Looking in from the river you see the gabled ends of two large and dilapidated barns perched on foundations of stones and heavy beams, with a narrow walk around three sides of each. The gableend of Pier 73 is a landmark from the river because it is painted with red, white, and blue stripes representing American Lines. At the end of Pier 72 there is a small land lng stage set with bollards and cleats of cast iron. A little wooden box painted green is nailed to the gable end of the shed. It houses lists from 4e dispatcher's office of the crushed stone corporation, lists which pertain t0 the movements of the scows. aroun(j From these lists Trocchi would learn whether he'd have to wait on his barge all night to be towed somewhere, or was free to go into town and score, probably in the Village or Harlem. Looking at the same tableau, there are no scows moored in the basin and no gabled barns, dilapidated or otherwise. Pier 72 no longer exists; the stumps of a few timbers poke their heads up, suggesting the pilings' former outlines. That whole strip of waterfront is presently an orange ditch while the Department of Transportation's tractors and earthmovers lay the groundwork for the Hudson River Park. The DOT's construction sheds ocher and red, line the property. To its immediate south is the heliport Trocchi mentions, still in business, offering VIP helicopter tours: it consists of an asphalt landing strip and a rusty olive spud barge, where blue choppers take off and land, generating an astonishingly vehement noise. The blocks facing the waterfront are taken up mostly by parking lots halffilled with storage trailers, FedEx delivery trucks, Greyhound buses. The train yards, now the repository of ailing or idled subway cars, await their apotheosis as a sports complex. Across the roadway from Pier 76 is the Javits Convention Center. Pier 76, still adorned with American Lines lettering, is now painted a faded batdeship gray, and the severalblockslong aluminum shed has been turned into a pound for cars towed for parking violations. Two flags, as if contesting the tow pound's jurisdiction, fly from the roof: the Republic's starsandstripes and the city's tricolor. This via dolorosa for errant motorists, closed Sundays, is grimly surrounded by chainlink fence, with NYPD guards stationed at entry points to make sure any angry driver whose car was kidnapped by civil authorities will think twice about liberating it. Police department tow trucks, painted blackandwhite, are parked in the front area. I feel certain Trocchi, with his borderlineparanoid fulminations about the coming police state, would have taken an Itold youso satisfaction at the American Lines' metamorphosis. ENTER HERE TO REDEEM VEHICLES. You go up a ramp and into a hideous bullpen area, with pukecolored linoleum and toolow ceilings and cheap wooden wallboards: it is as though the humiliation of losing half a day and paying a steep fine to retrieve your car were not enough, the city wants you to feel like a criminal for parking in the wrong place.