Along Elevated Lines, It's Hard to Stand the Silence

Stores on Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, Queens, along the elevated No.7 subway line.Some welcomed the silence of the transit strike.Others missed the noise.

By COREY KILGANNON
Published: December 22, 2005
New York Times

For nearly 90 years, life along Roosevelt Avenue has been pre-empted every few minutes by a sustained interruption of train clatter, as the elevated No. 7 train rumbles overhead. The 20-second interjection is loud enough to banish thought itself. It halts conversations and forces newcomers to hold their ears.

But since the trains stopped on Tuesday, the hammer of the gods has suddenly stopped, too. People who live and work along the avenue seemed slightly disoriented yesterday. The decibel level that has defined life there, as well as at other places in Queens, Brooklyn and the Bronx - is conspicuously absent.

"It's strange, but the silence is more noticeable than the noise," said City Councilman Eric N. Gioia, who represents Woodside, Queens, and grew up under the El. "When you spend your life hearing the screech of steel wheels over your head every two minutes, you almost forget what quiet is."

Ever since 1917, when the elevated subway was built along Roosevelt Avenue, the steel-on-steel scrape and the rumble of a subway train overhead have been constant companions. Some residents liken it to being a roller coaster operator, or being trapped in a revolving door at a heavy-metal concert.

But when transit workers began a citywide strike on Tuesday morning, the quiet that was long ago banished from the area returned.

The ambient noise level of Queens neighborhoods along the line - including Sunnyside, Woodside, Jackson Heights and Corona - returned to that of your average busy New York City thoroughfare. While many residents embraced the relative silence, others seemed bewildered by it, and, after only two days, even began waxing nostalgic for it.

"I actually miss the noise already," said Cristina Fletcher, 33, a Filipino immigrant who for the past five years has lived in a building in Woodside, a half-block from Roosevelt Avenue. "You get used to it. It's part of life here, the sound of the city. It's strange to actually be able to walk down Roosevelt Avenue and talk on your cellphone.

"Living here is like having the subway running through your living room," she said, "and now it's turned off."

Angel Perez, 30, of Brooklyn, a mail carrier who delivers along Roosevelt Avenue, said the day "feels like a funeral procession." He added: "It's a big difference. You learn to block it out normally, but it's always there."

The image of the hulking structure of the elevated tracks has become an emblem of gritty urban living mythologized in pulp novels and film noir.

In Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, Tajara Barnes, 30, has a fourth-floor apartment so close to the elevated J line that she can look passengers in the eye. "The silence is unbearable; it's keeping me up," she said. "I can't even sleep this week because I've become so accustomed to the train noise."

In the South Bronx, though, workers in the many automotive shops along Jerome Avenue relished the lack of noise overhead. "The noise is so annoying, I hope the strike lasts forever," said Jose Martinez, 22, who fixes flat tires. "It's a whole other world without those things going by."

The No. 7 line has sometimes been glorified as the "immigrant express," serving Flushing's vibrant Asian community and the ethnically diverse neighborhoods along the route. But to those who live under it, it is more notable for its noise.

Some residents living on or near Roosevelt Avenue spoke of finally getting a sound sleep. Others confessed to feeling a bit uneasy: Things seemed just a little too quiet.

Mahmud Hossain, 31, a Bengali immigrant who owns the New York Deli and Grocery at Roosevelt Avenue and 76th Street, said life on the avenue had always been about "the big noise." For the past seven years, Mr. Hossain said, he has worked at his counter 12 hours a day, separated from the El outside by a pane of glass. Since he lives in an apartment building on the avenue, he also hears the train all night, he said.

He and his wife have a relationship based upon intermittent conversations. "When we talk to each other, part of every conversation is saying, 'Hold on a second,' " he said.

"It's funny to say," he added, "but the silence is driving me crazy."

Linda Ramos, 27, a waitress in a nearby restaurant, feels otherwise. "One thing we don't get in this neighborhood is peace and quiet," she said.

Francisco Garcia, 30, a street vendor who pushes a cart along the avenue, selling tamales and the soupy sweet rice pudding known in Spanish as arroz con leche, was equally pleased. "The silence is good," he said. "That noise can drive you nuts."

But Mr. Hossain said, "I feel bad about the quiet because at least when I hear the noise, it means the city is working and running."

Comment From Raiderlegend: And I thought the fire truck sirens here in San Francisco were noisy. At least I don't look the firemen in the eyes when they pass my window, but then again, I'm on the fifth floor and the street is not elevated. Such is Life in a City.