Regarding the PRR, my mother did not drive, so in the late 1950s through the mid 1960s when we visited my aunt and uncle, Ruth and Bill Bruce, who lived in Pennington, NJ, we took the New Haven or NY Central to Grand Central Station. Then, after taking the Shuttle to Times Square, we took the PRR from Penn Station to Trenton or Princeton Junction.
Penn Station was a place of wonder. I loved everything about it: the heavenly light that poured in through the glass of the massive windowed ceiling; the dust (floating in the air inside the cavernous station) that was aglow from this heavenly light; the friendly and charming porters that helped us with our luggage; the sight of the Tuscan red and Brunswick green GG1s exuding their awesome power; the cheese and peanut butter crackers and soda that we bought during the train ride (this was a special treat because those refreshments could not be purchased on the commuter trains to and from Grand Central Station); the pantograph and catenary that brought to life the GG1s like the lightning that brought the Frankenstein monster to life.
My aunt and uncle would invite us to their country club, Hopewell Country Club, where we would go swimming at the beautiful pool there. It was very close to the PRR tracks. We would be swimming or relaxing in chez lounges by the pool, and then hear the tumble of the trains approaching, becoming louder and louder. The coal hoppers and oil tanker cars went on forever! We would count them and be amazed at how many train cars were being pulled by the tremendous Diesel engines.
