Art and history below the streets of Newark

Below Newark's Raymond Boulevard and University Heights, there's a step back in time that many people outside of the city don't know is there. I recently took a few hours to check it out, and as with most of our jaunts, I found more than I expected.

First, I have to confess to being somewhat of a transit enthusiast. If you've read my tribute to Newark Airport's 1935 terminal, you already know I have a fondness for vintage places where you can get from point A to point B in some sort of conveyance. Newark Penn Station is another 1930's-era Art Deco masterpiece, and when I worked in the city, I loved my twice-daily walks through the heavily-used but little appreciated gem. 

My first trek on the City Subway was in 2001, prompted by the impending retirement of the old 1950's era trolley-like cars in favor of 21st century light rail. NJ Transit opened the system up one night, giving free rides to all comers who wanted a last dose of nostalgia. Yup, it was me and a bunch of foamers -- do I know how to have fun on a Friday night, or what? Despite the fact that the old cars were painted in bright NJ Transit colors, the whole experience was a throwback. It wasn't hard to imagine the times when Public Service Transport operated surface trolleys, and commuters from Bloomfield and the 'Newark suburbs' counted on the City Subway to get to their jobs at New Jersey Bell or an afternoon of shopping at Bambergers.

The Newark City Subway runs on the former bed of the Morris Canal, which originally ran through the city on its route between Phillipsburg and Jersey City. Abandoned by 1924, the canal had become a mosquito-infested trough and a barrier to the flow of increasing downtown traffic. Where barges had once transported the products of Newark's factories to points west, trains would now move people underground, allowing motor traffic on the new Raymond Boulevard above. Public Service had already built an extensive transit center on Park Place, providing a convenient transfer point to trolleys and buses going virtually anywhere in the state. Subway construction began in 1929 and was completed in 1935, with an extension to Penn Station finished a few years later. Beyond the Warren Street station that serves Rutgers and NJIT, the line goes to surface, making one grade crossing and hugging the edge of Branch Brook Park before terminating at Grove Street in Bloomfield.

As was the case with many major public works during the Great Depression, WPA artists made their mark on the City Subway. The line's four underground stations are graced with tile murals created by Newark native Domenico Mortellito, who'd grown up not far from the Morris Canal. Each depicts one of his childhood memories of the waterway, except for the Penn Station murals, which portray the transformation from barge to railway, complete with steam shovels and laborers moving iron beams into place. Together, the 10 murals represent the first instance of public art used in an underground transit system. Yup... you've got it: another New Jersey first.

I wasn't just there for the vintage stuff: there's more contemporary art to be found, too. As you enter the system at Penn Station, you're met by life-sized bronze commuters sculpted by Russian-born Jersey City artist Grigory Gurevich. A metal clerk stands inside a sizeable booth, presumably offering change for the turnstiles that once marked entry below.

My personal favorites are found sitting unobtrusively at the Branch Brook Park station. Sculptor Tom Otterness pays tribute to Mortellito with white tile representations of two of the underground murals, attended to by small brass workmen. It's a whimsical memorial to an accomplished artist whose works also graced Rockefeller Center and the 1939 World's Fair, among others.

Inadvertent as it may be, NJ Transit has done a pretty good job of maintaining a vintage feel on some aspects of the underground. They've added modern signage as necessary, but they've left the old tile signs that direct riders to surface streets and other destinations. Disembark at the Military Park station, and you might see a tile pointing in the direction of the Public Service Terminal. It's been more than 30 years since that building was demolished, but the sign will still direct you toward PSE&G's headquarters location.

Oh, and one last thing: if you're going to play tourist on the City Subway, you can do it really economically. The system works on the fare ticket system, where you validate your own ticket at your entry point, rendering the ticket useful for 60 minutes. A ride from Penn Station clear out to Bloomfield takes less than half that time, so you could potentially get off at a given stop, take a quick look around the neighborhood and pop back onto the next train without having to pay another fare. As far as I can tell, it's perfectly legal.

Stamps, express mail and works of art

How often do you find yourself going to the post office lately? If you're like me, it's a fairly rare occurrence, especially now that I do most of my correspondence and bill paying electronically. Mostly, I'm there to ship something I sold on eBay, or maybe I'm sending hard-copy writing samples via express mail.

I have to admit that when I have time to spare, I rather enjoy going to the post office in my small town. It's old-timey and maintains that feeling of permanence you want in a government building, which so many newer buildings lack. Take a look at the higher reaches inside the lobby area of an older post office, and chances are you'll see some vintage murals. Depending on the location, you might see colonial history, idyllic local scenery, or maybe heroic representations of New Jersey industry.

These murals were the product of a convergence of economic hardship, government stimulus and artistic trends in the 1930s. Art - and artists - tend to suffer in poor economies, and the Great Depression was no exception. Among the 'alphabet soup' bureaus created under the Roosevelt Administration were the Federal Art Project, Public Works of Art Project and the Treasury Department Section of Painting and Sculpture, all designed to provide work opportunities to artists while improving public buildings. Murals were particularly popular, as the Italian Renaissance fresco style had come to the fore during the Roaring 20s. Most showed more traditional styles, idealizing American values in the communities where they were housed. They didn't just put the unemployed to work, they help to tell the stories of our past and expose us to fine art at the same time. Nationally, more than 5000 jobs were created through the art programs. In New Jersey alone, nearly 50 post offices were graced with their work.

I do wonder about the veracity of some of the scenes, though. The recently-restored mural at the Cranford Post Office, for example, is purported to depict the Battle of Cranford, a skirmish I've yet to hear of. Yes, troops were cantoned along the Rahway River in the town, but it's not likely they actually fought on town soil. I'm sure the mural has built community pride in our colonial forebears, perhaps it's at the price of accuracy.

These days, the murals have likely lost their meaning for many people who see them, but they're worth a look. When they were first installed, they showed a vision of the best of a prosperous and hopeful America. Today, they show the optimism of a people in the depths of economic despair, a people who would enjoy a level of prosperity within a generation.

Newark Airport's secret murals, revealed

A while back I posted a piece on Newark Airport's early days and its beautiful Depression-era art deco terminal and administration building, which was restored several years ago. What I didn't mention -- because I didn't know -- was that a key part of the terminal is no longer there. It's at the Newark Museum.

I visited the terminal a few years ago to check out the architecture, and it didn't disappoint. No longer welcoming travelers as a gateway to their flights, the building now houses various law enforcement and public safety agencies, but I was able to walk freely through the lobby and upstairs balcony area. It had all the usual art deco accouterments, but I was stopped short by an abstract-looking mural on the second floor. It felt weirdly modern, though I couldn't place the era.

The answer came in a booklet provided nearby, which explained that the mural was one of several sponsored by the Federal Art Project of the Works Progress Administration. Armenian-American painter Arshile Gorky painted ten works for the building and called them "Aviation: Evolution of Forms under Aerodynamic Limitations." Instead of working directly on the plaster walls, Gorky painted on large canvases, a practice regularly used by WPA-sponsored artists. His works remained in view at the airport from their installation in 1937 until the War department took control of the airport in 1942. At that point, they disappeared.

However, they weren't forgotten. In the 1970's, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, now operators of the airport, began an inventory of art in the agency's older buildings. While surveying Newark Airport's oldest building for its art deco detailing, a researcher happened to notice a thread dangling from one of the walls and surmised he may have discovered the missing murals. Eventually, through testing the fate of the Gorky works became clear: they'd been obscured by fourteen coats of mundane wall paint that had been slapped up over the years.

Today, two panels of the ten survive and are now hanging on the first floor of the Newark Museum, their vibrant colors restored. I rediscovered them when Ivan and I visited the museum over the summer, and found that the one I'd seen at the airport was a reproduction. To be honest, I had mixed feelings about seeing them at the museum. On one hand, I was rather pleased that I could identify them and knew their provenance. On the other hand, I felt they should be at their original home, EWR circa 1935. There, they felt like a secret treasure only a few of us knew about.