Penn Station Sunday, 1942 Tony Press Henry walked the 40 minutes from his family’s apartment on 72nd Street, the September morning already muggy and warm, and entered at seven-thirty. Penn Station was bustling — when it was not? – but because it was Sunday it was both bustling and calm, if that were possible. The vast hall hosted hundreds of people, some sitting, most standing or walking, and a few running, yet it felt expansive. He’d lived in New York […] Continue Reading
