Old Penn Station
New York and Rome
Through Pennsylvania Station one entered the city like a god. Perhaps it was really too much. One scuttles in now like a rat. - Vincent Scully, American Art Historian
Oh gee, Uncle Matt, what was New York like in the olden days? As far back as the old Penn Station I cannot recall since it was demolished a year before I was born. Scully's comment of scuttling like a rat in Penn Station does resound, however. The entire complex before the latest renovation was low-ceilinged and claustrophobic. How could this possibly be an entry point to one of the grandest cities on earth?
In the New York years, I would take occasional trips home from Penn Station to its namesake, Pennsylvania. Always busy, Penn Station exists as a massive troglodyte world that baffles the outsider. There are tracks for New Jersey Transit, Long Island Railroad, and Amtrak (and subway lines under all of that). Leaving on a Friday meant getting off work early and rushing to buy a paper ticket in an unpredictable queue of passengers. Sometimes I bought a ticket in minutes and had far too much time to kill in a place with virtually no seating. Other times I barely got on the train because I had waited in line right up to the departure time. I look back on what an incredible advance it seemed when self-ticketing kiosks were introduced. All of that angst of "will I make the train?" these days is greatly diminished - buy a ticket on an app and get a QR code that the conductor will scan.
One other component of the journey was waiting to see from which track the train would depart. Penn Station has LOTS of tracks to accommodate all those trains, but track numbers are usually only released minutes before a train departure. This would lead to crowds of people milling around the departure board waiting for a track to be posted. Frequent travelers knew the alternate stairs to the lower level (rather than the main staircase which would be clogged with wave after wave of passengers). All rush rush rush to get on the train and get a comfortable seat; that is quintessential New York City. Something tells me even with the brand new Penn Station above, the rush to the train has probably not changed.
Part of New York City lore is the demolition of the old Penn Station. The loss hurts as keenly as the World Trade Center because WE were the terrorists destroying our own heritage. Grand Central station still exists as do other glorious old stations across the country, but Penn Station was the granddaddy of them all. At the time of its construction it was the third largest building on earth. One hears over and over again that the glorious old Penn Station was based on the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. It sounded almost mythical - "one entered the city like a god".
Baths of Caracalla, Rome. November 2016
On my journey to Rome, the Baths of Caracalla were high on my list. The inspiration for Old Penn Station whose venerable ghost haunts Manhattan was a place I had to see. The site is massive - those Roman Emperors were really into their bath time - yet the second largest baths in the Roman world lay mostly in ruin. Only the occasional mosaic stands out as a momentary bright spot to any visit. I was impressed by the magnitude, but as for the old Penn Station - I just couldn't see it? I imagine someone had to create a rendering of the baths and go from there. I know the baths were impressive as was Penn Station. I hate to sound disappointed, but I was.
What of Caesar Caracalla? History does not treat the man kindly - succinctly put, great baths, terrible emperor. He is remembered for cruelty and militarism. He murdered his brother and all his followers for starters. However, it is also Caracalla that granted Roman citizenship to all free men in the Empire, rich or poor. I wonder if THAT is what left such a bitter historical taste in the mouths of the Roman elite? The change was tectonic for Rome, yet people only remember his baths. In any case, fate has left them in ruin. That same lingering bad fate tore down his second generation baths cum railway station in the New Rome to make way for a Colosseum.
For me, two dots were connected on life's journey - even if only shadows of forgotten grandeur.