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

The famous High Bridge, New York City’s oldest bridge.

The facility here is, of course, named after the Aqueduct Bridge, or better known as High Bridge. The bridge’s roots stretch all the way back to 1848, making it the oldest bridge in New York City. As one would gather from its original name, the bridge was an important part of the Croton Aqueduct, supplying New York City with fresh water. Originally a stone arch bridge, five of the arches were replaced with one steel arch in 1928 to allow easier water navigation under the bridge. By this time the bridge was largely obsolete, and no longer carrying water – however it did serve a secondary purpose as a pedestrian crossing. That crossing was closed in the 1970s, until it was recently reopened last month after many years of restoration. From the newly reopened pedestrian crossing, one can get quite a good view of what is now a Metro-North railroad facility below.

  
 
  
   
  

The view from the newly reopened High Bridge

Today, Highbridge is where you will find Metro-North’s Car Appearance Facility, where both interior and exteriors of train cars are cleaned. Highbridge is one of three Metro-North washing facilities, and it possesses state-of-the-art brushes and sprayers that use 280 gallons of water per minute – 200 gallons of which are recycled, making it more environmentally friendly. 20 cars can be cleaned every shift, and each car gets this full treatment about every 60 days. The washing is completely computerized, and does not require an operator.

Heading into the Highbridge car wash. Photo by Paul Pesante.

In addition to the appearance facility, Highbridge provides storage tracks for trains that is close to the city. While in days gone past, the New York Central used Mott Haven for this purpose, most of Mott Haven’s tracks were ripped out long ago. Highbridge has stepped up to fill that gap, which will especially be needed due to the East Side Access project, where Metro-North needed to give up quite a few storage tracks in Grand Central in order to bring Long Island Rail Road trains to the east side.

The original passenger station at High Bridge in 1961. Photo by Ed Davis, Sr., from the collection of David Pirmann. By the 1970s the station had some scheduled trains, while on others it was listed as a flag stop.

Other noteworthy details about Highbridge are that you can see some old remnants of the New York Central’s Putnam Division here – Highbridge was a point of transfer between the Hudson and Putnam Divisions. It is also where the Oak Point Link joins with the Hudson Line, permitting freights to avoid the bottleneck of Mott Haven to get to Oak Point Yard.

The evening CSX garbage train waits at Highbridge after coming on to the Hudson Line from the Oak Point Link

Anyway, let’s take a quick behind-the-scenes glimpse of Metro-North’s official employee station at Highbridge… the only place we neglected on our original tour of the Hudson Line.

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.

A very happy 184th birthday to the New York & Harlem Railroad, New York City’s very first railroad, chartered on this day in 1831. Started as a humble street railroad using horses for motive power, it eventually grew to reach Westchester, Putnam, Dutchess, and Columbia counties, and is the origin of today’s Harlem Line.

We’ve posted many things about the history of the Harlem Railroad over the years, so if you’re interested in taking a walk down memory lane, be sure to check some of these old favorites out:

• The Streetcars of the New York & Harlem Railroad
• 180 Years of History – the Harlem Railroad
• Remembering the Upper Harlem Line, Part 1
• Remembering the Upper Harlem Line, Part 2
• Remembering the Upper Harlem Line, Part 3
• Postcards on the Harlem Line
• Timetables of the Harlem Line

The Mott Haven wye area in 1908, note the turntable and large yard area for storing trains.

A modern look at the Mott Haven wye, much of the infrastructure from above is long gone.

In addition to having mechanical shops, water towers, a turntable and more, at Mott Haven, all types of passenger cars were cleaned and sterilized with the modern technologies of the day. Train conductors reports were reviewed for any mentions of ill people or deaths, wherein that car would be taken out of service and cleaned. The car would be sealed and treated for four hours with formaldehyde gas. This procedure would also be used every time immigrants had occupied the car. A normal train car, however, would have the floors scrubbed and the carpets and furnishings cleaned up. Scrubbing of every nook and cranny of the car occurred once every three months, except in the winter, when that happened once a week. Dust was removed with compressed air weekly, and after each journey the lavatory would be scrubbed and treated with muriatic acid. Four times a year the floors and seat legs were repainted, and every year the carpets and seatback cushions were removed and re-dyed.

A sleeping car which carried an ill person is prepped for formaldehyde gas treatment

Cleaning the interior of a car with compressed air

A crew of cleaners stationed at Mott Haven would enter each car when it arrived and remove all portable items, like the aisle carpet, bottoms and backs of seats, curtains, mattresses and linens. Blankets would be treated with compressed air and freshened on a rack in the sun. Soiled blankets would of course, be washed. Unless outwardly dirty, blankets would only be fully washed every six months. Linens would be boiled, and carpets, mattresses and curtains would also be blown with compressed air. Cars were cleaned on special platforms at Mott Haven, which had pipes and hoses for the compressed air spread throughout. Lastly, wood would be polished and oiled, as was the exterior of the car.

Removing the mattresses from the sleeping cars

Cleaning the dust from bedding with compressed air at Mott Haven

Cleaning the blankets and allowing them to air dry

Although the cleaning methods used seem rather ineffective to modern ears, this was the general process used by the New York Central in 1905. Thankfully at that time they didn’t have to worry about things such as Ebola – though the main concern seemed to be the spread of tuberculosis among train passengers.

Mott Haven in the 1960s. Photo by Charles Warren.

Eventually both Grand Central Depot and Station became too small to accommodate the ever-increasing amount of trains operating into the city, and thus Mott Haven was often used as a storage point for trains. With the construction of the Terminal and its plentiful tracks, the Mott Haven facility certainly lost some of its stature. Nonetheless, it retained a laundry and mechanical department, among other services, until the 1960s. Reflecting the ever-changing landscape of railroad technology, the turntable was at some point removed for a switching tower, which still stands (albeit in poor shape), though it is merely used for storage today. The wye is still an important part of the railroad, and used to accommodate interline Harlem and New Haven Line trains going direct to Yankee Stadium. On most days, however, you’ll find one of Metro-North’s GP35s in wait, kept company by a small population of the Bronx’s feral cats.

Hudson Line tracks and the old MO tower under the yard’s bright nighttime floodlights

After the recent, tragic crash on the Harlem Line, the topic of third rail has become a talking point in the media. For those not exceptionally familiar with railroading (who have been frequenting the site as of late), electric trains can be powered by various methods, and most railroad systems picked one method of power for their road. Since Metro-North is made up of two historical railroad systems – the New York Central, and the New York, New Haven, and Hartford – you will not find just one method of powering electric trains here. One common type of power, which is seen on the New Haven Line, is the overhead catenary system. Wires above the train carry electricity, and trains have special “arms” called pantographs that reach up and connect with these wires.

Drawing of the bottom contact third rail invented by William Wilgus and Frank Sprague, from the patent documentation.

The other common method of train power, the third rail, comes in a few different “flavors,” but the concept on each is similar – an extra rail that conducts electricity is placed on the ground, and special shoes on the train connect with it and draw power. The New York City subway and Long Island Railroad, for example, use an over running third rail, where power is collected from the top of the third rail. This is the oldest type of third rail power. Metro-North, however, uses a method of under running third rail, which is also known as bottom contact third rail (or the Wilgus-Sprague system, for its inventors). As one would gather from the name, the power is collected from the bottom of the third rail. This method was especially invented for use in Grand Central Terminal, and was an improvement on the original by inventors William Wilgus (Chief Engineer of the New York Central) and Frank Sprague for safety. It is still used on the Harlem and Hudson Lines today, and is what was involved the recent crash.

Before I continue on, let’s break down some facts about the third rail in Valhalla, and about under running third rail:

• The railroad tracks running through the area in question have been in service since 1846.
• Under running third rail has been in service in the New York Metropolitan area since 1906.
• Third rail in the area in question was installed in 1983 when the Harlem Line was electrified to Southeast (then Brewster North).
• Over running third rail (like the LIRR uses) is the oldest type of third rail. Under-running third rail was developed later as a safer methodology, as it was less likely to electrocute a worker or trespasser, and better covered from rain, snow, and ice.
• The original NYC subway (IRT) used the older version of third rail because the under running variety had not been invented yet. The Long Island Rail Road followed suit when electrifying due to connections / planned connections with the subway.
• The same year that under running third rail was patented, the legislature of the State of Connecticut banned unprotected third rail technology after several people / animals were electrocuted. The whole concept of under running third rail was that the rail was protected, and thus considered far more safe.
• In modern usage, under running third rail seems appears overwhelmingly safer in comparison to over running. The subway and LIRR have had far more deaths in this manner – from numerous trackworkers, to people walking across the tracks, falling on the tracks, graffiti artists getting zapped, people trying to rescue dropped items, and even peeing on the third rail. Over the five year period from 2002 to 2006, one person was electrocuted by Metro-North’s third rail, while six were electrocuted by the Long Island Rail Road’s.
• The over running third rail used by the LIRR and subway are far more effected by rain, snow, and ice. Even a dropped umbrella onto the tracks managed to shut down the 7 line recently.
• Metro-North is not the only transit system to use under-running third rail. One line in Philadelphia uses it. Historically, a tunnel from Detroit to Windsor, Ontario used it, but that line was de-electrified. Transit systems in Vienna, Warsaw, Sao Paulo (and more) use under-running third rails.
• Few systems using under-running third rail means nothing about the soundness of the technology. It is only a legacy holdover to a country once comprised of many different railroad companies, each of which picked the technology best suited for them. The lines that comprise Metro-North were not even a unified system until 1969, which is why different modes of electrification are used across the system.
• While Chuck “Photo op” Schumer and Richard “Stolen Valor” Blumenthal would prefer to blame a third-rail design that has worked successfully for well over a hundred years, and is safer than the one used by our neighbors, the fact of the matter is that this accident would have 100% been prevented by better driver vigilance and abiding the sign “Do not stop on tracks.”

Though we won’t be going as in-depth as my previous tours of Metro-North stations, I did think it would be fun to tour some of the above-ground sections of the NYC subway, focusing on the glass art found at various stations. When trains went back underground – I bailed – and when the art wasn’t glass in the windows or windscreens, I skipped it.

We’ll start our exploration on the 4 Line. If you’re interested in joining up via Metro-North, board a Bronx-bound 4 train to Woodlawn from Grand Central or Harlem-125th Street. We’ll be starting at Woodlawn – the end of the line – and working our way down.

Woodlawn

Artist: Josie Gonzalez Albright

Title: Children at Play

Situated at the very end of the 4 line in the Bronx, Woodlawn’s Arts for Transit piece is located below platform level by the entrance turnstiles. Surrounded by bold colors, children created from faceted glass play across multiple panels. The panels were designed by Josie Gonzalez Albright, a local painter that frequently depicts people in their everyday surroundings. The work was especially inspired by the abundance of park area that surrounds the station.

The subway station itself is most noteworthy for being a connection from Harlem to the Woodlawn Cemetery, the final resting place of icons like Miles Davis. It is also the absolute end of the 4 Line – the tracks end here with yellow bumping blocks.

 
  
  
 

Mosholu Parkway

Artist: Corinne Grondahl

Title: Metromorphosis / Birth of a Station

Bronx textile artist Corinne Grondahl’s bold Arts for Transit piece can be found at Mosholu Parkway station, on both sides of the platform. The work focuses on the passage of time, and changes over time, a concept derived from the original meaning of the word mosholu.

Artist Corinne Grondahl with her Arts for Transit work, photo by nyperson

 
  
   
 
 

Kingsbridge Road

Artist: Mario M. Muller

Title: Urban Motif

From afar one may see the laminated glass panels at Kingsbridge Road and think they depict simple silhouettes, but up close viewing reveals that the simple silhouettes are in fact made of elaborate, colorful brushstrokes. Designed by New York artist that now lives and works in LA, Mario M. Muller, Urban Motif shows the crowds that typically surround the station over the passage of time through both silhouettes and shadows.

 
  
 

Fordham Road

Artist: Moses Ros

Title: Patriasana / Wholesomeland

Bronx artist and architect Moses Ros is behind Fordham Road’s colorful Arts for Transit piece, located in the windows of the station’s mezzanine. Made of faceted and laminated glass arranged in between panels of regular windows, the piece allows you to see Fordham Road’s bustle, side by side with Ros’ artistic renditions of the wares one can purchase on the street.

 
  
  
 
 

That wraps up today’s exploration of the 4 line, next week we’ll be back with some photos of the attractive Arts for Transit pieces at 183rd Street, 176th Street, Mount Eden, 170th Street and 167th Street.

If you’ve ever wondered what the view from the top of the New York Central Railroad looked like (well, sort of, a lot has changed since then!), here are some photos from the cupola:

 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 

Thanks much to the folks at 230 Park for all their help!

In a more light-hearted move, Giulietti has also announced the beginning of a Heritage Unit program for Metro-North. Such programs have been highly successful and well liked on other railroads, most notably Norfolk Southern. While discussing the subject, Giulietti asserted, “we need to restore pride to Metro-North. The railroad systems here in New York City were at one time the best in the world, though unfortunately that is not the case today. We definitely need to look forward, but at the same time there is no better way to restore pride than to remember our roots.”

The new Metro-North New York Central locomotive on the upper Harlem Line earlier today.

Metro-North’s locomotive 220, which was sent out for work several weeks ago, has returned in a new paint scheme resembling that of the New York Central. “This is the first of hopefully several locomotives in heritage schemes. Many years ago Metro-North had a New York Central themed FL9, and so we opted for a different scheme than that previous locomotive.” Unfortunately, there is no timetable for future heritage locomotives. According to Giulietti, “as locomotives are sent out for repair, they will likely return to Metro-North with some new paint.”

Meet Old Eli. This comical looking contraption was one of the first snowplows built for the New York Central Railroad in 1864. The plow was mounted on a six-wheeled truck, and connected to an engine with an old-fashioned push bar. The plow usually required several steam locomotives to push it, and for the 1888 blizzard the plow was being pushed by a total of five. It is worth mentioning that this plow was hardly an ingenious innovation, instead of pushing snow to the side, it often pushed the snow up and above the engine – a grievous issue when traversing an extremely narrow rock cut.

Scene from the wreck at Coleman’s during the Great Blizzard of 1888.

Heading north from White Plains, Old Eli was to clear the snow from the Harlem all the way to Chatham, but instead met doom at Coleman’s. The narrow rock cut there was plugged with snow, and the aforementioned deficiency of the plow ensured that the lead locomotive was thoroughly buried in the snow. All five locomotives derailed, Old Eli was destroyed beyond repair, and five crew members lost their lives, three of which were boiled alive by the lead steam locomotive.

 
New York City in the Great Blizzard of 1888, a subject that was heavily covered by the news of the day

Thankfully, most of our winters have been far less eventful, except maybe for the random guy running around wearing a horse mask. I’ve wandered around the Harlem Line during the past few snowstorms, capturing the trains and the people that make them run… so let’s take a little tour of the Harlem Line in the snow…