Q: If my Metro North train is on the underground level, why do I have to go to street level from the (underground) subway, only to descend again for my Metro North train? Shouldn’t I be able to stay underground when going from the subway to the Metro North?
 
A: Well, if you think about it, you do stay underground for some of the transfers. To get from the Shuttle platform into Grand Central, for example, one only ascends a single stretch of stairs to reach the western corridor into the upper concourse and the Metro North tracks—and you remain underground the entire time. 

But, yeah, okay, I’m being an annoying shit—you’re talking about the 4, 5, and 6 subways, aren’t you? You want to know why in hell does the MTA send you all the way up to the street level merely to prolong the Bataan Death March back down to your Metro North train?

Good question. But let me split just one more hair before I answer you. If you’re talking about transferring from the 4, 5, and 6 trains (a/k/a the Lexington Avenue Line) to Grand Central’s upper-level tracks, you are pretty much being sent no higher than you have to be. The upper-level commuter tracks lie at the bottom of a very gentle slope off the terminal’s main concourse—and the concourse level is exactly as high as you climb (from platform up to mezzanine, then from mezzanine via escalator to the eastern corridor of the terminal) as you leave the subway. 

But if you’re talking about getting off the subway and hoofing it for a Metro North train on the lower-level tracks, well, I feel your pain. Your aching knees, specifically. Why do you have to go up to go down? Isn’t a more direct connection possible? 

Short answer: No—There’s too much shit in the way. 

Long answer: No—now, proceed with below. 

Let’s just establish some parameters first—with the understanding that the figures I furnish are merely estimates. Here are some fun facts for your next commuter cocktail party:
* Grand Central upper level tracks:­ 1 story down (about 20 feet)
* Grand Central lower level tracks:­ 2 stories down (about 60 feet)
* Subway Shuttle: 2 stories down (about 50 feet)
* Subway 4, 5, and 6 Grand Central station:­ 2 stories down (about 50 feet)
* Subway No. 7 Flushing Line is one deep-ass train—about 80 feet below the street—and too far below Metro North’s tracks to make it useful to include here. 

Now, I’ve already dealt with the Shuttle so we’ll leave that out. Let’s look at the Lexington Avenue Subway—how deep it is, and also where it is. First, the terminal’s lower-level tracks and the Lexington Avenue Subway trains are almost exactly at the same depth: Score 1 for your argument that there really ought to be a straight-line connection without ascending to street level. 

Second, Grand Central platforms of the 4, 5, and 6 trains are actually built on a 45-degree diagonal relative to the avenues. (This is, incidentally, because the Park Avenue portion of the subway opened in 1904 but the Lexington Avenue extension north was not opened until 1918. The subway had to literally move over from Park Avenue to Lexington, and that connecting stretch was where the subway station was put in.) The 4, 5, and 6 stop for Grand Central roughly cuts diagonally beneath the southeastern corner of the Terminal proper—in easy reach of the commuter tracks toward the terminal’s eastern side: Score 2 for your argument. So, again, why the hell isn’t there one? 

As referenced above: There is too much shit in the way. If you were to try to dig a passage leading from the 4, 5, and 6 platforms right into, say, the general area of Tracks 101 – 103 on the terminal’s lower level, you’re talking about having to cut through the foundation walls of the old Commodore (now Grand Hyatt) Hotel, a task made more nightmarish by the tightly-spaced grid of support columns—needed to carry the weight of the building above—that run the length of the subway’s platforms. But okay, say that you somehow manage to snake some stairs around all those girders and I-beams. Next, you’d have to blast through the foundation wall of Grand Central Itself. Such a thing is possible, I suppose—but, finally, you’d run into the figurative boulder that cannot be moved. 

When the railroad’s chief engineer William J. Wilgus planned out the track arrangements for the new Grand Central Terminal in 1903, he had to find a way to turn trains around quickly within the tight confines of its interlock. Wilgus did this by designing loop tracks on both levels. The loop tunnels curve around below the terminal’s façade, connecting the westernmost and easternmost tracks in the shape of a large horseshoe [for more about the loops and how you can experience them with family and friends, refer to the Engine Bob installment that immediately precedes this one.] Those loops are not as quaint as they sound; they’re massive tunnels, two—and in places three—tracks wide, with massive load-bearing walls enclosing them on both sides. There is no conceivable way that the terminal could ever sacrifice the operational advantage of the loop tracks (much less run up an expense that would rival the gross national product of France) by ramming a pedestrian passageway through them. And because the loop is two-stories deep and swings to the laterally widest points of the terminal’s track grid, there’s simply no way around them. 

Other, that is, than being led above them, then back down on their other side—which is exactly what you are made to do right now.

We happened upon the new issue of MTA publication Connections: The Essential Guide to Life at Grand Central yesterday. It’s a 16-page booklet that features “Ask Mr. Grand Central,” which sees MGC answer questions about Grand Central scheduling, history and minutia (it feels a wee bit like “Ask Engine Bob” in another Grand Central-centric publication).

The Spring/Summer issue also features a a Gift Guide for the rich folk, an events schedule, an interview with the guy who runs the Campbell Apartment (interesting tidbit: the room was a drunk tank after Campbell died), and a profile of Joe Cirillo, the MTA’s in-house tailor, responsible for creating and maintaining the conductors’ uniforms.

One question they didn’t ask the Calabria-born Cirillo: What’s with all the polyester?

Q: Engine Bob, the other day I was waiting for my train in Grand Central, I looked up at the huge arch window above the concourse and saw what looked like someone walking around inside of it. What’s the deal? 

A: This may be a close to magic as the MTA is capable of. Well, no, actually, I guess true magic would be a reasonable monthly-commutation fare. But anyway, your eyes did not deceive you: It’s actually possible to walk about inside the concourse windows at Grand Central. 

The optical illusion is pretty simple, though. Those windows consist of two panels of plate glass—one facing the concourse interior, the other facing the outdoors. The panels are about four feet apart from each other, allowing for narrow catwalks to traverse them at each floor level of the Terminal building.  

Even more kick-ass than this: The catwalks themselves are made of huge slabs of frosted glass, allowing the outdoor light to pass through them and thereby making them nearly invisible from the vantage of the concourse floor. This is why, when you saw someone passing along one of the catwalks, he appeared to be walking on air. 

According to my GCT blueprints (public information, by the way), the four rectangular window bays on either side of the concourse rise 60 feet above the level of the balcony doorways. At the top, the cornice entablature interrupts them (that’s the fancy, gilded-plaster band on which spotlights alternate with scrolled brackets) and then 20 more feet of window glass caps the bays in the form of corresponding window arches that gradually curve outward into the concave shape of the ceiling.  

There are eight catwalks in total—six in the rectangular bays, two in the arches. (And while there are five glassed bays, there are six arches atop them, as the southernmost, 6th bay—which you’ll see rising behind the ticket booths—is a brick dummy.)  

Okay, enough of the technical stuff. Why the hell are the catwalks there? 

Unknown to most people, the Terminal building actually has quite a bit of office and storage space tucked way up and behind all those beautiful stone walls. Hell knows what the MTA uses them for today—quite possibly the Late Train Planning Center—but all the space is, obviously, a premium commodity for a midtown-Manhattan building. The catwalks were part of the original 1912 plans for the Terminal, and they allowed convenient access to the breadth of the hidden office space, which freed the architects (Warren & Wetmore, with Reed & Stem) from having to mar the effect of that stunning expanse of glass windows with closed corridors or iron balconies. Aside from serving office and storage spaces, the catwalks lead to the opulent landings of hidden, internal staircases that rise inside the Terminal’s corner piers. The very top catwalk (this one contains only a few windows that rise no higher than your knees) leads around to the base of a tiny run of steps that rise to the iron walkway suspended over the barrel vault ceiling. In the old days, the maintenance guys would use this walkway to replace—from behind—the tiny light bulbs that form the constellation painted in gold on the other side of the ceiling—which is plaster-on-lath and not much thicker than two of your fingers. (These days, those lights are LEDs, and don’t need replacing.) 

Yeah, I know. I’m dancing around the big question: How can one get up to the catwalks yourself? Legally, of course, you can’t. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t up inside both of those windows. Lots of times. (In fact, I know about the barrel-vault walkway because I managed to get up there once, too.) Thing is, all that was during the proverbial “pre-9/11” days—that blessed, unfathomably innocent period when we train geeks had little to fear from the authorities. I only got caught once, but the cop bought my line (I guess he ignored the fact that I was also wholly fortified with martinis I’d just knocked into my gullet at the Oyster Bar) and he let me go. 

These days, I’m pretty confident that they WON’T let you go if they catch you. Remember, too that—duh—if you do get up there, it’s damn well hard to keep a low profile when you’re walking around inside of a window overlooking the largest public room in New York City. I can also say (from experience) that just because you think you’re getting away with being up there does NOT mean someone’s not watching you and will be waiting for you once you slip out of the elevator on your hasty way out. 

Elevator, in fact, is about as close as I want to come to saying how it’s possible to get up into the window catwalks. Okay, somewhere between Tracks 21 and 23—but that’s ALL I’m gonna say. There are also some stairs by the Campbell Apartment—but that’s IT, okay? No more hints.  

But, listen Sherlock–chances are either a half-soused investment banker or an alarmingly sober cop is going to spot you before the little adventure even gets off the ground. I don’t go up there anymore myself—and not only because I don’t want to go to jail, but also because I don’t think it’s right to distract the cops when they could be doing more serious stuff like, oh, catching terrorists.  

So my advice is: Keep that shoe leather on the nice Tennessee marble floor of the concourse where it belongs. The Terminal’s got plenty of other cool secrets you can check out without trespassing, and I’ll write about them soon. 

—E.B.