With sales of the Metrocard ending today, I can’t help but reminisce and reflect upon its history, which spans three decades. First introduced in 1994, the Metrocard gradually replaced the tokens that had been used since 1953, finally superseding them in 2003. Since then, the Metrocard has become an integral part of city life, a sliver of plastic that has served many lives. For most, it has been a tool for entering the subway and getting wherever they need to go, preferably without any delays. For others, it serves as an artistic medium and inspiration, and it has become cultural shibboleth pointing to those unfamiliar with the subway system.
Showing off the new fare card of the future. From Newsday, December 28, 1993.
In recent years, the Transit Museum has spun it into somewhat of a brand, and it’s not unusual to see folks sporting Metrocard totes (guilty) and other merchandise. For me, it’s a good way to both support the Transit Museum and unabashedly show how much I appreciate the city’s transit system. It is for that reason that I thought I’d share a small token of appreciation for both the Metrocard, and the fare collection methods that came before it.
Underground Demise of the Dime
However, no changes can come in New York City without many, many loud opinions, and that has certainly been the case for as long as the subway system itself has been around. The original fare for the Interborough Rapid Transit (IRT) subway was 5 cents, and remained that way for 44 years. In 1948, the fare was doubled to a dime, with the 3,300 turnstiles on the subway and remaining elevated lines retrofitted to accept the smaller coin.
A couple paying two fares. The first to enter paid the 5 cent fare, while her partner pays the 10 cent fare. From The Brooklyn Eagle, July 1, 1948.
Protesting the fare increase outside City Hall with signs reading “a fare rise is a rent rise,” “don’t cut our food budgets,” and “don’t give milk money to the bankers.” From The Daily World, April 25, 1948.
This decision was particularly controversial because the 5 cent fare had remained in place for so long, and politicians had long campaigned on keeping the nickel. However, this had significant downstream consequences regarding maintenance for the expansive system, which had been unified in 1940. Mayor William O’Dwyer, who had maintained that there would be no fare increase under his administration, reluctantly acquiesced, but vocally blamed Governor Thomas E. Dewey and the state legislature, which had approved the fare hike (sound familiar?).
The “Token Tizzy”
It was only a few short years until the next fare increase, which brought the fare up to 15 cents. Since the turnstiles couldn’t accept two coins of different sizes, the token was introduced as a solution to the problem. However, this in turn created another issue, as some people quickly figured out that a German pfennig and certain toy coins were the exact size as the token, and could be used instead. At 10 for 16 cents, they were a bargain. However, local toy companies soon stopped selling the coins. Nevertheless, Transit Authority mechanics were kept busy tinkering with the turnstiles so they would not accept these coins or other slugs.
“Judy Reed, 18, smiles at the underground demise of the dime as she drops first 15-cent token into turnstile in Times Square subway station. At the same time, Sidney Bingham, general manager of the new Transit Authority, checks his watch to make certain it is 12:01 a.m. Saturday, time for the end of the 10-cent fare. Other riders wait in line to pay the upped fare.” From the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle, July 26, 1953.
Tokens were sold several days before first being accepted, but people were limited to two each (top). Those who received the coveted tokens were quite happy about it (bottom). From The Brooklyn Eagle, July 1, 1953.
One intrepid Brooklyn theater owner came up with a great marketing strategy to draw attention to his business. Albert Greene, owner of the Avenue U Theatre, managed to get his hand on 5,000 new tokens, and advertised that patrons who came to see a movie at his theater would be able to buy tokens for a dime each, or three for a quarter. These tokens were engraved with a “U” for the name of the theater, and he planned to gold plate the last 100 tokens and sell them to customers, allowing them to attend 10 Monday shows.
“Five Borough” tokens inside a turnstile. From the Staten Island Advance, February 7, 2003.
Evolution of the tokens
The advent of the token allowed for periodic fare increases, without having to change the method of fare collection. However, the token saw several different iterations over the years, including a smaller and larger Y cut-out, a diamond jubilee coin to celebrate 75 years of the subway, a bullseye token, and the “five boroughs” token with a pentagon cut-out, which was the last of the tokens to be produced. The final tokens were sold in April 2003, with a limit of two per customer in the waning days, similar to the ration in the days before the first tokens were sold 50 years before.
Collecting tokens and trying to outsmart the two-token limit. From the Star Gazette April 13, 2003.
Cardvaark Appreciation
I would be remiss if I did not include a small bit of appreciation for the Cardvaark. In anticipation of the rollout of the Metrocard, the MTA worked with an advertising agency to create a mascot to help ease the transition from token to the new fare card. The result was the Cardvaark, which was to be rolled out on New Year’s Eve, featured in posters plastered around subway stations, and likely with a life-sized version lumbering around and giving out the new cards. Reporter Ellis Henican wrote about the MTA’s “truly weird idea” for what he called a “dumb-looking, snout-nosed, bug-eyed, card-pitching mascot.”
The world’s introduction to the Cardvaark. From Newsday, July 27, 1993.
Justice for the Cardvaark! From Newsday, August 5, 1993.
Although in my eyes the one true mascot will always be Metro-Man, Sr., I have a soft spot in my heart for the Cardvaark, who unfortunately never even got to see the light of day. Perhaps due to Henican’s reporting, or to other testing that was not as receptive, the poor mammal was shelved and the MTA elected to introduce the Metrocard in other ways, including this delightfully 90s commercial.
So hats off (a 1 train hat, naturally) to the Metrocard, which has always served me well up until the end. Perhaps out of habit, I still carry a card around, and as I write this I’m looking down at my Metrocard mousepad. But I’ve welcomed OMNY, and I enjoy the historical link it has all the way back to the omnibuses that brought early commuters to and fro, jumbled in the city streets until innovative folks imagined elevated and underground lines that would transform the lives of millions.