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  “I don’t think that it is appropriate to publish maps of the Washington Metro, that specifically show rail transfers and crossovers,” Mr. Hall wrote.

  David Pirmann, who founded the site, said he decided to comply, and the map is now gone. But he said he is sometimes as worried about overreactions as about the real dangers facing the subways.

  “That map isn’t anything that someone riding in the front car couldn’t have drawn,” he said. “I worry about people going overboard and about what fear does to us.”

  So, in retrospect, does the writer who drove his girlfriend to work.

  “It does seem a little silly to me now,” he said. “I mean, Spin’s a music magazine. They know when Beastie Boys tickets are going on sale. What do they know about terrorist attacks?”

  —ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED OCTOBER 16, 2001

  A SIMPLE MEMO

  New York City Transit puts a lot of faith in paperwork. At times, it seems to have missed the whole computer revolution, or at least mistrusted it. In fact, in a dusty file room in downtown Brooklyn, there are boxes containing minute-by-minute records of the daily movements of your subway line, going several back years—all handwritten, on paper.

  But in the weeks since September 11, weeks that have generated enough paperwork to wrap every subway car like a Christmas gift, there are three pieces of paper that have survived consignment to the oblivion of a cardboard file box.

  Instead, they have been copied and copied again and passed around like Soviet samizdat. They were written by a 55-year-old man named John B. McMahon, who works as a superintendent over several stations in Manhattan. The pages are dated and stamped, and start like any transit memo, heavy on military accuracy and acronyms, like “F.O.” for field office.

  “While at my office at 42nd Street and 6th Avenue at approximately 0900 hours,” it begins, “the F.O. notified me…”

  But as the memo continues, recounting Mr. McMahon’s journey on September 11 from his office to the area around the World Trade Center, it quickly becomes apparent that it is something other than official correspondence.

  It is the soliloquy of a man trying to figure out what happened to him that day. In essence, it is a memo from Mr. McMahon to himself.

  That morning, he rushed downtown to get into the Cortlandt Street station on the N and R line to make sure that no passengers or transit employees remained inside the station. When he found none, he went back up onto the street and, as debris began to rain down from the fires in the towers above him, he took refuge under a glass awning in front of the Millenium Hilton Hotel.

  At 9:58 a.m., he looked up.

  He saw what appeared to be a ring of smoke form around the south tower.

  “Except,” he wrote, “that this ring was coming downward.…”

  There was a truck parked next to him, in front of a loading bay at Cortlandt and Church Streets, and he dived between the truck and a roll-down door, grabbing onto the bottom of a wall.

  Instantly, he wrote, “There was an upward, vacuum-type of air movement, followed by a ‘swoosh’ of air and then … NOTHING. Not a sound, but pitch-darkness with a powderlike substance covering every inch of the area. It also filled my eyes, ears, face and mouth.”

  He struggled to breathe. He scooped ash and dust from his mouth. But as soon as he did, his mouth would fill up again. He felt other people around him, and he remembers hearing himself and the others count off, signifying that they were still alive.

  “Then,” he wrote, “the strangest thing happened.

  “While I was facing this wall, I turned my head slightly to the left because I saw two lights that were too big to be flashlights and there were no automobiles around. Although I thought I was losing my battle to breathe, I was comforted by the lights, which gave me a sense of peace. We yelled, ‘Help,’ and joined hands, walking toward the lights. The more we walked, the lighter it became, until finally I saw images of cars and people.”

  But as he emerged from the cloud of ash, he wrote, he looked around him and realized that he was not holding anyone’s hand. He was alone. He has no idea what happened to the other people. He still has no idea what the lights were or who was with him, and no idea how he found his way out of the debris.

  “I’m a Catholic,” Mr. McMahon said yesterday. “But I only go about once every five years. I don’t know what that was that day. I don’t know how to explain it.

  “Somebody got me out,” he said.

  Mr. McMahon wrote the memo to his boss on a yellow legal pad at the end of that week, sitting in his backyard in Westbury on Long Island. When his fiancée read it, she cried.

  “I wrote it,” he said, “because I had to get it off my chest.”

  The day it happened, as Mr. McMahon recounted in the memo, he wandered until he came upon New York University Downtown Hospital, where nurses pulled him inside and checked his vital signs. He rinsed out his mouth and took a shower. Then he had his fiancée buy him some new clothes at Macy’s so he could, as he wrote, “finish out my day performing my duties.”

  He is taking some time off now, struggling with hearing loss and problems with his right eye, which was injured by the dust. More than those ailments, he said, he is struggling with his own mind.

  “When I tell my psychiatrist, I know it all sounds crazy to him, but that’s the way it happened,” he says.

  Mr. McMahon’s memo ends like thousands of others in transit offices around the city. On a line by itself are the words:

  “For your information.”

  —ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED NOVEMBER 6, 2001

  PUTTING THE PIECES BACK TOGETHER

  On Thursday of next week, a bugler will play taps and mourners will carry a stretcher with a flag from the depths of the pit at ground zero. With that, the recovery will officially end and the rebuilding of a large part of an impatient city will begin.

  But even more impatient than the city is the subway that moves its citizens through it.

  And so, while real estate firms and victims’ families and city officials await the ceremony and try to figure out what to build above the ground, a few hundred men have already been rebuilding, for more than two months now, what was below the ground and what will be there again: the No. 1 and No. 9 subway lines.

  From the precipice of the pit, these workers look at first like all the rest, swarming over the scarred land in hard hats, day and night. But in a few minutes you can tell that their cranes are depositing steel, not extracting it. Their blowtorches are welding, not cutting. And the beams in their part of the pit are straight, not twisted, the first signs of order in a place that still looks like chaos.

  “This place right here,” said Dilip Patel, New York City Transit’s construction manager for the rebuilding, “this is where the new tunnel begins.”

  Mr. Patel stood yesterday morning in the twilight of a tunnel mouth beneath Liberty Street, pointing down at a faint line in a concrete floor, near a dirty rubber boot and a plastic coffee lid.

  On one side of the line was a piece of history, the sheared-off end of an IRT subway tunnel completed around 1918. On the other side, to the north, was the beginning of a tunnel that was built only in the last few weeks, its walls and floor finished and workers positioning the metal forms to pour its concrete roof.

  When the workers are done at the end of September and trains with passengers are rumbling through the tunnels once again by November, it will be very hard to tell where old meets new, exactly where it was that 1,300 feet of subway tunnel were crushed and pierced by falling skyscrapers and then rebuilt in little more than seven months.

  “This is a job that, under normal circumstances, could take two years or more,” said Lawrence G. Reuter, the president of New York City Transit. “I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like what’s going on down at the 1 and 9.”

  Neither have the tunnel workers who arrive there around the clock, passing through the throngs of ground-zero tourists on Church Street. Yester
day, taking their breaks, they could stare over the so-called bathtub wall, where below they could see all that was still left of the World Trade Center, a small ashen heap less than two stories high, tiny now amid the 16-acre expanse of the site. Near the pile, a group of 20 firefighters raked carefully through a field of debris before it was scooped away.

  “It’s sad, sad,” Mr. Patel said. “It’s not an easy job for anyone here.”

  Even in the brand-new tunnels, reminders of the catastrophe refuse to be completely erased. A beam from 7 World Trade Center pierced the tunnel north of Vesey Street, and try as they might, the workers said, they could not pull it from the bottom of the tunnel, where it lodged like a horrible Excalibur.

  “We tried to pull it out with big wire cables, but it kept snapping the cables,” said Avelino Alonso, a transit employee. “Who knows how far it went down?” So they just cut it off, leaving it buried beneath the new tunnel floor. Yesterday, workers in hip waders poured more soupy concrete on top of the beam, preparing for the tracks to come later.

  “It’s like ‘Planet of the Apes’ down here,” said John Pegno, president of A. J. Pegno Construction Corp., which, along with Tully Construction, is in charge of the $1-million-per-day-project. “It’s very surreal.”

  In places, the job still looks more like an archaeology dig than a subway rebirth. The ragged ends of the old tunnel walls can be seen, layers of rust-colored brick interspersed with concrete, the layers glued together with thick black mastic to keep water out.

  And in fact, in many ways, Mr. Patel said, the new tunnels will have nothing all that new about them, except the addition of almost a century. They are based on old IRT drawings for the line, found in transit archives. Beams will still brace the tunnels every five feet, as in the old tunnels. Ties will still be made of wood. The steel, of course, will come from Pennsylvania.

  “We think that they had the right idea 100 years ago,” Mr. Reuter said. “We’re a big fan of not fixing something that’s not broken.”

  From the workers’ point of view, however, there is a whole lot broken. And they have less than five months left to fix it. A visitor wished the general superintendent, Jan Szumanski, good luck yesterday.

  He rubbed his sore left arm and nodded. “I will need it,” he said.

  —ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED MAY 21, 2002

  WELCOME BACK

  Sometimes it seems as if the subway is not man-made but has been around forever, like a rock formation or a river, and so it should abide by certain steadfast natural laws. Such as:

  The 1 and the 9 trains should go together, like Fred and Ginger, like bacon and eggs, and neither should ever go to Brooklyn. They should go to the South Ferry terminal, which should be too small and too curved. And when the trains arrive, they should always make a sound like a tsunami sweeping through a sheet-metal factory.

  Yesterday morning, at least in the subway, it felt as if the world had been righted again.

  It was a Monday at 9 o’clock. The Staten Island Ferry emptied its waves of weary-looking workers into the South Ferry terminal. They crowded, jostled and jammed their fingers into their ears as the scream of the trains returned to the tip of Manhattan.

  And through it all, almost to a person, they smiled gratefully, like someone reunited with a long-lost brother.

  “I never thought I’d say it,” said Justin Hoyt, standing in front of the token booth as the din of wheel and rail drowned him out, “but I’m very happy to hear that sound again.

  “It’s an old, old sound.”

  For many New Yorkers, the ceremonies that marked the anniversary of the September 11 attack provided a moment to try to reconcile themselves to what had happened, to move ahead.

  But in a city that has never been good at introspection, others looked in more mundane places for reassurance. They looked for their old routine, more precious to them than they had ever realized, and on the brand-new subway maps yesterday, many found it once again.

  Little more than a year after an entire subway tunnel was crushed and the system shut down for the first time in decades, the map now looks almost as it did before September 11. The Cortlandt Street station on the N and R line is reopened, full once again of the oddly comforting sight of shopping bags lugged down from the Century 21 department store across the street.

  The 2 and 3 trains are back on the express tracks in Manhattan. And the 1 and 9 are running, unbelievably, almost through the middle of ground zero to South Ferry again, through 1,400 feet of new subway tunnel built in six months—ahead of schedule and under budget, the first ribbon of rebirth amid the swept desolation of the World Trade Center site.

  Walking into the South Ferry station yesterday morning, two women applauded before they swiped their MetroCards. A Staten Island man had his video camera to record the moment. Another, wearing a black “Got Beer?” T-shirt, said fiercely that he was proud to be a New Yorker.

  Meanwhile, Samkutty Samuel, a station supervisor, stood in front of the station waving at people and announcing over and over through a bullhorn:

  “Welcome back to South Ferry! Everybody smiling! Everybody happy!”

  They were, and the two happiest men were not even commuters.

  They were wearing hard hats and official-looking reflective vests and expressions of great professional pride.

  One was Mysore L. Nagaraja, the chief engineer for New York City Transit and the man in charge of the tunnel reconstruction. The other was Jan Szumanski, the general superintendent of the project for Pegno/Tully, a contracting partnership that rebuilt the tunnel.

  Mr. Szumanski said that shortly after the tunnel was completed on September 1 and the first diesel train successfully ran through to test it, he and his workers held a celebratory barbecue virtually atop the tunnel, toasting it with beer bottles.

  “I think that once in your life, if you are lucky,” he said, “you get to be part of something very special, and this was it for us.”

  He added, his voice beginning to crack, “For me, this is my repayment to America, for taking me 20 years ago from Poland, a nobody. That’s how I think of it.”

  Mr. Szumanski, who has hypertension, put so much pressure on himself to finish the job early and well that he suffered an attack in the spring and was briefly hospitalized.

  “I fell down, and so they took me to the hospital,” he said yesterday, shrugging. “It was no big deal.”

  But he concedes that he has planned a long vacation in November in Mexico, where he feels that his chances of running into subway officials will be low.

  Mr. Nagaraja, sounding almost serious, said to him, “Please bring your cell phone.”

  Behind them, the exodus from the ferry into the reborn subway continued, and practically the only way to tell that this Monday morning was different from any before the attack was that everyone seemed almost disturbingly pleased to be on his or her way to work.

  Angela Brown, a transit worker who helped cut the ribbon when the station reopened on Sunday, reassured a visitor that this, too, would return to normal and make us all feel much better.

  The terrorists, in other words, could not stop our subway, and they certainly cannot take away our right to look unhappy when we ride it.

  “I give it a week,” Ms. Brown said.

  —ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 17, 2002

  PHOTO CREDITS

  Man playing violin: Tyler Hicks/ The New York Times

  Subway car in station: Ruby Washington/ The New York Times

  Togetherness, circa 1960: Sam Falk/ The New York Times

  Mayor Bloomberg on the subway: Frances Roberts

  Shouting subway worker: Angel Franco/ The New York Times

  Pigeon on subway: William Lopez

  Married couple: Nancy Siesel/ The New York Times

  Subway turnstiles: Michael Nagle/ The New York Times

  9/11 rubble in the subway: Angel Franco/ The New York Times

  SUBWAYLAND. Copyright © 2004 by The New York Times. All rights reser
ved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  eISBN 9781466867635

  First eBook edition: February 2014