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Special Feature—City of Stars
Grand Central Terminal
 Those hurried commuters who take a moment to look up might notice an expansive night sky that graces the entire ceiling of Grand Central Terminal’s main concourse. Several famous constellations are illustrated, such as Orion (the Hunter) and the winged steed Pegasus. These live alongside a majestic menagerie of zodiacal constellations that extends the length of the terminal ceiling. The representations of the brighter stars, such as Betelgeuse and Aldebaran, are lit electrically, making them easier to see from the floor. All this is well and good—except the ceiling displays some oddities that force me to question the scientific literacy of its designer. Why is the background sky not dark blue or black but rather a shade of green reminiscent of Sears appliances and linoleum tabletops of the 1950s? I suppose that, after a while, one could grow accustomed to such a color, but then why are all the constellations depicted backward? While the ceiling was being cleaned in the late 1990s, a plaque was posted to try to explain away these transgressions: "Grand Central Station’s famous zodiac ceiling depicts a Mediterranean winter sky with 2,500 stars. Said to be backwards, it’s actually seen from a point of view outside our solar system." What it didn’t say is that the "Mediterranean" sky (for any season) is the same one people see in Lubbock, Texas, and everywhere else on Earth located at 35° north latitude. Also, Alpha Centauri, the star system nearest to the Sun, is 6,700 times farther from Earth than Pluto is. So just leaving the solar system is a short trip that will not fundamentally alter your view of the stars in our galaxy, and it certainly does not allow you to look at the constellations from behind. In spite of these basic blunders, the Grand Central sky remains a majestic reminder of a sky obscured to urban dwellers by city lights.
A statue of the Greek god Hermes stands atop the clock on the main facade of Grand Central Terminal. His winged hat betrays his vocation as the speedy messenger to the gods—making him a fine icon for a center of transportation. Mercury, Hermes’s Roman counterpart, is now forever associated with the innermost planet of the solar system. At a speed of thirty miles per second, Mercury moves faster through space than does any other planet, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Romans.
The numbered street grid of Manhattan is rotated by 30° from Earth’s cardinal directions. If you walked due north, as instructed by a compass, you would consistently bump into buildings. Perhaps for this reason, compass roses are rare in Manhattan, serving as mere visual curiosities, silently alerting passersby to the direction they are headed on Earth’s surface. One such compass rose may be found on the concourse level of the 42nd Street–Grand Central Terminal subway station. The low-ceilinged space is cramped, but the compass is seen (or at least trampled on) by tens of thousands of people per day.
High above Grand Central Terminal’s main concourse, small holes in the iron grillwork that covers the south-facing windows allow sunlight to pass through. When the Sun’s position in the sky aligns with these holes, its focused image projects onto the floor of the main concourse, turning the entire space into a jumbo pinhole camera. This cosmic alignment happens at approximately the same time every cloudless day, allowing alert, downward-looking commuters to track the Sun’s thirty-day rotation rate day by day as sunspot groups move across the floor. Of course, some commuters will be looking up at the ceiling and will miss it. But that’s okay. < Back to City of Stars Main Page | Armillary Spheres > |
