Bronx Park East is a local station on the IRT White Plains Road Line of the New York City Subway. Located in the Bronx on White Plains Road at Bronx Park East, it is served by the 2 train at all times, and the 5 train during rush hours in the peak direction. This station has three tracks and two side platforms.
Old signs at the center exit stairs and have been painted over, but those on the southbound platform are still visible through the paint. Covered windows in the concrete wall are also present. The tiled mezzanine has windows and standard "Uptown" and "Downtown" mosaics. The mezzanine itself is made of stucco over concrete and is massive.
South of this station, one can view the IRT Dyre Avenue Line just off to the east. Continuing south, the Unionport Yard is also to the east past the connection to the Dyre Avenue Line. The East 180th Street Yard is to the west just prior to entering the next station, East 180th Street.
The 2006 artwork here is called B is for Birds in the Bronx by Candida Alvarez.
Famous quotes containing the words bronx, park, east, white, plains and/or road:
“who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery
to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children
brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain and drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,”
—Allen Ginsberg (b. 1926)
“Is a park any better than a coal mine? What’s a mountain got that a slag pile hasn’t? What would you rather have in your garden—an almond tree or an oil well?”
—Jean Giraudoux (1882–1944)
“The beds i’ th’ East are soft.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“I have actually gotten to like fear ...”
—Pearl White (1889–1938)
“The westward march has stopped, upon the final plains of the Pacific; and now the plot thickens ... with the change, the pause, the settlement, our people draw into closer groups, stand face to face, to know each other and be known.”
—Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924)
“The rangey bough anticipated fruit
With snowballs cupped in every opening bud.
The road alone maintained itself in mud....”
—Robert Frost (1874–1963)