She gave us so much, especially after my dad died and she had four daughters under the age of 15 to raise. As years go on, I am blown away that she was able to raise us as beautifully and bravely as she did. I love both the big and the little things I remember, like how she knew and enjoyed how to keep score in a baseball scorebook or how she trusted us to be clerks in our sporting goods store when I was 12 years old. The sporting goods store, in a narrow storefront in our town of Wampum, Pa., was a part-time business that my father, Charley, and Uncle Luke, brothers and both millworkers, owned. My mom took over DeMark Bros. Sporting Goods when my dad died of cancer, at age 45, and I felt so responsible working there.

What mattered came across more in actions than words. My mother was the first to buy history books for me. She encouraged my sisters and me to learn and explore, something best captured in the trips she planned to Canada, Washington, D.C., and elsewhere. She knew beauty, in the flowers she raised, the wonderful meals she prepared, the music she loved.

She knew struggle, but she didn’t dwell on it (except perhaps financially, yet she continually bettered our circumstances and saved and bought a newer, sweet ranch-style house). When my father died in 1959, she first got a job in a mattress factory and then earned a nursing degree, as a licensed practical nurse. One of the proudest days was attending her graduation ceremonies when she became an LPN. Mom lived the idea that education mattered so much, especially to a woman who had initially not had an opportunity to pursue a college degree – despite being valedictorian of her high school class.

I love those poems about feeling and seeing one’s mother in the signs around us, because I always do see her. I see my mom in roses and hyacinths, in home-baked bread, or the delicious comfort food that has become the rage (nothing was better than coming home from college to my mom’s beef stew or lasagna). I see her in the ways I appreciate country rides and road trips because she first took us on them – even if we ended up two hours north of where we were supposed to be, a metaphor for life’s journeys. I see her in the sky and the beautiful clouds.

Today I am more tearful, and I know I am also more filled with gratitude. This comes from seeing dear family members and friends who appreciate their own mothers so much as time goes on; who have lost their moms or are going through so much in taking care of them in their elder years; or who have been coming to terms with difficult memories with their mothers. For me, to cry more is to know life more tenderly, and to appreciate the gift of my mom’s love ever more each year…in the gifts she gave her children, the people she put in my life, and the love that lives on within me, my sisters, my nephew, and our family.

Susie DeMark, holding her first daughter

I feel so blessed that this beautiful young woman in the photo, at 26 years old – holding her first child, Charlene, the first of four daughters — was my mom. Though we lost her way too soon to cancer, at the age of 55 in 1974, I wouldn’t give up the gift that I had in our mom for anything. And I’m grateful for the many moms I’ve had throughout my life, especially my godmother Aunt Jean and my Aunt Emelene, and the rest of my aunts. What a blessing! In the area where we lived in Western Pennsylvania, we were surrounded by aunts and uncles who nurtured us, were so kind, and gave a strong sense of roots to my sisters, cousins, and me.

I sensed how my relationship with our mother progressed as I got older. As I matured, I got into fewer scrapes and more into making her proud of me. In my sophomore year of college, I began to see myself as a scholar and writer, the seeds coming to fruition that she had planted with books many years before. On the trips between home and college, we began to have adult-to-adult conversations, about people, life, and death. I so loved those moments. Her death after my college graduation cut short those conversations, as it did so many things. It has taken me a long time to fully acknowledge the depth of the hole created in my sisters’ and my lives when my mom died, though the pain was visible in my family immediately.

Today, I consider what it would have been like for my mother and father to have been here during all these years, to see my family’s accomplishments and continue sharing our lives, to experience the birth of a grandson and watch him grow to adulthood. I miss making my mother laugh and smile. She and my dad would have taken so much joy out of all of our endeavors and from witnessing the beautiful, wise women that my sisters have become. Yet, 1974 wasn’t the end of the story – she is here, and I feel some immediacy that our mom is present in ways that earthly existence doesn’t grasp.

Somehow my mother’s touch is still very much in our lives, and I marvel more than ever at motherhood.

Bauman is one of the many whose lives changed irrevocably, ripped apart in the seconds that the two bombs exploded on Monday, April 15, on Boston’s Boylston Street. In a short and horrific time, the violence killed 3 people and wounded some 175 others, many of whom were maimed and lost legs. Four days later, following a tense approximately 22-hour manhunt, valiant law enforcement officers arrested bombing suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, 19. His 26-year-old brother and the other suspect, Tamerlan Tsarnaev, was shot to death in a confrontation with police some 19 hours before, as CBS and WBZ radio reported. The arrest brought a break and enormous collective relief at one of the most difficult times this historic city has ever experienced.

Surely, the bringing to justice of suspects answers important needs of a civil society, as it restores some sense of order. Yet we are left with the deeper whys, the perplexing questions that remain and never quite go away even when authorities capture, charge, or kill perpetrators, and see that “justice is done.”

The suffering in Boston is immense. It’s devastating and heart-breaking, Vigils have honored the victims – Krystle Campbell, 29; Lu Lingzi, 23; and Martin Richard, 8. In one moment, the angelic-faced Richard – a boy from all reports who was full of spirit and loved to play sports and be outdoors – was watching the race with his family. Suddenly, following the bombings, he was dead. Martin’s younger sister, Jane, lost her leg, and his mother, Denise, underwent surgery for a brain injury, CBS News reported. How is the father, Bill Richard, able to stand up and go on? No one can be in his place and know exactly the weight of grief and loss in his heart. Many are reaching out in efforts to support him.

The manhunt had its own toll: An MIT police officer, Sean Collier, 26, died when overtaken by the suspects, and Richard Donohue, 33, a transit police officer, was later critically injured in a shootout with the two brothers. As the media images and words kept conveying the aftermath, we became witnesses to the suffering.

An Attack on Place

In Boston, the bombs killed and maimed people in an act of war and violence during a peaceful event that draws many thousands of runners each year from all over the world. Since 1897, the Boston Marathon has been a race of common humanity, which the city hosts on the Massachusetts holiday of Patriots’ Day. The marathon celebrates every runner as a winner.

The bombings suddenly shattered those joyful moments. Such attacks, whether they have been in Newtown, Columbine, Oklahoma City, London, or Bali, or those of September 11, 2001, show how violence changes lives instantly and brings many people together in suffering, survival, grief, anger, and bewilderment. The attacks strike not only people but places. They have hit schools and public spaces, neighborhoods, and cities that are often beloved or at the very least where citizens feel safe – and they have left scars on streets and in buildings that will remain for a very long time.

Martin Richard

Perhaps it’s in one particular stunning image of Martin Richard that we see our feelings expressed, as humans sharing the pain violence begets. The photo at school shows Richard, smiling, after a lesson last year on the killing of Trayvon Martin. He is holding a handmade sign that says, “No more hurting people. Peace.” The picture went viral over social media. In many ways, it conveys what so many feel, wanting and imploring for no more violence.

By and large, most people are peaceful. But what do we make of a world with so much violence? The Boston bombings, in the streets at an international event with thousands gathered peacefully, brought to mind the war and attacks in the cities and towns that others in the world live with constantly, in parts of Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Burma, Sudan, and elsewhere. We human beings expect peace in our lives and in our gathering places. When two men bring bombs that they have built into the middle of a crowd and explode them, killing and hurting people, it’s an assault on all that is civil and on the peace that we cherish.

Why Does It Happen?

As I’ve felt so profoundly unsettled like many others in the twin bombings’ aftermath, I’ve reflected on recent occurrences of shocking violence that were similarly troubling. Each exhibited a wanton callousness toward life. Using an assault-type weapon, Adam Lanza, 19, went into a Newtown, Conn., elementary school last Dec. 14, opened fire, and massacred 26 children and educators. That same week, on Dec. 16 in New Delhi, India, a group of men attacked a woman, Jyoti Singh Pandey, and her male companion on a bus – the attackers included the bus driver – and repeatedly gang-raped the woman and tortured her with a metal bar. The victim died two weeks later of internal injuries.

Some cases have involved animals, who, like children, are so vulnerable. In early January north of Houston, someone shot a dog repeatedly in the face using a shotgun. This person left the dog, who had massive wounds from hundreds of pellets, in a garbage bag tied to a fence. A local woman, Tami Augustyn, took the dog to a clinic, saving his life. She subsequently set up a Facebook page and raised thousands of dollars for Buck’s treatment and for other abused dogs. Though each situation differed, for those who committed the actions of depravity any sense of right and wrong had become loosened from its moorings – in other words, it was the very nature of evil.

People often label such people as “nutcases,” “sickos,” “monsters,” and the like, distancing ourselves from them via labels. Indeed, insanity, sickness, and monstrous rage are present. Yet what exactly happens that causes human beings to commit such violence? Why does one child grow up to study medicine and learn how to use his or her hands as a surgeon who heals, while another uses the hands to create bombs and kill? The answers are very individual, though themes emerge.

The capacity for violent action such as that in school shootings and bombings has complex roots. Some ascribe certain behaviors to religious radicalism and focus on that aspect. But how and why do such beliefs become implanted in some human beings who choose to act violently? Not every fanatic wields a bomb. Has someone been nurtured consistently and formed the bonds within family and community that foster self-worth and empathy toward others?

In each case, what is the particular combination of internal and external that produces a murderer who feels nothing in shooting at children or detonating a bomb? We are learning a lot more about the origins of violence through studies of brain chemistry and better understanding of mental illness. We know that we live in a world full of violent programming, games, and images; intense competition that produces haves and have-nots, “in crowds” and out people; ethnic hatreds and constantly warring groups; and ready access to ever more destructive weapons and to resources and information on how to build bombs. In some ways, we shouldn’t be surprised at what happens, though it still shocks and causes untold harm and agony.

The Human Spectrum

In the midst of horror and grief, we consider the capacity for evil within humankind. Yet, many, many people in the Boston area have been personifying courage, bravery, and resilience from the moments the bombings occurred. In the split-seconds of panic when the explosions went off, many chose to run toward those who needed aid and took actions that saved lives. In the days afterward, many helped law enforcement. Jeff Bauman, while still in intensive care, provided a description of one suspect to the FBI, which assisted investigators in winnowing their focus while poring through videos, according to Bloomberg News. His life force remained strong despite losing both legs and suffering so much. We count on some balance that shifts toward virtue, goodwill, and heroism.

In such times, we, too, must reflect and be peace and strength together, especially if we are to live up to the words on Martin Richard’s handwritten poster. My prayers and thoughts continue to be with those whose lives have been so changed and torn by the tragedy of April 15. May those who feel grief and who are healing find strength, solace, and support, especially at their darkest hours.

Best of all, it’s easy to carve out various adventures, pleasures, and delights according to the mood and time – whether you have an afternoon or only 20 minutes before a train. In other words, it invites being in the “present moment” – which is, after all, the specialty of childhood.

My own treasures often tend to be of the “just walk around and explore it” variety.

On the occasion of Grand Central Terminal’s 100th birthday – it opened a century ago on Feb. 2, 1913 – Mindfulwalker.com looks at some of its fabulous design, architectural history, and treasures. Beginning with an examination of how New York City almost saw the terminal destroyed, Part I focused on a walk around and exploration of Grand Central’s Main Concourse. This segment features five more gems starting at the concourse and in pockets away from it.

West and East Staircases

Successful public spaces are as much about how you relate to them and feel as you travel through as about their beauty. The West and East Staircases invite walking civilly, taking pauses, and savoring the view into the Grand Concourse. Watch people interact with them, and you will see it is far from the “herd” instinct that all too often takes over in other staircases at transit stations. The West Staircase, in particular, is one of my favorite Grand Central places because of its striking entrance from Vanderbilt Avenue (though many Grand Central lovers likely love the East Staircase as much).

The West Staircase

At times, slowly walking either of the staircases can feel like pausing to take in a view or performance – it’s graceful and dramatic – and this is no accident. The architects of Grand Central designed two grand staircases in the Beaux Arts style, though only the West Staircase was built during the original construction a century ago. The architects modeled the West Staircase after the Grand Staircase in the Palais Garnier, Charles Garnier’s Paris opera house. The steps are pink marble from a Tennessee quarry, while the staircase railings are of ivory-colored Botticino marble from Italy’s northern Brescia region.

It’s uncertain why the East Staircase wasn’t constructed originally. More than eight decades later, the MTA Metro-North Railroad’s 1990s makeover completed what the architects originally had conceived, with a second stairwell – the East Staircase. It brought more beauty, elegance, and accessibility in place of the Chemical Bank automated teller center that was there. The architects located the original marble from quarries in Tennessee and Italy. Those doing the renovation had to be sure that the East Staircase would not be exactly like the west one, to telegraph to future generations, especially archaeologists, that the second one was a modification. Hence, the East Staircase’s balustrades are less ornate

The Graybar Passage Clock

The Graybar Passage, from the Grand Concourse, has always spoken to my delight in a form of urban caving, honed in my teen-age years in the arcades and passageways of Downtown Pittsburgh. In the Graybar Passage are a ceiling mural by Edward Trumbull, small storefronts, classical pilasters and curved ceilings, and a clock that is timeless.

Carved in the marble underneath the clock are the words “Eastern Standard Time.” This term memorializes forever the role of the railroads in the late 19th century in bringing order to the chaos of travel schedules in the United States, due to more than 100 different time zones. Because of train crashes, missed connections, and similar problems, the railroads, with New York Central playing an important role, petitioned Congress to set up time zones so they could create printed schedules. Congress balked, and so the railroads went ahead and established the main time zones as we know them today. New York Central, proudly underscoring its accomplishment, had the words carved under the clock.

The Station Master’s Office

With its benches and roominess, the Station Master’s Office makes waiting a pleasure. (The Station Master is responsible for the workings and comfort of the station.) This area for ticketed passengers is not a place where you will curse that you missed the earlier train. In fact, it’s a counterpoint to the scurrying that is New York, and it has none of the transient, “we-don’t-want-you-to-get-too-comfortable” feeling of various transit waiting spaces these days. The room has ample oak benches in the old train station style, which were in Grand Central’s former Waiting Room (now Vanderbilt Hall). Clean and spacious, it’s a refreshing place if the city’s crowds or harsh weather have sapped your energy. This space is part of the success story of MTA Metro-North’s massive renovation of Grand Central in the 1990s.

Detail from Roberto Juarez’s multimedia work “A Field of Wild Flowers”

The bright flowers and texture of Roberto Juarez’s 1997 multimedia work, “A Field of Wild Flowers,” found along three walls just above the benches, also generate feelings of “ahhhhhhhh.” The collage is full of purple, fuchsia, pink, olive and light green, and yellow flowers, fruit, and garlands, in wide circles that convey lush growth. The fragile work has layers of gesso, underpainting, urethane, and varnish, and Juarez used rice paper and a dusting of peat moss for added texture and beauty, according to the MTA Arts for Transit program. The surroundings of Juarez’s work suggest quiet thoughts, reading, and daydreaming.

Grand Central Terminal Model

I marvel at how many people walk by and seem to not notice the creative and superb replica of Grand Central Terminal that is inside the entrance to the Station Master’s Office. Grand Central is showcasing this miniature as part of its centennial celebration. The replica is one of 140 iconic buildings and structures, plus some wonders of the world, that the New York Botanical Garden features in its Holiday Train Show from late November to January.

Grand Central is one of the models of botanical design and architecture that Paul Busse and his imaginative team at Kentucky-based Applied Imagination have created for the train show. The not-so-small miniatures are made of twigs, bark, moss, stems, seeds, pine cones, and other elements of plants art. The more you look at the Grand Central replica, the more intricacies you see: columns of tiny sticks; variegated stone walls; the walls of glass with light showing within; and a whimsical rendering of the sculpture atop Grand Central with Mercury, Minerva, and Hercules.

Sirshasana Chandelier, Grand Central Market

How can someone make 3,000 pounds appear so delicate? That sense of awe comes as I consider “Sirshasana,” the sculptural chandelier with inverted roots that is at the terminal’s east end, the Lexington Avenue entrance to Grand Central Market. “Sirshasana” is named for a yoga headstand posture, an inverted olive tree with golden roots, and the term means “feet to heaven.” Sculptor Donald Lipski created the chandelier for the MTA Arts for Transit program, which installed it in 1999 as part of the opening of the Grand Central Market. Jonquil LeMaster of Portland-based Jonquil-Design built it.

It’s fitting for this market, too. If the tree’s feet are to heaven, its link is also to the ground upon which we depend and dwell together. Its many undulating branches and sturdy roots produce a strong sense of connection to nature and the Earth, the source of the market’s foods, be they spices from Africa, tomatoes from local farms, or hibiscus tea from Asia. Reaching out 25 feet, the chandelier’s branches hold 5,000 Austrian crystal pendants for the olives. These pendants catch the light and shadows in differing ways during the day, and the MTA intended to fashion a space, with its eastern-facing glass, that would allow morning light to permeate the area. The branches form smaller sculptures of varied shapes.

“Sirshasana,” at Grand Central Market’s Lexington Avenue entrance

The piece also reflects ancient and multicultural traditions. Lipski looked to Hindu and Greek lore and chose an olive tree because it symbolized “freedom and purity” to the ancient Greeks, the MTA’s description notes. He was also mindful of future generations in conceiving art of lasting value for a public space. In an interview for Newsday at the time of the installation, Lipski said, “I can see my grandchildren’s children looking up at it. It’s going to be here for a long time.”

Such a vivid sense of future generations, mixed with a storied history, pertains to all of Grand Central Terminal. It’s a jewel where children hopping on the West Staircase, gazing up at the Sky Ceiling, or having a hot dog in the Lower Concourse will one day soon enough be rushing to meet a date, having a cocktail, appreciating its breathing space as they catch a train after a hectic day, setting off from here on their own vacations, or pondering the grandeur of its immense Grand Concourse. Then one day, they, too, will show their own grandchildren Grand Central’s depths, nooks, and wonders.

Grand Central: Events and Further Exploration

Part I of Mindfulwalker.com’s 100th anniversary series on Grand Central delved into the history, special places, and qualities of the Grand Concourse:

Mindful Walker: The Treasures of Grand Central at 100, Part I

Grand Central will have additional events, New York Transit Museum exhibits, multimedia experiences, and other programs in 2013 to mark the centennial.

Grand Central: Events

To learn more of Grand Central’s architectural history, its features, and more of its secrets as you walk around the terminal, consider the MTA Metro-North Railroad’s own audio tour.

Grand Central Audio Tour

The sight (and smell and taste) of spices at Grand Central Market are an antidote for any dreary day.

Consider that before the threats occurred to Grand Central, another campaign to save a historic and stunning civic structure, Pennsylvania Station, had failed. The then-declining Pennsylvania Railroad began to demolish the station in 1963, a destruction that took three years. After that tragic loss, the City of New York established the Landmarks Preservation Commission. Today, when you walk around the current Pennsylvania Station and nearby blocks, you find an area lacking soul and a train station that feels like a poorly planned, crowded suburban mall where people happen to catch trains. At Grand Central, the opposite has occurred.

This coming week, Grand Central turns 100 years old. The terminal opened on Feb. 2, 1913. Tomorrow, Feb. 1, MTA Metro-North Railroad, which operates Grand Central Terminal, and other entities are throwing a huge 100th birthday party, and they will follow up with events and exhibits in 2013.

Today, Grand Central is a vital link through which some 700,000 people travel each day on trains and subways – somehow, in the station’s efficiently and elegantly planned waiting rooms and concourse, not bumping into each other. Moreover, it’s one of the world’s most-visited and loved tourist destinations as well as a place that New Yorkers continue to thoroughly enjoy and prize.

That we have the beauty, function, and rich experience of Grand Central today is not only a testament to those who fought for it and continue to build on and maintain its heritage, but to the genius of its original architects. The architectural firm of Reed & Stern did the overall planning, while Warren & Wetmore designed and executed the spectacular Beaux Arts style and details. Credit the MTA Metro-North Railroad, too, for undertaking a major makeover and restoration in the 1990s to rehabilitate a long-decaying terminal.

To appreciate why Grand Central’s survival matters, let’s adapt a premise from the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. What if Grand Central Terminal had not been saved – if this splendid historic building had been, in effect, killed by demolishing all or a significant part of it? Think about the difference it would make to New York City and the world if Grand Central hadn’t survived and wasn’t here anymore. How many grandparents would have missed out on showing their grandkids the Sky Ceiling in the Main Concourse? How many folks would never have experienced the “Whispering Gallery”? How about the woman who savored some slices of Tuscan salami made with fennel before heading back to her Midwest home? What different experiences would commuters departing and arriving on Metro-North trains have had all of these years – almost certainly not having that expansive, welcoming concourse before dashing out onto the city’s hectic streets?

Many people who catch trains, work, dine, have cocktails, shop, visit, tour, walk the concourses and corridors, or attend events at Grand Central have their own significant places, favorite nooks or features, and memories of Grand Central they could list.

As this gem of a train station marks its first century, Mindfulwalker.com takes a look at 10 places or treasures to appreciate on a stroll of Grand Central, five in this photo essay and another five to follow in a post soon. In another column, Mindfulwalker.com plans to focus on a proposal to rezone East Midtown that, in the view of New York’s Municipal Art Society, could radically change the skyline near Grand Central and alter nearby iconic streets.

Part I focuses on some treasures of the Main Concourse.

Sky Ceiling

It’s hard to understand how anyone could walk through the Main Concourse without looking up and admiring – even for brief moments on a commute – the painted Sky Ceiling (but it happens all the time). People from all over the world come to see this unique rendering of the heavens. The sky is a deep green-blue, and the constellations are outlined in gold leaf. The ceiling, 125 feet across and hung from steel trusses, contains 2,500 gold stars. Sixty are LED lights to highlight the constellations of a Mediterranean sky for the October to March zodiac. Architect Whitney Warren and French artist Paul César Helleu collaborated to conceive of and create the ceiling.

Picture yourself arriving in New York City at Grand Central, in the early 20th century, when trains were the main means of long-distance travel. This fine interior space and its sky ceiling would greet you as you emerged from the train platforms into the concourse. However, the starry ceiling, though a treasure, fell upon hard times as years went by – just as the rest of the terminal did – when long-distance train use declined precipitously. Over time, the ceiling became covered in a thick layer of grime. Ultimately, tests found it was primarily tar and nicotine from tobacco smoke. (Non-smoking keeps not only our bodies but our places healthier.)

Grand Central’s, and the astronomical ceiling’s, fortunes were resuscitated when Metro-North embarked on the ambitious restoration and rebuilding project in the 1990s. Besides constructing an east staircase, opening up passageways, transforming the Waiting Room into an exhibition hall, and adding retail and dining space, Metro-North had the ceiling cleaned by hand, revealing its glory and luster. By 1998, the painted stars and constellations could be seen again.

Many guides and articles point out that the sky is backward and discuss why this is so. (This talk has been going on for a century: The New York Times reported on March 23, 1913, that a “a commuter from New Rochelle who has dabbled in astronomy” made the discovery and had pointed out “wrathfully” in a letter that “west is east and east is west.”) While it’s valuable to understand the difference and see if the 8-year-old budding astronomer in the family picks up on it, the ceiling is wondrous all the same. When I walk under it, I feel energized, almost ennobled by the sight of the Sky Ceiling. At times, the stars and constellations seem in motion. It brings to mind the greater universe and beckons to the worlds beyond.

Grand Central’s Main Concourse

The Information Booth Clock

Because the Main Concourse floor is wide-open and possesses minimal interruption, the clock atop the Information Booth in the center of this commanding space stands out. That’s as it should be. It’s a marvel of beauty, elegance, and utility. Take a moment when you are rushing by to really look at it: Fashioned of brass for Grand Central when the terminal opened, the clock sits on an exquisitely detailed pedestal. It has four faces of opalescent glass, and the lighting behind the faces given it a warm, cream-colored glow. At the very top is a brass acorn, part of the acorns and oak leaves that railroad baron Cornelius Vanderbilt had chosen for his family’s symbols out of the old saying, “from an acorn a mighty oak shall grow.”

The Connecticut-based Seth Thomas Clock Co. was actually turning 100 years old when the company manufactured this clock for Grand Central’s 1913 opening, according to ClockHistory.com. While it hearkens to the early 20th century, its timekeeping is far advanced from that era and is amazingly accurate. It’s set every second by the atomic block at the U.S. Naval Observatory at Bethesda, Md., and thus is accurate to within 1 second every 20 billion years.

We can appreciate the clock because it’s one of the most recognized icons in the world or because, as so many articles and guides mention, it’s the location where countless people say, “Meet me at the clock.” We can relish that it has been in many movies, such as Alfred Hitchcock’s North By Northwest, The Fisher King, The Godfather, Arthur, The Cotton Club, and the 1942 film that started its film career, Grand Central Murder.

Yet I love the clock’s intangible qualities. It commands attention without being big and garish, like too many of today’s visual icons. Whether heading rapidly for a train, meeting someone, or at Grand Central to dine or hang out, I find it calming, with its lovely clock face that seems to say “you have time” in ways that a digital face never can. Finally, it’s just a gorgeous timepiece.

Beaux Arts Chandeliers

The Beaux Arts chandeliers demonstrate how those who built Grand Central a century ago wanted train travelers to feel an experience of grand luxury. The 10 melon-shaped chandeliers framing the Main Concourse – five on the north balcony and five to the south toward Vanderbilt Hall – possess a timeless simplicity, even with their ornate detailing. While people have written hundreds of articles about Grand Central’s secrets and delights, these nickel and gold-plated chandeliers, 11 feet wide by 18 feet high, are one of the most overlooked features. Their shimmer and reflections help produce a sparkle within the concourse.

Like other elements of Grand Central, the chandeliers evoke a century ago but with an up-to-date twist. The chandeliers originally contained bare incandescent light bulbs, which were a commercial novelty in 1913, according to MTA Metro-North. This was part of showcasing the station’s embrace of electricity. However, the 110 bulbs on each chandelier use much more energy than the newer efficient compact fluorescent light bulbs. In 2009, electricians replaced thousands of bulbs in Grand Central with the fluorescent ones, including hundreds on the chandeliers, and MTA Metro-North projected savings of $200,000 per year. So the chandeliers retain their historic splendor and exhibit smart technology.

Light and Reflections

People have waltzed on the floors of the Main Concourse, and it’s no wonder. The concourse is spacious, a gigantic jewel-like box in which one might be a graceful character within. Its light and reflections, changing throughout the day and night, engender awe and, at times, a sort of magical feeling.

The concourse’s light is even more precious considering that for decades a lot of it was lost for a variety of reasons. Many know that in World War II the owners of Grand Central blackened the skylight windows as part of New York City’s blackout program. The windows remained blackened for decades beyond any need to keep them that way, and the last of this blackout paint was not removed until 2007.

The concourse, however, was otherwise blighted for decades due to billboard advertising, additions that cramped the space, and neglect. In the 1990s restoration and subsequently, Metro-North opened up passageways, cleared the concourse’s clutter, and cleaned the terminal inside and out. As the New York Times detailed at the time, the railroad transformed the walkway into the concourse by putting in an open balustrade and by getting rid of office space that was above the converging ramps that lead to the Oyster Bar and lower concourse, thus flooding the ramps with light. Other transformations have meant that today the Main Concourse and its adjacent balconies are bathed in light far more.

Arched Windows

A classic view of Grand Central shows shafts of light coming through the giant arched windows onto the Main Concourse floor. Talk about heavenly design. These windows, in cast iron frames and bordered by fluted classical columns, are 60 feet tall and double-glazed. As the Grand Central audio tour points out, they are more properly “tubes” of glass rather than walls. Each set, on the east and west side, are double windows with wide, enclosed catwalks, which architect Warren designed to connect with adjoining buildings.

Light penetrates the concourse from these windows. Because the windows are elevated, the way they cast light also imparts a sense of roominess and grace in walking the concourse, akin to moving about in a grand performance hall or cathedral.

A monumental building such as Grand Central can retain its greatness if those who tend such a place adapt it flexibly to succeeding generations and needs while carefully remaining the stewards of its priceless historic nature and features, all the while improving on its original purpose. This can be celebrated in 2013. Within Grand Central’s centennial celebration is recognition that it may not have reached its 100th birthday at all. Without the will and persistence of many people decades ago, Grand Central may have become, the way Pennsylvania Station has in the decades since its destruction, the station we see only in pictures and remember in special but ever more distant memories.

Grand Central Terminal, 100 years and counting.

Appreciation and Celebration

Grand Central possesses countless cherished features and treasures, such as the ones above.

Part II starts at the Grand Concourse and heads into passageways off of the concourse to find more great things:

Mindful Walker: Grand Central’s Gems at 100, Part II

The 100th birthday celebration tomorrow, Feb. 1, is an all-day affair with music and dance performances, notable speakers, special offers, and more. Check out:

Grand Central, Grand Centennial Celebration – Feb. 1

Grand Central will have additional events, exhibits at the New York Transit Museum, multimedia experiences, and other programs throughout the late winter and spring to mark the centennial:

Grand Central – Events

Do you have special memories and particular things you cherish about Grand Central? If so, share them here.

Correction: The initial version of this article noted incorrectly that the arched windows were blackened out for a long time after World War II. However, the skylight windows, along the north and south sides of the Main Concourse, contained blackout paint – the last of which the operators of Grand Central did not remove until several years ago. Thank you to Moshe Feder for sending this corrective information to Mindfulwalker.com.

The changes come minute by minute. In the Northeast U.S., our sunsets have been at their earliest point for a couple of weeks and now start to edge later by a minute or two each day. Yet sunrises are slower to shift back and will get later by a small amount until early January, before making the turn toward spring and summer’s very early daylight. But if daylight now is in less quantity, it possesses immense quality – the beauty at the beginnings and ends of the day is often stark and bold.

The Flatiron Building at twilight

The gantries of Gantry Plaza State Park and the Manhattan skyline silhouetted after sunset

It’s a good time to take a cue from centuries ago. The word “solstice” has Latin origins from words that denote the sun standing, referring to a moment when the sun “stands still” before it moves in the opposing direction, as naturalist and author Hal Borland consistently reminded us. Though the sun doesn’t actually cease movement, as Borland said, we can take its hint to stop and notice the splendor unfolding each day.

Whose Pace?

Unfortunately, the human calendar has its own rhythm. In late November, December, and early January, many are too harried bustling around for holidays and end-of-year deadlines to mark and honor a natural passage of time. Pity if one doesn’t look at the mesmerizing silhouettes and shadows of the solstice time and the passage from late autumn into early winter, and feel grateful. The daily movements of light and darkness remind us of the eternal verities of beauty and serenity, and can be a source of comfort and solace when some world events are senseless.

The dance of light, shadows, color, and elemental forms makes for some of the year’s most remarkable interplay. Building shapes, the silhouettes of hills and mountains, and the bare, delicate outlines of trees and shrubs, at dawn and dusk as the sun rises and sets, produce a visual ballet that moves into varying positions ever so slightly, with each passing minute. The profiles of New York’s skyscrapers, paired with other manmade structures or framed by the trees, create striking silhouettes in the early morning or late afternoon, at times dazzling in pink, lavender, or golden skies. Because the sun’s arc is the year’s lowest, it causes long shadows of amazing geometry on the landscape. We may bemoan the early sunsets, but in the city, suburbia, and countryside they provide a spellbinding picture of light as many head home from their workdays, as if to say “enjoy – and now go home, relax, hunker down, and rest.”

“Lift Up Mine Eyes”

Somehow, I find that looking to the horizons is comforting and strengthening. The first verse of Psalm 121 – “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” – has always come to mind. The Bible’s scholars discuss various meanings for this line. Some Christian scholars say it decries a tendency to turn to the natural (as pagans did) for aid and not to God; others maintain that it describes looking for help above the hills toward the Divine or toward Jerusalem; and some see it as a question. Regardless, I find something calming and affirming in the vistas of the horizons, the sureness of sunrise and sunset, and the daily displays of beauty.

The daily rites of sunrise and sunset have been even more comforting in recent weeks while we have been reeling from the horrific news of the Dec. 14 shooting of so many children and their educators in Newtown, Conn. The senseless nature of this violence sparks so many questions and unsettles us. The news and its images are difficult to see day after day. Thus, nature’s rituals – the order and the beauty of daybreak and nightfall, sunrise and sunset and twilight – provide some serenity and signal life’s dependable rhythms. This can give a sense and hope that something beyond the tragedies of this world has eternal truth.

The gifts of this seasonal change and light around winter solstice are precious indeed. Perhaps in late December, we’d buy a few extra hours of daylight at those holiday sales if we could. Yet nature isn’t selling, she is showing. As Borland wrote, “Now we pay for the long days of summer in the simple currency of daylight.” Nature as teacher: The rhythms of the sun, the stars, and our Earth are beyond our control, this seems to say, but they reflect a balance, to the day and the year. They teach us to walk with them. Year in and year out, this is the endless cycle. In their passages and changes, we learn to appreciate balance and the infiniteness of time and season.

A golden sunset over the Shawangunk Ridge

The sky over the Shawangunk Ridge not long afterward

The light before sunset at Brooklyn Bridge Park

Sculpture at Brooklyn Bridge Park

Shadows on a winter landscape

Just before sunrise

Reflections and silhouettes, near the Wallkill River

The Flatiron Building after sunset

The sun and silhouettes across the East River

Gantries silhouette at Gantry Plaza State Park

View the slide show larger at Flickr.

Such was my experience in walking westward on a street in Manhattan’s Upper East Side and finding 3 East 84th Street, a building that Hood and fellow American architect John Mead Howells designed. Suddenly, I felt my mood lift, and I uttered a little under-the-breath “wow!” The sight put a little pep in my step on a grayish afternoon. Before I knew it, I was engaging and closely looking at this Art Deco treasure. It sits on a block of quite-lovely buildings, on the north side of the street. Yet, without being garish, this apartment house stood out and was somehow brighter in its energy.

As I consider the work of Hood and Howells, I’m guessing that my response would bring them some pleasure. Whether it was their dramatic Daily News Building or Hood’s and André Fouilhoux’s black-with-gold-crowns American Radiator Building (both on 42nd Street), these architects obviously wanted people to engage with their structures, much like a musician creating experiences. The German writer and artist Johann Wolfgang von Goethe observed that “architecture is frozen music” – the tone of mind that architecture produces “approaches the effect of music.” This 1920s apartment house personifies this experience, in its sleek vertical lines and its zigzag, playful, and simple yet rich ornamentation. Like listening to a lilting flow of jazz, seeing the building’s decorative flashes feels like sensing that someone went a little wild for a moment but all the while maintained a natural sense of order. The effect can be hypnotic and mesmerizing.

The front entrance

This building proves that New York’s Roaring Twenties spirit isn’t just in its large landmarks like the Chrysler Building. In this nine-story residence built in 1928, the architects designed a place that broke with traditional apartment houses at the time. It also foreshadowed the storied Daily News Building on East 42nd Street that came a year later. That we can see 3 East 84th Street in fine shape today – and enjoy its step back to an era of flappers, flourish, elegance, and go-for-it spending – is thanks to those in recent years who have been taking care of it.

Soaring Fame

For Hood, the 1920s was a time of major accomplishments, big commissions, and a sudden rise to international fame. Born in 1881, he had worked as an architect in relative obscurity until he and colleague Howells won a design competition in 1922 for their neo-Gothic Tribune Tower in Chicago. Hood was in his 40s and major success hadn’t come easily. After the Tribune contest, however, Hood’s architecture – each building very distinct and splashy – would draw attention and spark controversy. He and Howells, the son of author William Dean Howells, left New York with some of its most striking Art Deco structures.

A view of 3 East 84th Street from across the street shows a profusion of Art Deco panels and spandrels, and strong vertical lines.

This apartment building commission came out of that Chicago and newspapering connection. Joseph Medill Patterson, whose grandfather had bought the Chicago Tribune when it was a weak, financially troubled newspaper and built it up, was one of two family members who took over the Tribune. After continued success with the Tribune, Patterson started a tabloid in 1919 in New York, the Daily News (first called the Illustrated Daily News). With a tabloid-rich news diet emphasizing scandals, crime, and celebrity happenings, accompanied by plenty of photos, the paper grew to have a circulation of more than 1 million readers by the mid-1920s. Patterson came to the East to be closer to the operation and decided to build an apartment house, with a large pied-à-terre that he would have on the top floor.

Sensationalized news built Patterson’s wealth. His wealth, in turn, supported sensational Art Deco beauty in an apartment house that lasted beyond his lifetime. Hood and Howells designed a building with a limestone face, intricately detailed decoration, and sweeping vertical lines. (Stand in front of the building and you can literally feel your eyes pulled upward.) This dwelling veered from the standard apartment houses of the day: Its vertical sweep contrasted with the primarily palazzo-style apartment houses in the area, with their horizontal lines and bulkier feel, inspired by the Italian Renaissance, as architectural historian Andrew Dolkart noted in a guidebook of Upper East Side walks.

Indeed, the building looked more forward than backward, as evident in its incredible, dazzling Art Deco ornamentation – zigzag lines, geometric shapes, and foliage patterns. Like the vertical lines, these choices were path-breaking for a residential building then, especially a luxury one, wrote Christopher Gray in a New York Times “Streetscapes” column. Gray called the building “a jazz-modern riff of smooth limestone and zigzag ornament” – very much the mood it conjured up when I first saw it. Its panels, of exquisite German nickel, are riveting, with an array of circles, triangles, lighthouse-like shapes, rings, and notches. Look at the rectangular panels one time and they appear simply to be playful, repeating geometric shapes, and look again and see faces.

The frieze above the front entrance

The ornament elsewhere is similarly lively. The frieze above the entrance has an eye-entrancing effect, with a meticulous triangular motif in which one can view faces. (Gray observed, “is (the limestone frieze) abstract, or is it a pattern of chubby birds over faces with stylized hair?”) The flowing foliage on the doorway is stunning.

Jewel-Like Sparkle

The lobbies of today’s luxury apartment buildings tend to have a sparse, cool, minimalist feel. Not so for this lobby. It had no pretensions to cool and intended to wow with flourish. The ceiling is a succession of large and captivating inlaid silver leaf squares of vines, leaves, and berries in a braid pattern. (Because I can’t stop staring at it, I have a hard time keeping my mind on a conversation while standing in the lobby.) The elevator door, with its many curving and shiny abstract patterns, is as beautiful as any in more famous Art Deco skyscrapers.

One of the ceiling’s beautiful silver leaf squares

The elegant lobby, with its eye-catching elevator door

Too often, the public considers works of art as something within museums or as designated pieces in other public spaces. Yet, these architectural features — panels, railings, doorways, and ceiling squares – are every bit works of art. It’s easy for people to walk right on by or through a space, and not give them a thought. However, their survival and maintenance depend on investment and work by individuals through the years who carefully tend them. The building, an apartment co-op since 1947, underwent extensive repairs in 1995. It is part of the Metropolitan Museum Historic District.

Fortunately, that sense of stewardship has held up in recent years. Today, the superintendent who takes care of the co-op building, Eddie Rivera, talks of its Art Deco detailing as if the structure is his own. At one point, someone had decided to coat the lobby ceiling, for example, with a terrible dark yellow paint. Rivera said he worked with the co-op board to find a contractor who would strip and clean the ceiling to restore its original appearance and luster, which involved workers cleaning the panels by hand around the foliage elements.

Such care keeps the art of this building intact and means its frozen music can play on. Hood was apt to play down the premise that his architecture was artistic. Talking of utility and function in a 1931 New York Times magazine article, Hood said that “the collaborators are the architects, the engineer, and the plumber” more than a sculptor and artist. Yet, this lesser-known Art Deco gem shows how Hood’s and Howells’ experimentation with forms and shapes resulted in a memorable effect.

Not very long afterward, in August, 1934, Hood died from complications of rheumatoid arthritis and heart problems, his career and life cut short at age 53. A day after Hood’s death, a New York Times editorial stated that Hood’s ability to zig into traditionalism first (as in the Tribune Tower) and then zag into modernism had drawn a number of detractors in opposing camps who sought architectural purity. “But,” the Times observed, “Hood always combined his openness to new ideas with a sure esthetic sense that protected even his most daring designs from the charge of freakishness. His monuments are all about us, and each one of them arrests the eye.”

A walk past 3 East 84th Street shows that seven decades later this is truer than ever.

View the slide show larger in Flickr.

Truth first had pictures of herself taken in her 60s, and she sold the photographs as one means to earn income. She thought carefully about how she dressed, often choosing traditional Quaker dress as opposed to adhering to the women’s fashion of the day, as biographer Carleton Mabee explains.. Hence, our visual sense of Sojourner Truth is dominated by images of her as an older woman: wearing a Quaker bonnet; a long, flowing, and full dress to her ankles; a scarf lain over her shoulders; and perhaps spectacles. No public monument shows an image of her as a child who was enslaved.

That is about to change. Soon, a small Hudson Valley memorial park devoted to her will have a bronze statue of Sojourner Truth depicting her as a child growing up in slavery here. Born in Ulster County, Truth spent the first 32 years of her life in the county, 29 of them as a slave until she escaped by walking quietly away one early morning from her slaveholder’s home (see “Tracing Sojourner Truth’s Escape Route” on Mindfulwalker.com).

The sculpture will culminate several years of local effort to restore and honor this history. A sculptor is currently completing the statue, in a project with the Town of Esopus and its Sojourner Truth Memorial committee. For the past several years, the committee has been raising funds, which included working with the town government and through Assemblyman Kevin Cahill to obtain a $75,000 state grant to pay for the park, the sculpture, and related initiatives to honor Truth and bring to the public the history of her early life locally and a sense of her spirit. Those involved expect the statue to be unveiled in the first-half of next year as part of a completed renovation of the Sojourner Truth Memorial, on Route 9W in this town along the Hudson River.

Creating a representation of Truth as a child has involved a meticulous, challenging process. While no real-life images of Truth from her early days exist, the sculptor, the Ulster County historian, and the Esopus committee have been relying on many other sources to capture the qualities and appearance of young Isabella – the birth name she had before changing her name later to Sojourner Truth. They have made use of the abolitionist’s own writings, descriptions of her appearance in later years, and publications focusing on the early 1800s.

Slavery In New York

This new sculpture is sure to build a greater knowledge and appreciation of Truth’s early years and experiences in the Hudson Valley, before she overcame many obstacles to become an orator, preacher, and activist advocating for an end to slavery and for women’s equality and suffrage. Moreover, this local monument is likely to make the public more aware that not only did slavery still exist in New York State until well into the 19th century, some of the community’s prominent citizens owned slaves. Her first slaveholder, for example, was Col. Johannes Hardenbergh, a wealthy landowner and grist mill operator who had been a member of the New York colonial assembly.

“As far as we know, this will be the only statue of a slave child at work,” says Anne Gordon, who is the Ulster County historian and who has had a leading role on the committee memorializing Truth with the park and the statue. Knowing the sculpture’s potential significance and power, Gordon says the aim is a monument that is realistic, highly artistic, and not sentimental.

Artist Trina Greene, whose works have been exhibited in New York City, the Hudson Valley, and nationally, is the sculptor. Her work will render the young Isabella at about age 11. This is about the time that she was a slave in the home of Martinus Schryver, in the Esopus hamlet of Port Ewen. Schryver, a fisherman and farmer, had a tavern in a still-standing stone house at the corner of Route 9W and River Road (see “In Sojourner Truth’s Footsteps” on Mindfulwalker.com).

This sign is part of a memorial honoring Sojourner Truth in the Hudson Valley town of Esopus. Work is underway to feature a bronze sculpture showing her as a child, which will be unveiled as part of a complete renovation of the small corner park. It’s located at the corner of Route 9W and Salem Street in the hamlet of Port Ewen.

How does one produce a sculpture of someone for whom no exact physical images from this stage of her life exist? For guidance, the group and the sculptor have relied on Truth’s own narrative; researched the clothing and other items of that era; examined what children who were slaves wore; took some clues from photos of Truth’s present-day descendants; and consulted other sources to obtain a sense of what she may have looked like, according to Gordon. The panel members working with the sculptor (primarily Gordon and committee member Tim Allred) had a “very distinct vision” of what the sculpture should show, Greene explains. Yet they have given the artist a lot of room to fashion the sculpture based on her interpretation and research as well.

“A Wild, Out-of-Door Kind Of Life”

Truth’s colorful, often-moving narrative provides a picture of her childhood as a slave. In it, she told in vivid terms about her days in the household of Schryver and his family, who she says were kind, though rude and uneducated. “It was a wild, out-of-door kind of life,” Truth stated, her recollection in the third-person. “She was expected to carry fish, to hoe corn, to bring roots and herbs from the woods for beers, go to the Strand for a gallon of molasses or liquor as the case might require.”

The sculpture will capture the “out-of-door kind of life” Truth later conveyed. With this narrative as a basis, it will portray Isabella at work, carrying jugs to transport them for her slaveholder. It will show her walking barefoot along an unpaved road and facing the sun.

The descriptions of the statue-in-progress evoke an image of a girl who had to perform hard physical work daily at such an early age – as Gordon says, “a strong, long-legged girl…maybe not the best-cared-for girl.” The statue will show her standing about 5-feet-2-inches, tall for her age of 11. (In her adulthood, Truth stood at nearly 6 feet.) The young Isabella will hold two jugs, one on her hip and the other in her hand, with the latter one weighing her down somewhat while she balances the other, Greene says.

The artist intends for the sculpture to personify both the difficult day-to-day reality of Truth’s life as a slave – what Greene terms as a patient, stolid quality of a girl who had to work throughout her childhood – and an inner, luminous spirit she possessed that helped her to survive. Like other slave children, Isabella knew pain and suffering at a very early age, both physical and intensely emotional. Slavery shattered whatever family life may have been desired. When Isabella was around age 9, Charles Hardenbergh, her slaveholder after his father Johannes died, also passed away. The remaining Hardenbergh family members chose to free Isabella’s aging father James, who couldn’t work any longer, and mother Betsey. They decided, however, to auction off Isabella and her younger brother, “along with (Hardenbergh’s) farm animals,” selling the children away from their parents, according to Mabee’s biography of Truth, entitled Sojourner Truth: Slave, Prophet, Legend. Thus, she endured horrible separation, both from her parents and her many siblings.

Her “trials,” as Truth later called the experiences of this time period, did not let up and the statue will reveal some visible proof – scars. John Neely, the slave owner who purchased Isabella at the auction, whipped her many times. In her narrative, Truth told of one particularly horrendous whipping, when Neely struck her repeatedly with rods that he had heated in the embers of a fire and bound together. Neely beat her so severely that it left deep cuts in her flesh. The sculpture will show some of her scars, through an opening in her clothing at the back of her neck.

While the historical research and Truth’s narrative form a basis, ultimately the sculptor is crafting the appearance. Truth’s parents had African roots. As a key source for what Isabella may have looked like, Greene used The People of Kau, German film director Leni Riefenstahl’s photographic monograph on the life of a group of people living in the Nuba Mountains in southern Sudan. Greene drew on the physical features and strong spirit of the Nuba peoples. She also consulted Truth’s pictures from later life.

This is obviously a labor of love and inspiration for Greene, the sculptor, and for historian Gordon. Every detail has been thought out with an eye toward conveying the young Isabella’s character and inner qualities as much as her physical characteristics. “There is innocence and yet knowingness on her face,” says Greene, when asked to describe the sculpture. “This is a child whose mother talked to her about life and about faith, that all of them would reunite in heaven some day, telling her to always tell the truth, do her best, and God would answer your prayers. So she is open and sweet but with the cloud of having been whipped, having to work, and knowing the suffering of life.”

First Sight of the Model

To represent as accurately as possible the type of clothing Isabella would have worn, the initial research included examining advertisements that slave owners placed in newspapers when a slave had run away, Gordon says. The ads contained much detail about slaves’ clothing. Greene found an 1808 book particularly helpful in deciding on Isabella’s clothing, which is a dress of coarse burlap with long sleeves, bunched at about the elbows.

As Gordon relates the work the local committee has done; Greene’s creation of the sculpture; and the careful steps of this process, her pride and excitement are evident. When Gordon and three committee members first saw the full-size clay model Greene had sculpted, in the artist’s studio, “(we) all got tears in our eyes,” Gordon says. Both Gordon and the artist believe that children will especially relate to the statue. They have planned a four-inch base – making the statue stand above ground level but at a height where children can interact with it.

I understand the emotions and the anticipation. During the past summer, I first saw a photograph of the clay model and found it quite moving. The final statue could look appreciably different, as the piece goes during these months through the intricate sculptural process that includes the making of a rubber mold, pouring molten wax into the mold to produce a wax replica, changes and corrections the artist is making to the wax model, and finally, the casting of the bronze statue at a New Jersey foundry.

Asked what she feels about sculpting the statue of Truth as a child, Greene says, “I’ve felt it was an honor to do it and that it has been important because (to our knowledge) it’s the only statue of a slave child….It stresses her strength and the acceptance of her fate but a very strong inner determination and a faith in life. This young girl expresses that.”

The child gave birth to the woman who heroically stood up strong to fight against slavery and for women’s equal rights throughout her life. The statue is sure to be a powerful revelation and a reminder of just what Sojourner Truth overcame.

The Series

Part 1: In Sojourner Truth’s Footsteps – The Jug Tavern, where Truth lived and worked as a slave

Part 3: The creation of a statue of Truth as a child and the plans to make it the centerpiece of the Sojourner Truth Memorial in Esopus

Some have sought, however, to keep their memory alive for a long time. Each year for 104 years, the Society of Old Brooklynites has honored the Prison Ship Martyrs, as they are known, in an annual tribute and rededication of the stately memorial devoted to them in Brooklyn’s Fort Greene Park.

The Society asked me to participate and deliver the keynote speech for the 104th annual tribute at the Prison Ship Martyrs Monument on Aug. 25. The moving ceremony, on a sunny late-summer morning, included a dance interpretation about the prisoners, opera selections, music from a maritime piping ceremony, and remarks by city and state dignitaries.

Below is my keynote speech, dedicated to the prisoners’ memory, to share with the Mindfulwalker.com audience.

Keynote: The Prison Ship Martyrs

Thank you to the Society of Old Brooklynites for the honor of speaking here today and participating in this important memorial tribute. Good morning, Brooklynites and distinguished guests.

James Little was 16 years old when he joined the Connecticut militia. He did so in answer to the authorization of the Continental Congress for the raising of an army to fight a building threat of the British against New York and the Eastern seaboard. Sixteen years old! James Little likely could not have anticipated the suffering he would endure and witness in just the next year.

Little fought with the army in New Jersey and then at Fort Washington at the northern tip of Manhattan. The British captured Little and thousands of soldiers at Fort Washington, only months after he joined the militia. Their captors took Little and other prisoners on a forced march for four days from Harlem south to New York City. They had no food, and they had to march through the British and Hessian troops, who taunted and harassed them, and beat them with the butts of their guns. Not too long afterward, the British put Little and many others on a prison ship, the Grosvenor.

The conditions he had experienced could not have prepared him for the appalling situation on the ship. In the lower berth, Little and other prisoners were so crowded together that they could not lie down or sit, day after day after day. Their captives gave very little food to Little and the other prisoners, maybe a small amount of gruel with water in the morning or a very dry biscuit in the evening – food that was not edible. Becoming weaker, he watched others die around him, and the dead bodies were then hoisted on deck. Then Little came down with small pox, as the disease raged through the ranks of the prisoners. A doctor came to take out those with small pox to the shore – about 40 prisoners. Of those 40, Little was one of only three prisoners who survived.

This story, this experience was repeated thousands of times, in those men and some women who died. Or, like James Little, they survived the horrors of mistreatment, neglect, and disease on the prison ships. Through their policy, the British put thousands of prisoners on ships in New York waters from 1776 to 1783. Many, many died from starvation, disease, lack of water, exposure to extreme heat or cold, and in overcrowded conditions. More than 11,500 people died aboard the ships, which were moored in Wallabout Bay, a small inlet that lies adjacent to the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and nearby.

Immense Suffering

As decade after decade proceeds, century after century, these first American prisoners of war are in danger of becoming less real to us. History books often neglect them. Ask yourself: If you say Wallabout Bay, is it as known as Valley Forge, Gettysburg, or Pearl Harbor? Although the prisoners are in our midst, so many people forget them. This is a chapter of history that many in the 21st century do not know or one we have heard and forgotten about. But look into books, journals and diaries, online records, and historic newspapers, and the story is there.

To remember the Prison Ship Martyrs, we need to know them: Who were they? What did they experience? What do they have in common with us? To walk this monument is a beginning, a place to gather together, talk about their lives, and understand their suffering – in the words of Buddhist monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, to be with them in compassion and in tribute. Today, we come here to honor them and to be mindful of their horrible suffering, their sacrifice, and their spirit.

Our popular image for the Revolutionary War – the struggle for our freedom from tyranny and the rule of monarchy – is that of the Founding Fathers. As Edwin Burrows, the author who wrote the path-breaking book on the prisoners, Forgotten Patriots, has said, “It’s more important than ever to know how the United States was made – not merely by those gentlemen in powdered wigs and knee britches we have heard so much about in recent years, but also by thousands upon thousands of mostly ordinary people who believed in something they considered worth dying for.”

Yes, they, the prisoners on the ships and in other horrid dungeons of detention, and those who died in battle, are our Founding Brothers and Sisters, our Founding Children.

The base of the Prison Ship Martyrs Monument

Madison Marie McIntosh sings at the 104th Annual Tribute to the Prison Ship Martyrs.

This sacred ground, in which lies a crypt beneath with 20 coffin-shaped boxes holding prisoners’ remains, honors the brave soldiers, seamen, indentured servants, and civilians who perished in the inhumane conditions aboard these floating prisons. This is one of the few places in New York City where you can come into contact, in a physical way, with the reality and tangible evidence that people like you and I suffered horribly for a cause that continues to define our country today.

They were people who, because they took risks for an ideal and for principles, suddenly saw their lives descend into torment that was immense and gruesome. Christopher Hawkins, barely about 16, was imprisoned on the most infamous of the ships, the Jersey, which the prisoners called “Floating Hell.” Able to survive this imprisonment, he wrote in a memoir, in the third-person, “Here he endured all the horrors of that `floating hell.’ His allowance of food was limited, and what he had was of the worst description, and utterly unfit for a human being. His drink was brackish water taken from the sides of the ship, where all the filth and refuse were thrown. Biscuits, eaten by weavels, through and through; bread, sour, and often covered with mould; meat, discolored and putrified by age, and through which myriads of maggots leaped about in play – these constituted his daily fare.”

He was keenly aware of the sick and the dying around him. Hawkins recalled being held with hundreds of others in a narrow portion of the ship, excluded from fresh air and deprived of daylight. Contagious disease and illness raged through the vessel, such as small pox and scurvy. Lice and vermin, he said, “were his constant companions and tormenters.”

Awareness of Their Sacrifices

It’s impossible to read these prisoners’ accounts and not become aware of how much they sacrificed. In the midst of life in Fort Greene Park today – of play, of serenity, of chatter, of spending our days the way we choose to – is a remembrance of death, of lives given in a cause hundreds of years ago, and we can contemplate the prisoners’ enormous sacrifices. In fighting for freedom, they lost their own freedom entirely and were held against their will. On the ships, the soldiers and sailors could have escaped this torment and remained alive by swearing allegiance to the British crown and enlisting in the British forces. We don’t know exactly how many decided to do this, but we can safely say that relatively few swore allegiance to the opposite side.

We recognize today that opponents in a war deserve humane treatment. Today, we have the Geneva Convention guiding our treatment of prisoners of war. There was no such thing then. Moreover, the British denied those captured in the American Revolution the status of being called prisoners of war.

Beyond the horrible mistreatment in life that the prisoners received, their captors accorded them no dignity in death. When the prisoners died aboard the ships, the captors tied cannonballs to them and threw their bodies overboard or buried them in hastily dug and very shallow graves on the Wallabout shoreline. As an 1808 account later noted, “The bodies were crowded and pressed down into the earth without decency or humanity.”

So many gave their lives, and beyond their sacrifice, what about the survivors? Their experiences often scarred them for a long time. Those who escaped; became involved in the prisoner exchanges; or otherwise managed to survive, in many cases, sacrificed their peace of mind because of what they had suffered and witnessed. Christopher Vail, a sailor, as author Burrows observed, spent just two weeks on the Jersey “but was haunted for the rest of his life by the experience.”

Haunted, yes. We can see this in the memoirs they created, the letters they submitted to Congress in the early 19th century when seeking to qualify for pensions, and in other recollections. We find so much suffering and sacrifice.

Understanding Their Spirit

Yet, we can find much evidence of, be mindful about, and honor their spirit under horrifying circumstances. In the midst of horror, the brutality of many of their captors, despondency, and a wholly desperate situation, the prisoners at various times exhibited a life spirit and carried the values we revere today. Aboard the Jersey, Ebenezer Fox recalled, the prisoners petitioned Governor George Clinton to “meliorate the wretchedness of our situation” and to further bring a full accounting to General Washington.

Many sought to escape, and some succeeded. The prisoners risked punishment and even death by defying the officers in charge of the ships by displaying their support for their cause, in defiance of the British.

By such principles, these prisoners were our forebears, and within their experience is an interconnection across generations of the United States, from the 18th century to the 21st century. First, in their memories and other accounts, the survivors left us proof: They wanted us to remember. They wanted future generations to know what had happened aboard these prison ships – to remember and to hold dear that for which they had sacrificed so much and for which their fellow prisoners had lost their lives. They wanted us not to forget.

Despite the magnitude of what happened just off these shorelines of New York, the first inclinations after the Revolutionary War to build a monument or honor the prisoners dissipated fairly quickly.

But there were the bones – the bones that lie beneath us now. For years, these whitened bone fragments washed up on the sandy shores of Wallabout Bay, often exposed as the tides changed. The British abandoned that horrible ship, the Jersey, and in time it broke apart, its rotting boards visible at low tide. A son of one of the surviving prisoners remembered how his father would point to the pieces of the Jersey’s hulk from the shoreline.

For many years, the bones washed up and many saw them on the beaches, and caring citizens collected them. Some sought to secure a permanent resting place. In 1808, the fragments were buried in a memorial near the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Ultimately, in 1873, the prisoners’ remains were moved and interred in a vault here. Still, those who cared about the sacrifices and heroism of the prison ships’ dead persisted in efforts to get a permanent memorial. Finally, they succeeded as the government and private efforts – especially by the Society of Old Brooklynites and the Prison Ship Martyrs Association – came together to build and dedicate the Prison Ship Martyrs Monument, this sacred space, 104 years ago.

So, today and in our time, what must we do with this knowledge and this remembrance? It’s cliché to say we must remember…it’s the kind of remembering we do. We need to remember the horror that happened right here at New York’s shoreline, to learn more about it, and to keep it forefront in our consciousness. Learn the stories and tell the stories. Tell the stories of what happened to the prisoners to your children, your grandchildren, your parents, your sisters and brothers, your friends, your classmates.

As a city and nation, we can consider and campaign for greater recognition and memorials to these first American prisoners of war. Should we have a memorial at the New York City waterfront so that visitors and New Yorkers have a greater understanding, when they look at these waters, of all that happened here? I believe we should! When I am on the Staten Island Ferry, at the Brooklyn waterfront, or across in Manhattan, I have a different feeling now when I look across the waters. This was the place where thousands gave their lives. It imparts a very profound sense of those waters and our history.

We are connected to the prisoners and to this place. It is a place of play and gathering, to enjoy our city, and yet this monument renders it a place of solemnity. Their spirits are in the midst of us. Their interconnection runs from James Little’s imprisonment after that forced march in New York, down through the souls who carefully gathered their bones, to the 20,000 who came here in 1908 at the monument’s dedication, to us and to our children. We must take our place within the generations and understand the horrors that happen in war and specifically the suffering that these Revolutionary War prisoners endured. The prisoners knew it. As one of those who were confined on the Jersey in 1782, Capt. Alexander Coffin, wrote later, “The truly brave will always treat their prisoners well.”

We must take our place within the generations, carry and honor this history, learn from it, and be mindful of the prisoners’ suffering and their bravery. Their spirits are here, among us, and their spirit absolutely helped form the freedoms we possess today.

Walt Whitman knew this, saw the connection of the generations, and believed that we needed to honor the prisoners. Let us keep their memory and this connection forefront as we end today with Walt Whitman’s poem, “The Wallabout Martyrs”:

Greater than memory of Achilles or Ulysses,
More, more by far to thee than the tomb of Alexander
Those car loads of old charnel ashes, scales and splints of mouldy bones
Once living men – once resolute courage, aspiration, strength,
The stepping stones to thee to-day and here America

Further Reading

To read more on Mindfulwalker.com, also see:

In Our Midst: The Prison Ship Martyrs