Silence, ponderous and gloomy, looms over the city. In this one hour all New York seems united by a desire for rest. Its nocturnal inhabitants have straggled in from a night’s work or pleasure, according to their lot. The few noises which do venture to break the spell only serve, by their futile attempts, to emphasize it. They are muffled and obliterated by the great god of calm. A taxi rattles down the avenue, and it is gone, leaving only a realization of the thick quiet which takes its place. A river boat raises a cry, but its voice is strangled by the ruling power. Such a sense of voidness steals over one that the vacancy assumes almost a tactile shape. Buildings rise fantastically high, pointing with mocking fingers to a phantom moon above them. The whole scene is not unlike a line of ancient cliff dwellings whose inmates have been conquered by death.
As if to call one back to reality, a newspaper shuffles, with a dull sigh, across the pavement. This seems to be a signal at which life is restored to the city. With a faint moan the god of calm hands his scepter to the god of motion, and a new day begins. Black shapes are seen to glide from the buildings along the still dim streets and slip into the yawning mouth of the subway. Trolleys and elevateds thunder into being. Whistles and sirens shatter any remaining calm, raising the low murmur into the customary roar and shout of the city. Then suddenly, as with the lifting of a curtain, light is given to the scene. Tall towers glow with gold. People cease to glide, but walk with a quick, determined step. The streets throb and radiate activity. As we contrast this new scene with the immobility of but an hour ago, we are startled with the miraculous change which has taken place.
This piece was first published in Issue 2 of The Keynote, an early student journal, in December 1928.