New York City, New York State
Freedom no more
Date November 2010
Posted November 2010
Posted November 2010
A return visit to NYC's most interesting railway tunnel
Beneath a blue sky and enveloped in the cool air breezing off the Hudson my black kicks, still grey with dust from the subway the night before, ploughed a narrow path through the heaps of autumn leaves. Just behind me Shane was following the muddy trail - ahead somewhere Steve D was already pushing branches aside to find what we were looking for. The last story referenced Steve as someone who's spent plenty of time in the Amtrak tunnel, having met and got to know various inhabitants of the dark and dusty underworld during his relentless efforts to examine New York's often long-hidden curiosities.
Ours was a clear fresh afternoon, something which all of us had found quite welcome before climbing down and squeezing through a small hole where a concrete wall had been burrowed under. The extent of the cavern into which we'd emerged could not be seen yet but it could certainly be sensed. Almost immediately the clanging of a locomotive's bell could be heard further down the tunnel and the walls began to glow with the bright glare of it's headlight. In a deafening roar the diesel locomotive thundered past, hauling it's short train in the direction of Manhattan, red light trailing off into the darkness. Once again, save for our own sounds, all was quiet.
We walked southward, intending to find a way out somewhere before the tunnel shrinks in cross-section, acquires electric lighting and funnels inbound trains through the last stretch to Penn Station. As it was now early evening in the winter we weren't blessed with light from the vents above, so relied on torch beams to pick out the various features of the tunnel. Now and then Steve would call out the name of one of his friends in the tunnel. Eventually one of these shouts was answered. A woman's voice replied loudly from somewhere up above asking who it was and nearby a man began yelling too. These loud voices from invisible parts of the tunnel brought with them a feeling of vulnerability. To think we'd walked past them both (and no doubt others), silently watched by eyes that we couldn't see.
But there was nothing to fear. Instead we clambered up to meet one of Steve's friends, a woman who's lived there for nearly 20 years. We talked for a short while about changes to the tunnel security, and work being undertaken by Amtrak. This meshed with Eric's concerns when I'd mentioned wanting to re-visit the tunnel on arrival in NYC. Shane had also said something about the graffiti - there was a rumour that large blocks of the tunnel walls had been washed over with paint, destroying significant sections of the historical artwork.
Steve was going straight from the tunnel to a concert (he'd already phoned the girl and asked her to bring his other trousers) so with time in short supply we kept going. It wasn't long before a familiar portrait (that of Freedom, photographed the year before and shown with the previous story) stared down upon us. For a second I mused again on how others had worked around it, even those prone to defacing others' paintings. This thought was to be shortlived.
Meters away the walls turned into a plain flat grey. A bad feeling fueled curiosity, overriding the instinct to keep the torch usage to a minimum. Shining it ahead revealed the grey continuing. This confirmed what Shane had said about the tunnel being cleaned up. For a short distance the wall reverted back to it's densely tagged state, but then the grey was back for as far as could be seen. Maybe the man at Amtrak had chosen the colour of this investment to match his suit. In truth it was probably just the regulation paint, supplied in large steel drums to the track maintenance crews who would carry out his work.
Now the bland uniformity was continuing past a long series of vents where the glow of the street lights above swims down to meet the charcoal black of the ballast. The famous mural had gone.
Of course there's an irony here: standing quietly in disbelief staring at the remains of a piece that relatively few had ever seen, I was lamenting the destruction of something which itself is commonly considered destructive. And this wasn't akin to the removal of another Banksy work on a Bristol rooftop by blundering council workers, this was something of far greater significance. Here was a tunnel named after one man's thoughtful and artistic creations, interwoven with the amazing story of the Mole People to whom some of the work was dedicated. This hostile, rat-infested pathway into the city's complicated underbelly had become coveted, revered, etched into the story of two of the most intriguing sub-cultures to be found in any metropolis.
A January 2010 press release by Amtrak declared that, amongst other things, emergency exits in New York tunnels would be renovated. Curiously enough those in the Freedom Tunnel remain chained, locked and rusted, passenger safety apparently taking second place to the painting. The three of us talked for a few minutes about the kind of person that could bring themself to wash over the mural (following instructions or not) and then walked onward. Work was not finished, but vehicle tracks in the mud beside the ballast suggested it won't be long before it's completed.
The familiar feeling of returning to the overworld greeted us soon after, climbing back out of this mysterious place and onto the loud streets of Manhattan. Here was a city that had just lost something important, but of course nobody knew. They were too busy queueing up to pay the $20 entry fee at the Guggenheim, oblivious to the art theft beneath their feet. And if they had of known then they'd probably have remarked in robot-like fashion that all graffiti writers should be shot. Or something like that.
Update, 2nd December 2010
This story has been given a mention by Gothamist - click the link for the article and amusing comments. While you're at it head on over to LTV Squad where you can find a post shedding a bit more light on the matter. And yes yes, I know it's old news, but as always it's hard to discern truth from rumour until you actually go and look for yourself.
Ours was a clear fresh afternoon, something which all of us had found quite welcome before climbing down and squeezing through a small hole where a concrete wall had been burrowed under. The extent of the cavern into which we'd emerged could not be seen yet but it could certainly be sensed. Almost immediately the clanging of a locomotive's bell could be heard further down the tunnel and the walls began to glow with the bright glare of it's headlight. In a deafening roar the diesel locomotive thundered past, hauling it's short train in the direction of Manhattan, red light trailing off into the darkness. Once again, save for our own sounds, all was quiet.
We walked southward, intending to find a way out somewhere before the tunnel shrinks in cross-section, acquires electric lighting and funnels inbound trains through the last stretch to Penn Station. As it was now early evening in the winter we weren't blessed with light from the vents above, so relied on torch beams to pick out the various features of the tunnel. Now and then Steve would call out the name of one of his friends in the tunnel. Eventually one of these shouts was answered. A woman's voice replied loudly from somewhere up above asking who it was and nearby a man began yelling too. These loud voices from invisible parts of the tunnel brought with them a feeling of vulnerability. To think we'd walked past them both (and no doubt others), silently watched by eyes that we couldn't see.
But there was nothing to fear. Instead we clambered up to meet one of Steve's friends, a woman who's lived there for nearly 20 years. We talked for a short while about changes to the tunnel security, and work being undertaken by Amtrak. This meshed with Eric's concerns when I'd mentioned wanting to re-visit the tunnel on arrival in NYC. Shane had also said something about the graffiti - there was a rumour that large blocks of the tunnel walls had been washed over with paint, destroying significant sections of the historical artwork.
Steve was going straight from the tunnel to a concert (he'd already phoned the girl and asked her to bring his other trousers) so with time in short supply we kept going. It wasn't long before a familiar portrait (that of Freedom, photographed the year before and shown with the previous story) stared down upon us. For a second I mused again on how others had worked around it, even those prone to defacing others' paintings. This thought was to be shortlived.
Meters away the walls turned into a plain flat grey. A bad feeling fueled curiosity, overriding the instinct to keep the torch usage to a minimum. Shining it ahead revealed the grey continuing. This confirmed what Shane had said about the tunnel being cleaned up. For a short distance the wall reverted back to it's densely tagged state, but then the grey was back for as far as could be seen. Maybe the man at Amtrak had chosen the colour of this investment to match his suit. In truth it was probably just the regulation paint, supplied in large steel drums to the track maintenance crews who would carry out his work.
Now the bland uniformity was continuing past a long series of vents where the glow of the street lights above swims down to meet the charcoal black of the ballast. The famous mural had gone.
Of course there's an irony here: standing quietly in disbelief staring at the remains of a piece that relatively few had ever seen, I was lamenting the destruction of something which itself is commonly considered destructive. And this wasn't akin to the removal of another Banksy work on a Bristol rooftop by blundering council workers, this was something of far greater significance. Here was a tunnel named after one man's thoughtful and artistic creations, interwoven with the amazing story of the Mole People to whom some of the work was dedicated. This hostile, rat-infested pathway into the city's complicated underbelly had become coveted, revered, etched into the story of two of the most intriguing sub-cultures to be found in any metropolis.
A January 2010 press release by Amtrak declared that, amongst other things, emergency exits in New York tunnels would be renovated. Curiously enough those in the Freedom Tunnel remain chained, locked and rusted, passenger safety apparently taking second place to the painting. The three of us talked for a few minutes about the kind of person that could bring themself to wash over the mural (following instructions or not) and then walked onward. Work was not finished, but vehicle tracks in the mud beside the ballast suggested it won't be long before it's completed.
The familiar feeling of returning to the overworld greeted us soon after, climbing back out of this mysterious place and onto the loud streets of Manhattan. Here was a city that had just lost something important, but of course nobody knew. They were too busy queueing up to pay the $20 entry fee at the Guggenheim, oblivious to the art theft beneath their feet. And if they had of known then they'd probably have remarked in robot-like fashion that all graffiti writers should be shot. Or something like that.
Update, 2nd December 2010
This story has been given a mention by Gothamist - click the link for the article and amusing comments. While you're at it head on over to LTV Squad where you can find a post shedding a bit more light on the matter. And yes yes, I know it's old news, but as always it's hard to discern truth from rumour until you actually go and look for yourself.
Further reading...
Freedom Tunnel, Painted LTV Squad
FT to get buffed Gothamist
Freedom Tunnel Wikipedia
FT to get buffed Gothamist
Freedom Tunnel Wikipedia
