The Secret New York Minute: Trains Late by Design

TESTATA: The New York Times
DATA: 16/10/2009
AUTORE: Michael M. Grynbaum

Commuters who think they have caught their trains in the nick of time actually had a minute’s grace to get aboard. The delayed departures from Manhattan have long been a railroading secret.

For a commuter rushing to catch a train, a minute can mean the difference between dinner with the family and leftovers in the microwave.

What most passengers do not realize is that their minute is already there.

Every commuter train that departs from New York City — about 900 a day — leaves a minute later than scheduled. If the timetable says 8:14, the train will actually leave at 8:15. The 12:48 is really the 12:49.

In other words, if you think you have only a minute to get that train — well, relax. You have two.

The phantom minute, in place for decades and published only in private timetables for employees, is meant as a grace period for stragglers who need the extra time to scramble off the platform and onto the train.

“If everyone knows they get an extra minute, they’re going to lollygag,” explained Marjorie Anders, a spokeswoman for the Metro-North Railroad. Told of this article, Ms. Anders laughed. “Don’t blow our cover!” she said.

Entirely hidden from the riding public, the secret minute is an odd departure from the railroad culture of down-to-the-second accuracy.

The railroad industry literally helped invent the concept of standard time, and time zones were established in the United States in the 1880s, 35 years before they were written into law.

And most commuters know their train by the precise minute it departs; John Cheever, chronicler of the Grand Central commuter set, titled one memorable short story “The Five-Forty-Eight.” (Turns out it was the 5:49.)

The trains quickly make up the minute: at all other stops, the public timetable prevails.

The courtesy minute does not exist at commuter railroads in Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, or San Francisco.

But in New York, railroad enthusiasts said, the secret minute dates back decades.

“That’s been done forever, from my knowledge,” said Jack Swanberg, 70, an unofficial historian of Metro-North who once oversaw departures at Grand Central Terminal. “I was the trainmaster starting in 1970, and it was the case then. I’m sure it’s been the case since 1870 for all I know.”

At Grand Central, no rider should consider the minute a guarantee. Train conductors have the discretion to depart at the publicly posted time, as long as the platform is clear and no customers are rushing down the ramp.

But an unscientific survey of 20 trains leaving at rush hour on a recent weekday evening found that, on average, the trains left about 58 seconds past their listed departure time.

No schedules or signs in the terminal suggest the minute exists. At each train’s posted departure time, the schedule billboard announces, “Departed,” even as the train idles at the platform, receiving its last cargo of stumbling, out-of-breath passengers.

A worker in the central information booth, asked if a train was leaving a minute late, emphatically shook his head. “If it says 7:14, it leaves at 7:14,” he said gravely.

Not exactly.

More than half the trains surveyed this week waited the full minute or longer. The tardiest train waited at the platform for 81 seconds, while one train bound for Connecticut pushed off after just 32 seconds.

Still, the delay allowed at least one passenger, already running late, to buy three beers from a nearby concession stand before jogging down the platform to make it onboard.

“It makes me look like I’m a nice guy,” Jason Macaluso, a conductor on Metro-North for 12 years, said with a laugh.

The minute was originally known as “gate time,” dating to the days when gates were used to block off the ramps that lead down to the platforms. (The gates are still occasionally used at Grand Central.)

At the publicly posted departure time, the gates would be closed; those who had already made it through would have a minute to climb onto the train.

The practice gradually extended to trains to Long Island and New Jersey that start in Pennsylvania Station and the Long Island Rail Road’s Brooklyn terminal.

Railroad officials seemed somewhat cagey when asked about the minute.

An Amtrak spokesman admitted that a few of his railroad’s trains in major cities wait 60 seconds after the listed time, but he did not specify exactly which trains or which cities.

Riders told of the tacit 60-second reprieve were by turns amazed and grateful.

“I was surprised the train was still there, to tell you the truth,” said Christian Riddle, 28, slightly out of breath and looking more than a little relieved, as he leaned into a leather seat on a Brewster-bound local at Grand Central the other day.

According to the departure board, his train had left at 8:22 p.m., just as the timetable promised.

But Mr. Riddle, a carpenter headed home to Hawthorne, N.Y., ran anyway, hopping into the rear car just as the clock ticked 8:23. Ten more seconds passed before the doors slid shut.

Missing the train would have meant a half-hour wait for Mr. Riddle, who deemed the secret minute policy “pretty cool.”

“But I’d still try to get there on time,” he added. “You never know.”

Sul treno con ritardi, sporcizia e ruggine

TESTATA: Corriere della Sera
DATA: 21/07/2009
AUTORE: Corriere della Sera

Un controllore a bordo: «È una vergogna far viaggiare la gente in queste condizioni»

MILANO- Ritardi, sporcizia e la ruggine di vecchie carrozze. Sulla Freccia Salentina puntuali sono solo i disagi. Come tanti treni a lunga percorrenza il Milano – Lecce delle 9 di sera è un calvario quotidiano per i viaggiatori. Alcune carrozze vantano più di trent’anni di servizio. Ruggine e ossido sbucano dalle giunture, persino dai pannelli delle centraline elettriche. I sedili sono logori, sulla stoffa blu e grigia una mappa variegata di macchie e incrostazioni. A bordo rabbia e rassegnazione, compresa la nostra di cronisti, titolari di un biglietto e di una prenotazione in prima classe, in un vagone che non c’è.

DISAGI- «Succede molto spesso», spiega un utente abituale della tratta. «Le carrozze non corrispondono alle prenotazioni, è sempre un terno al lotto». Dai capotreni risposte secche, automatiche: «Non ci posso fare nulla, chiedete il rimborso». Intanto però il viaggio viene affrontato senza un posto, in una vettura declassata. Troviamo un ferroviere che si sfoga, con l’impegno che gli venga garantito l’anonimato: «L’azienda dovrebbe vergognarsi, far viaggiare la gente in queste condizioni è improponibile. C’è poca pulizia, i vagoni arrivano e ripartono in continuazione, la burocrazia e le lungaggini per i rimborsi sono ostacoli insormontabili». Arriviamo a Piacenza, a un’ora di viaggio, con già venti minuti di ritardo accumulati. Noi scendiamo insieme alle immagini per documentare la nostra testimonianza. La Freccia Salentina insieme al suo carico di viaggiatori prosegue verso Lecce, orario d’arrivo previsto le 8 e 30 del mattino.

Confessions of a high-speed junky

TESTATA: The Guardian
DATA: 23/06/2009
AUTORE: Giles Tremlett

Like many Spaniards, Giles Tremlett is hooked on the country's high-speed AVE trains. He hops on the latest route, and hurtles from one end of the country to the other.

The snow-capped foothills of the Pyrenees are in the far distance, framed by my picture window against a foreground of olive trees and open countryside. The menu in my hand, as I settle down with a glass of fino sherry in a wide, comfy seat, promises green salad with cured duck breast, mango and poppy seeds. A set of small, green digital figures above the compartment door mark 301km/h (187m/h).

I am travelling Club Class in one of Spain's high-speed AVE trains, in a style that Monocle Magazine recently referred to as "the best first class rail development" of the year.

I'm bound for various interesting work assignments, but I'm most excited about trying the latest offering from the growing AVE network - a direct service from Seville to Barcelona in five and a half hours. That's a 516 mile, as-the-crow-flies trip - roughly the same as, say, London to Aberdeen. I have booked ahead, so my hours of pampering on this stretch of the trip cost a modest €96.

After 18 years hopping from one Spanish airport to another I am now a self-confessed AVE addict. The hassle of crowded, out-of-town airports like Barcelona or Madrid becomes more nightmarish as the ease of getting on a train increases. The AVE has put the pleasure back into travel. It can now take me from Madrid to a dozen of Spain's main - and not so main - cities at speeds that top 300km/h. Train trips to Cordoba, Valladolid, Segovia, Toledo, Girona, Tarragona and Zaragoza now take much less time than by air. I have even been to tiny Huesca - a short hop from some of Spain's best ski slopes - in under two and half hours. The airplane still wins (though only just) in both time and price on trips to Barcelona, Seville and Malaga, but that is easily made up for by the gain in comfort and ease. Spaniards have voted with their wheely-bags. They are flocking back to railway stations.

Watching the Spanish countryside speed past like a never-ending roll of film, I occasionally see the old (meaning last year's) railway lines snaking their way around rocky outcrops and hills. My AVE is flying in a straight line, bludgeoning its way through tunnels and cuttings. Spain has been unabashed about the way it has rolled out these lines. Most cut straight through open countryside, giving you an unusual tour through some of the more remote bits of Spain.

There are tantalising views. Villages, castles, hillside chapels and cortijo farmhouses speed into sight, spark the imagination, and then rush out of view just as quickly. They are the sort of places that I would never see had the engineers not decided to put the tracks here. I have even come to recognise some of the landmarks along the lines from Madrid to Seville (the first route, which opened 17 years ago) and to Barcelona (just over a year old); an abandoned seminary here; a tiny village tucked into a valley there; or, even, the almond groves that blossom pinky-white in Tarragona in March.

The network is still really in its infancy. Another 9,000 kilometres are to be laid in a decade, with links into Portugal and France. It will be Europe's biggest high-speed network, putting 90% of Spaniards within 30 miles of a station.

I am not the only one to be impressed. Barack Obama's transport secretary, Ray LaHood, was on one of the AVEs the other day - no doubt wondering how he could get them going across the USA.

He was in Club, like me, but I'm guessing he didn't need to book ahead in order to bag a discounted fare. Then again, although I'm a sucker for the pampering, it doesn't really matter where you sit to get the best bits - you get the same views in the cheap seats, and at half the price.

Papá, ven en tren

TESTATA: El Periódico
DATA: 08/07/2009
AUTORE: Juli Capella

Papá, mamá, hijos, amiguetes: venid en tren. Porque no traquetea tanto y empieza a ser más puntual, el AVE y el Euromed. Venid en tren porque es más probable que lleguéis a casa sanos y salvos que yendo en coche. Además, podréis disfrutar leyendo el periódico. O paseando arriba y abajo zampándoos el bocata. O bien mirando el paisaje por los amplios ventanales, aunque sea para comprobar la avaricia edilicia de la última década. También es posible que os ofrezcan ver una peli y os enchufen unos auriculares chungos, pero no es obligatorio usarlos. Podréis descansar un rato, ir al vagón bar o, incluso, echar una cabezadita, siempre que los vecinos no sean moviladictos. Iréis del centro al centro de la población gozando de mayor bienestar, a no ser que se desmadren con el aire acondicionado. Pero sin caravanas, sin agobios ni pitidos. No hará falta llevar pasaporte ni quitarse el cinturón al embarcar. Y las damas podrán llevar cuantos líquidos, cremas y demás potingues se les antoje.

Viniendo en tren habrás destrozado menos el territorio; en proporción usarás una décima parte de lo que ocupa el coche. E incidirás infinitamente menos en lo que a desaguisados estéticos se refiere. Viniendo en tren, contaminarás menos por el camino, pero ojo, la generación de electricidad ensucia en origen.

Mientras no exista la teletransportación, el tren seguirá siendo uno de los medios más efectivos para desplazarse. Por eso Renfe debería mejorar el servicio de Cercanías, todavía muy precario. Ir en tren debería ser más barato y potenciarse con nuevas vías y estaciones por todo el país. Sin que obligatoriamente pasen por Madrid, ni siquiera por Barcelona.

Why we all need a little railway romance

TESTATA: The Times
DATA: 17/06/2009
AUTORE: Richard Morrison

Train companies want to reopen some long-since extinct local lines. Hallelujah! We can learn a lot from rail history

Yes, I remember Adlestrop. I’m old enough. As a nipper, en route to family holidays in the Cotswolds, I even passed through this, the most famous village railway station in the world — though, unlike in Edward Thomas’s poem, the train didn’t stop (“unwontedly” or otherwise) for me to hear all the birds of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire chirruping in euphonic polyphony.

I also remember Grogley Halt, Tumby Woodside, Marston Magna, Maddaford Moor, Wootton Bassett, Edington Burtle and Rumbling Bridge. Not because I passed through them all in short trousers (what did you think I was, a prepubescent trolley service?), but because a mad uncle gave me an illustrated gazetteer, Railway Stations of the British Isles, for my sixth birthday, and I spent hours — no, actually years — poring over those weird and wonderful station names.

I wish I still had it because it beautifully chronicled the railways in all their pre-Beeching glory. Some 21,000 miles of tracks! Almost 6,000 stations! And nearly every village in the realm connected to every other one by an intricate spider’s web of branch and main lines, ingeniously threaded through hills and over rivers by some of history’s greatest engineers.

The railways were a Victorian marvel invested by early 20th-century Britain with an aura of romance. In novels such as Buchan’s The Thirty-Nine Steps, poems such as Hardy’s Midnight on the Great Western and Larkin’s Whitsun Weddings, and films such as Brief Encounter, trains and stations weren’t just locations. They were metaphors; characters in their own right. In their heyday they exuded the very spirit of the nation — a nation that still had an Empire and a sense of destiny. So of course, after the debacle of Suez and the collapse of national self-confidence, we set about destroying them. In just two decades 9,000 miles of track and 4,000 stations were obliterated: a blitz endorsed by Tory and Labour ministers.

It was a sustained orgy of heritage desecration, institutionalised myopia and contempt for public opinion that made what Ceausescu did to Bucharest look like the work of an enlightened democrat. The saving in subsidy was tiny. But the price — urban gridlock, rural isolation, car dependence and the erosion of village life — was vast. We are still paying it.

Little wonder then that, as The Times reported on Monday, train companies want to reopen 34 lines axed by Beeching in the 1960s. They claim that these lines can now attract thousands of commuters, so vexatious has motoring (and parking) become on our clogged highways.

Well, good luck to them. One problem they face is that the green lobby — which might be expected to support the plan — could be hostile, because many disused lines have been turned into popular cycleways or footpaths. Another is that the country is so broke that the notion of spending half a billion quid to revive the world of Thomas the Tank Engine (as the proposal has already been caricatured) seems as remote as daily flights to Mars.

But if we don’t feel rich or idealistic enough to reinstate axed lines, may we at least restore some of the romance, charm and glamour that used to be associated with rail travel? Do all journeys have to be so stressful? Must all stations be dull and dingy, and all station buffets franchised to bland multinationals? And do transport staff have to be so grumpy?

These questions were prompted by an entertaining book just out. Piccadillyland is unlike any other novel. First, it was written by dozens of authors, some long dead. And second, it’s free — at least if you travel on the Piccadilly Line. Transport for London has commissioned it, as part of its commendable Art on the Underground programme, to celebrate the Piccadilly Line’s centenary. And the compilers, Emma Rushton and Derek Tyman, have done a clever job. They have combed thousands of novels for mentions of the Piccadilly Line and then woven hundreds of disparate paragraphs into a surreal new narrative. Of course it doesn’t tell a logical story, but it hangs together via an intriguing tangential logic. And you can have a lot of fun trying to identify each author (all is revealed at the end).

Some are obvious. Rankin’s Rebus, Mortimer’s Rumpole and Dexter’s Morse all travelled on the line. But there are also snippets of Will Self and Fay Weldon, Iris Murdoch and Nick Hornby, George Orwell and Tom Clancy, Jeffrey Archer and Agatha Christie (a gruesome bit of electrocution at Hyde Park Corner station, from The Man in the Brown Suit). Rushton and Tyman even quote from a novel called Piccadillyland, by Rushton and Tyman . . . a nice postmodern touch.

That made me think. If this one Tube line is mentioned so often in fiction, there must be thousands of references to the entire Tube network. And if you added all the mentions of mainline British railway stations in literature, you could probably publish a book longer than War and Peace. Call me fanciful, but to me this suggests that the British have an intense desire not simply to use their railways, but to feel pride in them — and, yes, even to love them, despite all their aggravations.

Railway companies need to nurture that. Many of us are forced to give them a good chunk of our waking hours, and a lot of dosh as well. What they give in return is often shoddy, unreliable and dispiriting. We should be getting fine design, comfort, mystique, even glamour. Journeys should be pockets of tranquillity in frenetic lives, not exhausting scrums. And all stations should aspire to the calm, cool beauty of Grand Central in New York. Even Stalin realised that. The finest architecture in the Soviet Union was the Moscow Metro.

The recently restored St Pancras station in London is a promising new beginning. It is elegant yet unpretentious, grandiose yet welcoming, bustling without having that terrifying Dante’s Inferno atmosphere that you encounter in the whirling vortex of London Bridge or the subterranean gloom of Birmingham New Street. But of course St Pancras was designed to impress the French, pouring off the Eurostar. On the Continent they still expect train journeys to be stylish and chic, as well as very fast. Only in Britain do we tolerate high fares, tortoise speeds and soulless squalor. How sad that — as with cricket, parliamentary democracy and state education — we now trail the world in something we invented.

Una vida en el túnel

TESTATA: El Pais

DATA: 15/06/2009
AUTORE: Pilar Álvarez

Recorrido con el conductor más veterano en el 90 cumpleaños del metro

Cuando empezó, le llamaban "el Niño". El mote no desmerece. En la fotografía de la promoción de 1968, su cara de chaval destaca. La gorra rígida en la mano, el uniforme oscuro y la mirada del que tiene toda la vida por delante. "Ya ves, cometí la chaladura de meterme en esto", dice José Luis López, de 65 años. Y se ríe. Ríe mucho el conductor más veterano del metro. Él no quiere hacer cálculos -"¡Uy, eso ni lo pienso!"-. Pero bastan un par de operaciones. Ocho horas al día, 270 días al año, 42 años de servicio... José Luis López ha pasado más de una década de su vida metido en el túnel.

Ahora que el metro cumple 90 años, el hombre accede con un poco de vergüenza -"¡me vais a hacer famoso!"- a compartir un viaje por su línea (Metrosur) y por su memoria. Hace el relevo en el andén de Puerta del Sur. Entra y se acomoda en la cabina. Asiento de cuero, reclinable. Gran cristalera desde la que siempre se ve la luz al final del túnel. El tren se pone en marcha. El viaje en el tiempo también.

El Niño tenía un tío trabajando en el metro. "Están buscando conductores, ¿por qué no te presentas?", le dijo una tarde. No parecía muy difícil, pensó. ¿Qué preguntaban en el examen? "Una suma, una resta, una multiplicación, una división y un dictado. Aprobé, claro". Su primer sueldo fue de 3.500 pesetas. Ahora, con los pluses de antigüedad y del turno de noche, la nómina ha crecido hasta 2.300 euros, dice casi con reparo. Pulsa el botón que apaga los faros.

El tren frena en el andén de la estación de Universidad Rey Juan Carlos, donde pasean los chicos que vienen de hacer la Selectividad, con los ojos de miedo, el manojo de apuntes y casi la misma cara de inocente que José Luis López debía tener cuando empezó a bajar cada día a los túneles. Eso fue antes de rotar por la mitad de las líneas -ha conducido por los raíles de las líneas 1, 6, 7, 11 y 12-. Cuando, en lugar del asiento reclinable, tocaba pasar ocho horas en un sillín de bicicleta. Y dolía, sí. Nueva risa de lado. "A veces se aflojaba y te caías al suelo". La cabina era mínima. Casi un metro por un metro. Con el freno de mano a un lado, multitud de botones tras la cabeza. López lo resume con una frase que retumba como si estuviera preparada: "Antes tú llevabas el metro, ahora el metro te lleva a ti".

La conducción es automática. La pantalla de la izquierda ejerce de chivato. Alterna imágenes del interior del vagón, donde se han acomodado los chicos de la Selectividad, con otras de la siguiente estación (Manuela Malasaña), a la que aún no ha llegado el tren. Se ven nítidos los raíles vacíos, unos cien metros antes de frenar. "Es para evitar los suicidios", dice. En 40 años se ha cruzado con alguno, claro. Comentario escueto. "Vuelves a casa con mal cuerpo". El peor accidente, la noche que vio cómo un compañero perdía la pierna tras resbalar al andén.

El ruido del tren en el túnel -un chirrido terrible que retumba como una tormenta-, se come sus palabras. ¿Cómo se acostumbra uno al estruendo? "Ya ves, con los años, pero se pierde mucho oído aquí abajo... y mucha vista también". De momento, sólo usa gafas para leer.

La estación de Hospital de Fuenlabrada está casi desierta. Como sus noches de trabajo. En los días buenos, confiesa, pasa el rato "mirando a las chicas guapas de los andenes". Pero si está preocupado, las horas muertas sin compañía son un vaivén de pensamientos retorcidos. No guarda muchos malos recuerdos, a pesar de todo. Entre los peores, el 23-F, la noche del intento de golpe de Estado en 1981. "Salí de casa y le dije a mi mujer: 'Milagros, que a lo mejor ya no vuelvo". Y pasó la noche de turno (de 23.00 a 6.00) pegado a un transistor con los compañeros en una cabina de la estación de Aluche.

La de noches que habrá pasado Milagros con el hueco de la cama vacío. El conductor lleva casi 30 años en el turno de noche. Traslada a los últimos pasajeros del día y luego mueve trenes en las cocheras. Tantas noches fuera que ahora, cuenta José Luis, su mujer ya no sabe dormir acompañada. "Los días que libro, me dice que vuelva al trabajo, que quiere la cama para ella sola". Sus tres hijos, ya mayores, aún le echan en cara las nocheviejas y nochebuenas que pasó en la cabina, con la cena en una tartera y la familia brindando sin él. "Las más tristes de todas, seguro".

Ya no le ocurrirá más. En dos meses, José Luis López se jubila. Este madrileño - "gato puro, de padres y abuelos de aquí"- dejará los andenes y huirá a menudo de Getafe a Torremolinos, en Málaga, donde compró una casa para recuperar todo ese sol que ha perdido durante tantos años bajo tierra. "Sobre todo echaré de menos a los compañeros", confiesa casi al completar el recorrido. Llega su relevo. Y se va, como vino, riendo.

E i passeggeri «sequestrano» il tram

TESTATA: Corriere della Sera

DATA: 26/05/2009
AUTORE: Gianni Santucci

E i passeggeri «sequestrano» il tram
«Ci porti a casa»: i viaggiatori impediscono a un mezzo della linea 1 di raggiungere il deposito

MILANO - «Adesso lei ci porta a casa. Punto». Non aggressivi. Abbastan­za educati. Ma irremovibi­li. Occupano i binari quando sono da poco pas­sate le sette e mezza di lunedì pomeriggio e loro han­no già aspettato «più di mezz’ora». Piccola som­mossa dei passeggeri sul tram della linea 1, tra via Vitruvio e via Settembri­ni. Sommossa improvvi­sata che alla fine ha suc­cesso. E un tram che sa­rebbe dovuto andare drit­to in deposito viene «di­rottato ». Cambia pro­gramma e porta le perso­ne a casa. «Perché la pa­zienza dei cittadini ha un limite» dicono gli «agita­tori».

Gente civile che s’è ribellata al termine di uno dei pomeriggi più caldi delle ultime settima­ne. E sulla pazienza, l’afa soffocante ha un peso. La sequenza degli eventi pare sia iniziata intorno alle 19: i passeggeri iniziano a raccogliersi alla fermata, passano i tram delle altre linee, ma non l’1. Ad aspettarlo sono sempre più persone, che si lamentano. Si tranquillizzano quando vedono un tram avvicinarsi, e salgono, «ma a quel punto — racconta uno dei passeggeri — il tranviere ci ha detto che doveva andare in deposito».

Prima ribellione: «Invece ci porta a casa, è già troppo tempo che aspettiamo». Si arriva a un accordo, perché dietro c’è un altro 1 in arrivo. I passeggeri scendono, ma al momento di salire sull’altro tram notano il cartello «deposito». Ed esplodono. Occupano i binari. La conducente dice: «Ma io devo eseguire gli ordini». Risposta: «Li faccia cambiare, questi ordini». Telefonate e conciliaboli. Un po’ spaesata, alla fine, la tranviera dice: «Ok, andiamo».