By Kaylee DeFreitas

I have always been fascinated by the subway tunnels that stretch beneath the city, funneling their way through the Manhattan schist and shuttling millions daily. With this fascination for the subway system also comes an interest in the stations lost to the past; those whose only purpose now is as a canvas for graffiti artists or a place for urban explorers to cross off their lists. I was aware of closed stations like the famed City Hall, whose Guastavino tiling and light fixtures remind one of a time when travel was treated with a heightened glamor. Despite this knowledge, I was unaware of a decommissioned station lying just between West 86th and 96th Streets; the long-gone 91st Street station. 

The station is itself a remnant of the beginnings of New York City’s subway system. Built for the first subway line in NYC by the Interborough Rapid Transit Company (IRT), it began operating on October 27, 1904. The 91st Street station was one of 28 stops that existed on this original line, which ran along what are the 1, 2, 3 lines today. 

Looking back at archival images of this station from 1957, I was able to see what lies beneath all the graffiti and years of decay. The station was adorned with the now iconic mosaics and tiling done for the IRT by Heins & LaFarge. “Both Parsons [constructor of the IRT line] and Heins & LaFarge believed that subway stations should be beautiful, but not have ornament just for ornament’s sake,” New York Transit Museum Curator Jodi Shapiro says. Shapiro states that while the 91st Street station was not unique among the original 28 stations, it still featured the repeating mosaic and design motifs that connect many of the IRT stations; such as egg and dart ornamentation and terracotta name plates. Framing these name plates on either side are mosaic columns. This design, according to Shapiro, are referred to as tapestries, and can be found within other original IRT stations in operation today. 

The 91st Street station platform length is much shorter than that of modern-day platforms. The reason being that in 1904, when the IRT line began operation, local trains were only three to five cars long. Early in the line’s operation, the city deduced that these small trains and platforms would not be enough. “As soon as the system opened in 1904, it was running beyond capacity, it was jammed,” says John Morris, author of “Subway: The Curiosities, Secrets, and Unofficial History of the New York City Transit System.” This station did have its platform lengthened by a few tens of feet in either direction in 1910 to accommodate longer trains, but no further expansion was made; a factor that would lead to the station’s eventual demise. By the 40s, the 96th and 86th Street platforms were slowly closing the gap that once made the 91st Street station viable. The 96th Street platform expansion down to nearby 94th Street in the late 50s was the nail in the coffin; on February 2, 1959 the train stopped for the final time at the 91st Street station.

Now shuttered for over 50 years, the ghost platform still exists, frozen in time and camouflaged with graffiti. It is the latter that makes you have to look so closely for it as you pass it between the 86th and 96th Street stations. The graffiti affects your depth perception, making the station look like one long wall. It isn’t until you look purposefully that you begin to see the platform and beams take shape. Even above ground you will have to look closely to spot remnants of the station. “If you look really carefully on the North West corner, you can see the seams in the concrete [and] you can make out where the stairway was,” says Morris. 

The draw of this station goes beyond that of the average curious straphanger or history enthusiast. If one googles 91st Street station, a slew of YouTube videos pop up of urban explorers rushing through the caverns of the MTA, dodging passing trains along the way, to make it to the decommissioned platform. Even author Andre Aciman’s interest was piqued by this very station, an experience he wrote about in a 1999 article for The New York Times. He described the endeavor as follows; “Wandering through this modern underworld, I tried to think of the great poets and the caves of Lascaux… but all I could focus on as I negotiated my way through a thick mantle of soot was dirt, rats and a faint queasiness.” From his description, it seems this was certainly not the revelatory adventure he was hoping for. 

From current images and YouTube videos to Aciman’s account of the station, one question may settle on the mind: why? Why are people so drawn to decommissioned, dilapidated subway stations? Why do people careen their heads to get a glimpse of them passing by? Why do people risk their lives to explore these places lying just beneath our feet, even when they are falling apart? Perhaps it’s a way to feel closer to history; to be able to reach out and touch something, making your mark on the past and leaving it for the future. “I think it’s a combination of innate human curiosity about things from the past and particularly things that are underground and hidden,” says Morris. 

Artifacts like this remind us all to take in the world around us and marvel in the everyday wonders, whether they be man-made or natural. While not as beautiful as it once was, the 91st Street station still holds some beauty to those who appreciate the history of the city and the tunnels below. “Transit history is also New York’s history; the city as we know it today would not exist without its transportation system,” says curator Shapiro. Next time you’re passing between the 86th and 96th Street stations, make sure to look out the window to try and spot the ghost station, the lights still illuminating the platform as it falls to the throes of time. And make sure to look closely, because if you don’t you just might miss it.

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