Paris Notes September 2002

PARIS NOTES

September 2002

Volume 11 Issue 7

Gérard Hernandez wants you to know there are four ways to stop an MF 67 subway train. Not that you should need to know any of them. Unless, of course, you are a line 2 Métro driver in training. Or a passenger in distress.

That's because a certain Madame who forgot to disembark at "Porte Dauphine, terminus" has panicked and pulled the on-train emergency brake (braking method number one). We come to a screeching halt. Hernandez exits the cab to assure the lady everything's OK.

Hernandez, a seven-year Métro veteran, is training Thierry Leguyader, a two-week neophyte and former trucker for the French army who must complete a 10-week program before being awarded his permit. "I love to drive," Leguyader says while we wait. "That's why I decided to take this job."

Back in the cab, Hernandez radios the incident into HQ, then tells Leguyader to finish the run. The student confidently works the levers, dials and joysticks, which seem like an outdated sci-fi design for the cockpit of the future. "Ease up on the power," says the easygoing and patient teacher, showing him a trick to coax the train to arrive on target (if he overshoots the platform, the train can't back up). Leguyader hits the mark. "Perfect." The shaken lady exits and disappears down an empty corridor.

Despite their old-fashioned appearance, line 2's MF 67 trains have been reliably serving the Métro for 35 years. They got their name because they roll on "matériel fer" (rail equipment) and were built in 1967; other lines, such as 1, 4, 6 and 11, use trains running on rubber tires, designated "MP," or "matériel pneu." When a new generation of steel-wheel trains goes into service in 2004, line 2's old faithfuls will be replaced. Hernandez will miss them.

Line 2 became the Métro's second line when it was completed on April 2, 1903. Today, 81 million passengers a year follow the same path as a century ago, passing through some of the city's most colorful neighborhoods. For this reason, and because the train exits to the surface (a distinction it shares with line 6), Hernandez says he prefers the Porte Dauphine-Nation run to being a reserve driver for one of Paris' 15 other Métro lines. "Line 1 passengers are cold," says the former aviation parts machinist from the banlieue. "It's as if the conductor doesn't exist. But on line 2, there's action, music, people going to the market." What he hates to see are the pickpockets. He feels helpless; all he can do is call the police when he sees trouble.

Hernandez, 42, begins his usual workday at 11:45am at the Porte Dauphine terminus, where he signs in his train for the day with the station chief. Hernandez slides open the door into the driver’s cabin, which can comfortably hold him and one passenger. Driver plus student and observer is tight. We wait for the departure time to arrive, then lurch forward into the dark towards the Victor Hugo stop, then Charles-de-Gaulle-Etoile, before popping above ground just after Anvers onto the elevated section of the tracks, the first built in Paris.

"There's no eating allowed, and no toilet," Hernandez admits. "But if you need to go, sometimes you can get a replacement driver, or a departure delay."

Ideally, Hernandez says, when all's running well on line 2, trains arrive in each station at one-minute-45-second intervals. To deliver this level of service, 15 trains run simultaneously in each direction. The system that makes all this possible is the PCC, or the Central Command and Control Post. From this mission control in a building near Bastille, engineers watch over the entire network, noticing delays and making appropriate adjustments to put the service back on track. The PCC controllers communicate directly via radio, and departure times are transmitted to drivers via cryptic red digital clocks found at the train's "tête" end of the platform. So if your train has paused for what seems an inordinate period somewhere in the dark warren of mole holes, please don't blame the driver. "Passengers often think that all the problems are the driver's fault," Hernandez gently complains.

Various road signs along the track, what drivers call "the cinema," indicate speed limits (line 2 goes 40 mph max) and areas of limited visibility (those black circles with horizontal hash marks). Most crucial are the red and green signal lights, which dictate whether trains can proceed safely. Hernandez explains that when subway cars pass over special metal plates, the corresponding signals change color; two trains on the same track are always "protected" by at least two red signals between them. If a driver ever runs a red light, the train automatically stops (braking method two).

The routine Hernandez follows is fairly predicable: pull into a station, bring the cars to a stop, watch via mirrors and video monitors as passengers exit and enter, hit the door closure warning buzzer, hit the door close button, check for the "ding" and blue light to confirm the doors closed successfully, and then accelerate onto the next station. While the train is at a stop, the interval before Hernandez hits the door buzzer is around 20 seconds (unless the train's running behind).

The MF 67s were the first Paris trains to run on auto-pilot, but they weren't introduced to line 2 until 1979. "Most decisions can be automated—braking, acceleration, emergency stopping and door signals," Hernandez says, making the task of driving sound simple. But it isn't. To keep the train moving, either the "deadman's pedal" or the ring around the control handle must be grasped every 30 seconds or the train halts automatically (braking method three). In inclement weather—rain or ice—Hernandez can operate a foot pedal that shoots a spray of sand on the rails in front of the wheels, improving traction. The driver always has a final resort: his own emergency brake (braking method four). In the Métro's entire 102-year history, only one incident of driver error or equipment failure has resulted in fatalities: the disastrous line 2 Couronnes/Ménilmontant fire of August 10, 1903, which asphyxiated 84 passengers. These days, safety is still a concern but not a problem. To keep alert during his six-and-three-quarter-hour shift (or four round-trips through the line's 25 stations), Hernandez alternates between auto and manual control.

At Barbès-Rochechouart, about halfway along the 7.6-mile run, by chance Hernandez sees his old instructor waiting on the platform with a smile. The old master climbs aboard, and shakes hands all around. Four of us now in the cramped cab, off we go towards the La Chapelle stop, crossing over the SNCF tracks at Gare du Nord, then Gare de L’Est, before hitting the 75-meter double-S curve snaking around the circa-1785 rotunda at Stalingrad. We admire the blue, white and red stained glass work at the Jaurès stop (inspired by revolutionary-era flags at Bastille) before descending a 40 percent grade into the depths to our final destination: Nation.

With his radio, Hernandez says "Bonjour" to the drivers he passes. There's room for joking, too, and Hernandez relishes a good prank. Attention passengers, he might say. Please be patient during the power failure. It's because RATP didn't pay its electricity bill. "If the passengers smile, that makes my day better," he says. But there's never much time for laughs. Hernandez waits about three minutes at the terminus, then off into the dark the line 2 train rolls again.