minute and enthralling visitors such as myself. I endeavored to capture the mechanical beauty of the rotary and some of the panels, dials, levers, and switches found within Substation #13, which is truly a magical place—I hope I’ve done them justice.

Later on I learned that Loby appeared on the first season of Mythbusters—and yes, it was the episode where they tested whether one would be electrocuted if they were to relieve themself on the third rail. I suppose my inquiries were not quite the craziest he’s ever heard after all…

But those posters are so yesterday, old news. Now you can wear your very own WTF T-Shirt. All it takes is a minimum donation of 14 dollars, and you can then ride the subway in style! I ordered mine last night… once it arrives I’ll certainly take some pictures, and possibly post them up.

The only thing I keep thinking is that MTA made things worse by rejecting the ad. The whole rejection has been getting a lot of coverage, had the ad actually been put up would people be saying as much? Would these T-Shirts even exist? Maybe not.