//metrognome logo--4/14/03//

Unlike in the fairy tales, there was no bell tolling at the 14th Street IRT station when the clock struck
 midnight and New York officially entered the no-token era.

Yet in that one silent moment, the humble subway token -- a fundamental part of New York life from the\
 inception of the "Y"-cutout token in 1953 until the current token started going out with a whimper rather than
 a bang with the advent of the MetroCard in 1994 -- made its final transformation from usefulness to nostalgia.

On Saturday night, many people were along for that sad ride to the dustbin of history, New Yorkers who rushed
 to buy tokens even though they admitted that they don't actually USE them.

Some wanted them for jewelry. Others said they would hold onto them for future sale. (Will they be "worth"
 anything? Probably not; older tokens are selling in the low two-figures on eBay right now).

Paula Winicur saw the very soul of New York in her tokens. "Each is like a mini-antique," she said. "I love the
 MetroCard, but it's disposable. But when you hold a token, you're holding something that thousands of people
 have held."

Winicur said the thought comforted her. It also made her want to wash her hands when she got home.

Actress Jill Helene hypothesized that New Yorkers are just more nostalgic since post-Sept. 11.

"I'm more emotional about New York history," she said, clutching her last five tokens. "I even started crying
 watching them destroy the old Penn Station on that Ken Burns documentary."

Emotion for a hunk of metal that weighed you down and got confused with real coins? Sympathy for a relic that
 only eight percent of riders are using? Nostalgia for a totem that lies that it's "Good for One Fare"? How is
 a $1.50 token "good" when you can buy a $4 unlimited MetroCard and easily use it 8 times, driving your "fare"
 down to a mere 50 cents?

New Yorkers have seen the future -- MetroCard discounts -- and embraced it. But perhaps that's the definition
 of nostalgia: pining for something great that never really was.

I asked Rose, the station-agent-formerly-known-as-token-booth-clerk, what she thought of the midnight buying
 frenzy. I couldn't quite hear what she said through the scratchy MTA microphone. She either said, "It's the
 end of an era for the city" or "The N doesn't go near Starrett City."

I found myself far more bothered by the later.

--30--

gersh.kuntzman@verizon.net