No Word Yet On The Battery-Seller Lasso Event

The International Rail Rodeo comes to the Coney Island rail yards this weekend:

It’ll be hand-to-hand combat — at the controls of trains — at the Coney Island rail yard this weekend.

That’s when the world’s finest subway conductors and train operators will be competing against each other in the cutthroat annual contest known as the International Rail Rodeo.

The event pits transit workers from 18 cities against each other in tests of skills and wits. Events include subway driving, maintenance, safety and customer service.

Although no one will lasso any trains Saturday, rodeo organizers say the competition has no shortage of cowboys

“There’s a lot of intimidation and trash-talking,” said Melanie Hazel, the chairwoman of the rodeo, which is sponsored by the American Public Transportation Association. “The competition is taken very, very seriously.”

But is there a Roger Toussaint angle here? Of course there is:

Meanwhile, transit-union boss Roger Toussaint may try to embarrass the MTA by launching some kind of protest outside, union sources said.

Trapped Behind Gates Like Lower-Class Citizens No More!

Now that there are fewer token booths and more “HEETS” — i.e., High Entry/Exit Turnstiles (I’m totally geeking out now that we know what those are called!) — plans are underway to outfit subway stations with emergency exits, as the Daily News EXCLUSIVELY reports:

Nearly 1,370 swinging gates will be outfitted with panic bars by December 2006, TA President Lawrence Reuter told The News when asked about the Lawrence St. station.

“The idea is to [quickly] get you out of a station in any kind of emergency situation, be it a fire or smoke condition … any reason we need to evacuate the system,” Reuter said.

Reuter said he doesn’t believe the current setup at subway exits and entrances is unsafe, describing the new equipment as an “enhancement.”

But riders, elected officials and even Police and Fire department brass have expressed varying degrees of concern about the TA’s moves towards automation, including the removal of token booth clerks and the rise in the number of ceiling-to-floor barred turnstiles.

Councilman Peter Vallone Jr. (D-Queens) wrote to transit officials earlier this year that riders could find themselves “trapped behind gates like lower-class citizens.”

The News in July reported that the number of ceiling-to-floor turnstiles, called HEETS, have increased from 10 to 529 in the past eight years.

The new safety initiative is a response to riders’ concerns and has been in the works for a year, the TA said.

Mmmm . . . Commuter Tax . . . Mmmm . . .

The Census Bureau crunched the numbers and found that New York City’s population increases by 563,000 people each day:

The Big Apple swells by 563,000 people during the day — more than any other city in the country, according to the Census Bureau’s first-ever estimates on daytime population changes.

The report tracks how the nation’s cities are affected by commuter traffic.

Officials say the data, based on the 2000 Census, can be used for planning and disaster-relief efforts.

New York’s daytime growth, while huge, is only 7 percent of the city’s population of 8 million.

Other towns that would benefit from a commuter tax included Washington, D.C. (411,000 people, or 72 percent, commute into the district), Boston (41 percent), Atlanta (62 percent), Seattle (28 percent) and Denver (28 percent).

Coins In The Fountain

The Daily News profiles the guy whose job it is to fish coins out of city fountains:

Here’s what happens to all those coins that get tossed into city fountains by wish-makers: If the homeless don’t get to them first, they go into city coffers – courtesy of Joe McBain.
McBain, 53, is an unsung hero of New York whose job is making sure city park fountains in Manhattan are kept clean of debris.

In addition to coins, he’s found everything from MetroCards to cell phones to watches during his watery rounds.

“It’s New York City,” McBain said with a wide smile. “Anything goes.”

The homeless, he said, usually snatch up quarters, dimes and nickels under the cover of darkness, when the fountains are off for the night.

By day, McBain fishes out all the pennies – as well as leaves, discarded food and other trash.

No word on how much money is generated this way but if Mr. McBain sees it, he’ll fish it out:

Sometimes, when wish-makers see McBain pulling their coins out, they fear their dreams won’t come true.

He’s quick to assuage their worries.

“I tell them it’s like a prayer,” McBain said. “Once the money hits the water, their wish is answered.”

Once the money hits the water, the wish is answered . . . sure, sure . . .

Understanding Ubiquitous Umbrellas

The Times’ Dan Barry asks where those ubiquitous black umbrellas come from, and finds out:

Down in yesterday morning’s wetness to West 28th Street, where pumpkins adorned a flower shop window display, and where Oscar Rodriguez stood outside another wholesale store, chanting the season’s theme song to the rain. “Umbrella, umbrella, umbrella.”

He said that when he arrives at the store at 7:30 on rainy mornings, the peddlers are lined up, waiting to buy a dozen for $10 – which they then sell piecemeal for whatever they can get. “Depends on the area,” he confided. “White people pay more.”

Finally, to a dreary storefront with a sign saying wholesale trade only: Imperial Umbrellas. You have to be buzzed into its drab showroom, where the multicolored umbrella display somehow added no color, and where the fluorescent light’s buzz provided the only music.

Several peddlers in wet clothes stood before a worn desk, behind which sat a small man with white hair and hound-dog eyes: Solomon Korn, for 30 years a Man To See in wholesale umbrellas.

As the peddlers placed their orders, Mr. Korn and an employee in the back engaged in an umbrella-model duet.

Employee: “Mr. Korn, Mr. Korn. One dozen W, two dozen 58-58, one dozen 22S?”

Mr. Korn: “One dozen W, two dozen 58-58, one dozen 22S. Give him the black, with the cover.”

The peddlers counted out their wet dollar bills and handed them to Mr. Korn. He smoothed away the crumpled dampness as best he could, and laid the bills neatly in a side drawer. Then the peddlers grabbed their cardboard boxes and left to make some more wet bucks.

Mr. Korn sells high-end and low-end umbrellas. He sells those cheap ones that end up like dead crows in the garbage for $9 a dozen, which means the peddlers pay 75 cents an umbrella. “They sell them for $3 if it’s raining,” he said with a shrug. “Two dollars if it’s not.”

His profit on each dozen of the cheap ones, he said: 50 cents.