Penn Station

Exiting the Long Island Rail Road car deep in the bowels of Penn Station, I see that everything is a dingy flat black except for the brass hand rail on the stairs. Because I am lifting my suitcase with my left hand, I grip the railing with my right while thinking about the hand sanitizer in my bag. I emerge into the LIRR ticket and schedule area. A flood of people moves toward me, but I find a couple heading my way to walk behind, a human shield. I pass Au Bon Pain, Subway, Rite Aid, and so on until I stop to buy a bottle of water.

Continuing, I see the stairs to the main lobby where the Amtrak tickets are sold. I print out my ticket and then take a look at the enormous schedule board in the middle of the room. I like the way that Amtrak names its trains—oh, nothing as fun as Thomas the Tank Engine—but there is the Empire that goes to Albany, the Vermonter that ends at St. Albans, and the Keystone that I take to Lancaster, PA.

Penn Station feels so oppressive. Grand Central in NYC and 30th Street Station in Philly have lofty ceilings. Penn does not—the ceilings are quite low, and the color scheme is decidedly gray with touches of neon blue to make the track signs stand out. I enter the Amtrak waiting area where the blue gray vinyl chairs are almost all taken. Trains are running late towards Boston because of bridge construction which only compounds the crowds of Good Friday travelers

I find a seat with 35 minutes left to wait for my train, so I take out a book. Looking around me, I see lots of families traveling for Easter weekend. A red-shirted porter wheels a cart piled high with suitcases followed by a family of four—like ducklings in a row. Most adults have suitcases on wheels, and some children have miniature wheeled suitcases in bright colors. I see two young girls playing a game of cards on top of a suitcase on the floor. Teens and young adults are seated on the floor with backpacks, laptops, and cell phones. In fact, as I glance down the rows of seats, there are only a few older adults with books or newspapers. Everyone else is focused on some form of electronics: kindles, nooks, ipads, droids, laptop computers, etc. I definitely feel like a dinosaur.

A young man sitting on the floor across from me looks up when his father says, “It’s time to go," and then adds, "It’ll be all right.” This disgruntled teen must be waiting for the delayed train, but he takes a quick look at his cell phone before he reluctantly obeys.

I am very impressed with the Amtrak staff. They are neat in their navy uniforms or the red shirts and baseball hats of the helpful porters. Clearly they are well-staffed and trying to stay ahead of the crowds that are traveling. The announcer gives clear directions to the trains and even says “all aboard” after the last call for each train. When a train arrives, the track is posted, and passengers have 10 minutes to get on the train or get left behind. Despite the press of people heading towards the down escalator for the Keystone train, the Amtrak official carefully checks each ticket to be sure the passenger is boarding the right train.

The last few people getting on the train walk back and forth down the aisles trying to find seats. The conductors assist them until the train pulls out. I am left with only one question. Why is a train station in Manhattan named for Pennsylvania?