In Search of Oak Grove

APRIL 7, 1975. Formal opening of the new Orange Line extension. Surely an event not to be missed. Already, the Harvard Square system maps show stops like "Wellington" and "Oak Grove" in that nether world north of North Station. Images conjured up of faraway, exotic places. Never rode the Orange Line before (has anyone?); seems like the perfect time to give it a try.

The old familiar Red Line to Park Street. The information booth dispenses maps that have the Orange Line going pretty much where it's always gone. What's the story? Well, if you ask politely they'll reach under the deist and five you one of the new maps. Return, reassured, to the Red Line and the trip to Washington Street.

Approach Washington Street eager with anticipation. An historic first in the making. Shoppers seem unconcerned. Images of smiling Jim Dooley riding the Sun-Kist trains of the Orange Line arise. Dismissed as unlikely. But who knows what it's really like down there in Forest Hills, anyway?

Train arrives, Illusions dispelled. The subway is the subway after all in fact an amazing resemblance to the old blue carts on the Red Line. Except the seats have cushions. Possibly the only distinction.

State Street station unremarkable, Haymarket unremarkable and a little seedy looking besides. Curious mixture, of anticipation and dread seizing the occasion. What if it's all some crazy dream of the MBTA? What if the Orange Line has never changed and never will change in the eons to come? Maybe these unremarkable taints will shuttle off to eternity between these unremarkable stations.

But then--relief, North Station, The Boston Garden. A gleaming, glistening, brand new depot, underground, no less; a bold stop forward in transport engineering. Looks every much like the Back bay stations along the Green Line. Same white tile. Same casually elegant indirect lighting. Same lack of real appeal. Also large grainy back and white phonographs on the Walls evocative of the neighborhood upstairs. Lions (the circus, presumably), basketball players, ice skates (Orr's?). Idle speculation as to the subjects of the photographs when the Red Line is extended and Harvard Square has its own new station. A college of caps and gowns. Perhaps? Or an arty shot of the Science Center? The ghost of Henry Kissinger? Or maybe the new Dunkin' Donuts which might someday be built on Boylston Street.

A brief sojourn under the Charles River and the train is exposed to the rational sunlight at a stop called "Community College." A large white building nearby proclaims itself in modernistic lettering as "ECTURE." Otherwise only railroad yards and sand an gravel companies to be seen, No one gets off the train at Community College and no one gets on.

Then comes the spanking new station at Sullivan Sq. Large-scale bustle and commotion. What's this? The end of the line? Everybody out! What happened to the glory of Wellington? The Promised Land of oak Grove? Next, year, it turns out (or maybe the year after). What a bust. The Old Orange Line want to Sullivan Square. The MBTA lays itself some new track, finds a new stations at Community College (of all places) and calls it an extension. This is the biggest excitement to hit Boston since the Red Sox lost the pendant last year.

NOTHING to do but follow the crowd up and out to Sullivan Square. Determined now to find Oak Grove with or without the Orange Line. An old woman asks directions. (Sorry, lady, I'm just in from Harvard Square myself.) A young man asks directions; he's all confused. North station never used to e underground. A smile and a shrug and then an older man comes up and asks directions. This is getting ridiculous but an educated guess provides him with an answer that he's satisfied with.

Outside the station an elevated bus ramp, a lower level bus ramp, and a large parking lot filled with even more buses, wallowing off in all directions at once. 1-93 thunders right overhead. Mass confusion Large numbers of MBTA--employees standing around shouting advice to on one in particular. As of toady Sullivan Square is a major bus terminus. Every bus that stops draws a crowd of supplicants. Only a few confident enough to climb aboard. High school girls everywhere by the thousands. probably the main source of support for the MBTA. They look like they know where they're going.

Bus No. 137 heaves into view. According to the Park Street map it goes to Oak Grove. Nothing to lose might as well go along for the ride. Pay now or later? (A peculiarly Bostonian dilemma, of course) Later.

Leaving the parking lot, the bus passes old Sullivan Square station. Large abandoned hulk in its final humiliation it might at least ever kept its dignity intact informality it powerless no digits to start with, Bus passes under the ancient, rusted treacle of the old Orange Line. Maybe the new Orange Line's a good idea after all.

Bus arrives Malden. Fairly unremarkable looking places, except for line at unemployment office that stretches around the block. The unemployed don't look the happy about it. The gleaming new Orange Line's not doing them much good.

Bus arrives Grove Street, in the heart of Oak Grove. Still unremarkable. Fare $40. To determine the fare the bus driver asks the passengers as they get off where they had gotten on. Honor system. At Quincy on the Red Line last fall a young man was shot for jumping a turnstile, Not the honor system, Policy on the new Orange Line not yet disclosed by MBTA.

OAK GROVE--part of Malden--nice enough place to wander around, not much going on According to the Park Street map the Reading branch of Boston and Maine Railroad comes down through here, in fact right alongside the proposed route of Orange Line extension. Worth checking out. Wander around some more finally find tracks, finally find the Wyoming station. (Railroads of course, reserve the right to call their stations by any name they please.)

Wyoming Stations looks suspiciously like another era, Tired but reserved. A comfortable air of decay. A few weeds here and there. Easy going and a pace that's so slow there almost isn't any pace at all. The posed time table suggests a train in about ten minutes. Would-be passengers gather. A worker easily, effortlessly, lackadaisically sweeps out the station. A bell rings somewhere. At the grade crossing alongside the station the attendant comes out of his little house and brings down the gates, chatting for a moment with a passerby holding up traffic in expectation of the train. The high-strung coursers of the Orange Line see a distant ideal.

The little B & M train wheezes into the station, picks up three or four people, and heads for Boston. Early signs of construction lie along the right-of-way. Junk yards and warehouses an little further off. A solitary boxcar of the Bangor and Aroostook with a full load of potatoes peeking out an open door. The conduct appears, and collects his $.50.

"Isn't the Orange Line coming out here?" he is asked.

"Yeah, Some day."

Conductor disappears down the aisle, Distressing lack of concern for this modern marvel of a competitor.

Boston, at last, inexorably, North Station again. Follow the signs for the orange Line up a long staircase that smells of urine and down a long twisting narrow hallway that leads to as locked door. That's the old orange Line. Old Orange Line no longer in operation.

Wander down to the street, finally find the new station. Descend into the depths of Boston. Orange train arrives, uneventfully. Uneventful trip to Washington Street. Uneventful crush pouring out of Filene's Bargain Basement. But then, at last, a welcome return to the comfortable familiarity of the Red Line and Harvard Square.