It built the city. Now, no matter the cost — at least $100 billion — the city must rebuild it to survive.
By Jonathan Mahler
Long
before it became an archaic, filthy, profligate symbol of everything
wrong with our broken cities, New York’s subway was a marvel — a mad
feat of engineering and an audacious gamble on a preposterously
ambitious vision. “The effect it is to have on the city of New York is
something larger than any mind can realize,” said William Gaynor, the
New York mayor who set in motion the primary phase of its construction. A
public-works project of this scale had never before been undertaken in
the United States, and even now, more than a century later, it is hard
to fully appreciate what it did for the city and, really, the nation.
Before
the subway, it was by no means a foregone conclusion that New York
would become the greatest city on earth. Hundreds of thousands of
immigrants fleeing poverty and persecution were arriving on its doorstep
every year, but most of them were effectively marooned, herded into
dark, squalid tenements in disease-ridden slums. The five boroughs had
recently been joined as one city, but the farms and villages of
Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens might as well have been on the other side
of the planet from Manhattan’s teeming streets. Bound up in the fate of
the city were even larger questions: Would America be able to manage
the transition from the individualism and insularity that defined its
19th-century frontiers to the creative collaboration and competition of
its fast-growing urban centers? Could it adapt and excel in this rapidly
changing world? Were cities the past or the future of civilization? And
then came the subway: hundreds of miles of track shooting out in every
direction, carrying millions of immigrants out of the ghettos and into
newly built homes, tying together the modern city and enabling it to
become a place where anything was possible.
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Source: The New York Times
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