Good morning all, and nice to see Dave stop in with the second part of his train trip! I almost got a copy of "REd for Danger" on E-Bay, but it proved to be a bit more popular than I was willing to pay. One of these days ..... Welcome to route_rock, who appears to be another astute rail historian for correctly identifying the 6 spot! Care to share any info on her? I guess I should change the avatar to something else for y'all to try and figure out. Welcome aboard sir! Check your mail Eric, and we'll see if we cant get those pix of your to work!
Here's another wreck related post for y'all:
A Mysterious Explosion by Bert Lanning – Aug 1975 Railroad Magazine
One chilly fall evening in 1924, No. 11, the regular night train for Vancouver, B.C., stood at the Canadian Pacific station in Nelson, B.C., waiting for departure time, 9pm. Its five day coaches and two sleepers were nearly filled to capacity. A powerful coalburning Pacific belched black smoke into the clear darkness as her fireman swung scoops full of coal into the white-hot fire.
The hogger, having finished his inspection and oiling of the running gear, had climbed back into the cab and was listening for the air-whistle signal to make the mandatory standing brake test. Then, with that important, but routine task done, he adjusted the flow of oil from the lubricator and relaxed on his leather seat to await the highball.
Right on schedule, two beeps sounded just above his head. His left hand eased out the throttle while his right hand released the independent engine brake. Soon the string of coaches was clattering over the yard switches on its westbound journey. With a full moon shining brightly overhead, plus the brilliance of the engine’s headlight, visibility was excellent. They picked up speed on the single-track Kettle Valley line.
For the first 25 miles they roared slightly downgrade as they followed the fast-flowing Kootenay River, paley lit by moonglow. For long periods the fireman was able to take life easy on his seat. Then, after No. 11 had made several stops along the way, the well-loaded train pulled into the busy junction point of Castlegar, where a branch line swings southward to the city of Trail, B.C.
At 10:30pm they rumbled across the big bridge that spans the Columbia River, with hollow thunder that silenced the hoot owls and tree toads, and then rushed toward the steep two-percent grade of Farron Hill, some 15 miles ahead. Now, the fireman started to build up an extra-good fire, making sure the back corners of the firebox were well banked, ready for the hour-long battle o the summit of the Christina mountain range.
With a satisfactory grade of coal in the Pacific’s tender, keeping up a full head of steam was no problem. Nevertheless, for the next hour it was hard sluggling for the fireman, with little time to relax on his seat. As the grade grew steeper and their speed decreased, the hogger widened on his throttle and dropped the Johnson bar forward. Exhaust blasted through the surrounding dark mountains. Checking his watch at intervals, the hogger noted that they were on time and should arrive at Farron siding according to schedule.
Meanwhile, back in the day coaches, some of the passengers had headed for their berths in the two sleepers at the rear. But many remained in the five day coaches, mostly those who had destinations before Vancouver and were content to make the all-night journey sprawled out over plush seats.
Near midnight, the Farron mileboard swam into view and the hogger reached for the whistle cord to give the usual long single blast for the station ahead. Soon they reached the summit and rolled slowly to a stop over the ash pit, where the fireman was allowed ten minutes to shake down his fire and dump the ash pans. On that necessary job he was assisted by the night watchman on a pusher engine stationed there.
Apart from the pusher’s crew and the telegraph operator and his wife, nobody lived at the desolate siding where the Farron depot stood. After checking around his engine, No. 11’s hogger climbed back into his cab and, when he saw the fire cleaning was done, eased his train past the depot, where the order board showed green.
Soon the string of passenger cars was rolling down the far grade, the fireman enjoying a well-earned rest on his seat. With a two percent downgrade, the engineer had to shut off his throttle and bring the Johnson bar back to the center position. As they sped swiftly around the many curves, he made a couple of light applications on the trainline air to steady his train and to keep down to a safe speed.
On one of these curves the engine crew were startled to hear a sudden loud boom come from somewhere to their rear. Immediately the trainline brakes went into emergency. As they ground to a stop, the man at the throttle gave the necessary whistle blasts, telling the crew to go out and flag. Then as a necessary precaution, he yanked the Johnson bar over to the reverse position and set the independent engine brake to help hold his train on the steep grade.
Being on a sharp curve prevented the engine crew from seeing what had happened back along the coaches. But soon a brakeman came running up to inform them excitedly that an explosion had occurred in one of the day coaches, completely wrecking it! Grim-faced, he said that some of the passengers had been injured, if not killed, and the conductor was using the head-phone hook-up to get help. He advised the engineer to close the airline valve at the head of the wrecked coach, which would let him control the rest of the train’s brakes.
Then, after arranging for the fireman to go on ahead to protect that train, he hurried back to assist the rest of the crew in caring for the victims. An hour or so later, a special train, carrying doctors, nurses, food, and medical supplies arrived from the Grand Forks, some 40 miles ahead. They found that the explosion had killed eight passengers and injured a dozen or so more. After they had been taken to the nearest hospital, a wrecker removed the damaged coach to let No. 11 continue its run.
An investigation into the cause of the explosion proved beyond a doubt that dynamite had caused it. Although several theories were suggested, the mystery of that fateful moonlit night was never solved.
A couple drove down a country road, not saying a word. An earlier discussion had led to an argument, and neither would concede their position. As they passed a barnyard of mules and pigs, the wife sarcastically asked, "Relatives of yours?" "Yep," the husband replied. "In-laws."
Hi everyone, and especially Dave for his afternnon post. Thanks for the great information. It's hard for me to believe that a car costing a million dollars to build could ever pay for itself. Did it?
Here's an article having to do with US left coast:
The Ocean Shore Comes Back by G.H. Kneiss, Dec. 1935 Railroad Stories
When a railroad is abandoned, it is usually gone forever. And yet, in California, a railroad is being reborn after fifteen years of complete abandonment.
The Ocean Shore Railway was planned as a fast double-track electric line between San Francisco and the resort city of Santa Cruz, 80 miles to the south. Construction started in 1905 and involved much heavy rock work around the cliffs. However, progress was rapid and plans for a grand opening were being made when the earthquake of 1906 came along and toppled much of the roadbed into the Pacific Ocean.
This was a bitter blow, but the management set bravely to work at reconstruction. Reluctantly they pared down their double-track electric project to a single track steam line, and in 1907 two unconnected sections were opened for business – from San Francisco south to Tunitas Glen, 36 miles; and Santa Cruz north to Swanton, 15 miles.
The northern division appeared to be an immediate success. Vast crowds overtaxed the second-hand rolling stock which the road had purchased, and it became necessary to equip flat cars with wooden benches to handle the throngs. A real estate boom caused new towns to spring up overnight. “Developments” were marked off into fifty-foot lots and sold so fast as the surveyors could drive in their stakes. Dance halls, bath-houses, and amusement piers were built as quickly as carpenters could knock them together. The San Francisco terminal at 12th and Mission streets was incessantly busy.
From this point the trains were handled by an electric locomotive through the streets to the city limits, where the steam engines took over the job. Halfway down the single-track line the trains entered the wye and backed the rest of the way to Tunitas Glen, there being no room there between the mountains and the Ocean to turn the trains.
But the Ocean Shore Railway, despite its huge traffic, was in desperate straits. The work of rebuilding after the earthquake had been a severe financial strain, and on the southern division another hard blow had been received.. The main reason for opening this short stretch had been to get traffic from a large cement mill near Swanson. But the Southern Pacific constructed a branch from Santa Cruz to the cement mill and, because of its through connections, took the cement traffic away from the struggling Ocean Shore.
In 1911 the sytem was reorganized as the Ocean Shore Railroad Company. For a while everything was rosy. Freight traffic was developed on the northern division, the line passing through the finest artichoke fields in the state. Other garden products, rock, and sand were the main tonnage. In 1914 the road carried more than 300,000 tons of freight and nearly 200,000 passengers. It bagan to look as if the gap between Tunitas Glen and Swanton could soon be closed and through trains run to Santa Cruz.
Then came Old Man Gasoline. A bus line paralleled the railway, using the fine new paved state highway. Trucks began to solicit the artichoke traffic. Ungrateful shippers, secure in their belief that the railroad would always be there if they needed it, began to patronize the new form of transportation. By 1919 freight tonnage had fallen off more then 75 percent, and passenger traffic had been cut in half. The Ocean Shore was beaten by Old Man Gasoline. In 1920 the State Railroad Commission issued an abandonment order.
This railroad went out of business. Locomotive whistles no longer mingled with the roar of breakers on the rocky shore. Rails were torn up and the rather old hand-me-down rolling stock, some of which had graced the Pennsy’s fast trains in the seventies, was sold. The Ocean Shore became a glorious memory.
It seemed that the iron horse was craving revenge. Inhabitants of the region discovered what it meant to lose their railroad. The fine “developments” developed no further but fell into decay. Most of the “city lots” were sold for taxes. The blank windows of vacant dwellings stared hopelessly at the desolation of the abandoned railway stations that had once been crowded with happy, care-free crowds. The country “went back.”
And now, like dawn after a dismal night, comes news of the resurrection of the Ocean Shore. Rights to the abandoned roadbed have been purchased by a new organization. Reconstruction will begin as soon as an agreement can be reached with the California Highway Commission, which has been seeking part of the right-of-way.
The complete line to Santa Cruz will be put into operation. Instead of the antiquated steam equipment of the past the new management plans to use light roller-bearing gasoline cars and trailers for the frequent passenger service.
Prime reason for the rebirth of the Ocean Shore is the opening up of the Butano Forest, containing more than a billion feet of redwood lumber. This is located on the never-built section between Tunitas Glen and Swanton. There is a possibility that this stretch will be built after all.
Have the inhabitants of this region learned their lesson from the fifteen years without a railroad? One rather thinks – and hopes – they have.
A man is at work one day when he notices that his co-worker is wearing an earring. This man knows his co-worker to be a somewhat conservative fellow, so naturally he's curious about the sudden change in fashion sense. The man walks up to his co-worker and says, "I didn't know you were into earrings.""Don't make such a big deal, it's only an earring," he replies sheepishly. "Well, I'm curious," begged the man, "how long have you been wearing an earring?" "Er, ever since my wife found it in our bed."
Good thuindering/rainy morning everyone! Thanks for your comments yesterday Dave. I thought you might be interested in a left coast railroad. On the subject of the Epucaurian, I don't have any information on it here. Google doesn't seem to believe in it either. Hate it when that happens!
Here's another post that may be of interest (I hope)
The Ticket Counterfeiting Racket December 1935 Railroad Stories
Fifty years ago Louis Rice was chief clerk for the Mo. P. general ticket agent at St. Louis. He threw up his job and became a ticket scalper, opening offices in several Midwestern cities in partnership with a crooked lawyer named Lands. Rice and Lands soon found that the chief expense in their business was buying the tickets which they sold. “The deuce with this!” said Rice, or words to that effect. “Why can’t we print tickets ourselves?” He bought a print shop in a small town in Illinois.
Rice was not a careless man. He knew just the kind of paper the various railroads used, and got some. He copied all signatures expertly, probably by photography. And he figured out serial and form numbers that would convince the smartest conductor. What prevented it from being a “perfect crime,” however, was the fact that Rice’s ticket numbers were duplicates pf numbers on other tickets. “But that’s all right; nobody will notice,” he said to Lands, who was worried.
The tickets sold well and the slick promoters made thousands of dollars. Rice, who had recently become engaged, dazzled his fiancé with presents.
One day C.G. Warner, general auditor of the Mo.P., began wondering why his road carried so many more passengers than they had sold tickets for. “There is crooked business afoot,” thought Warner, and sent for a mass of used tickets. Ragged and soiled, they were heaped on his desk. Warner had all the numbers copied down and compared. Two were duplicates!
“Our tickets are being counterfeited,” he told the Mo.P. gumshoes. “It’s up to you to get the details.” Suspicion fastened on Louis Rice, as he knew a lot about tickets. It did not take Rice long to discover that the Mo.P. was on his trail. He decided to take a vacation and went to Kansas City. The detective, Thomas Furlong, also went to Kansas City. “Louis Rice? Oh yes – he’s gone to Salt Lake.” Rice was too well known on all the lines. From Salt Lake he visited San Francisco, then Portland. At Seattle he heard much about the attractions of Western Canada, so progressed to Victoria.
His trailer also went to Victoria and spent several hours looking over the scenery; but Rice was not part of it. Rice, in fact, had plunged into the Kassiar Mountains, where the fishing was especially good, to a camp some 357 miles from Victoria. The detective decided to go fishing too, and chose the same camp. Rice was not there.
Rice did not care much for the Kassiars, so went back to Seattle and then to Portland. Then he got a job in a bed spring factory; it is possible that he had always wanted to know how bed springs were made. Or maybe he thought such a factory was the last place a detective would set foot in. He put on dirty overalls and let his beard grow.
“Mr. Louis Rice?” It was the persistent Furlong. Rice was nabbed at last! On his way to St. Louis the fugitive told all. The nervous Lands was also arrested. “I have friends,” warned Lands, “who will get me out of this.” “That,” said Furlong coldly, “is not my worry.” A short time later both Rice and Lands were exonerated by a friendly judge, who remarked: “Forged railroad tickets have no intrinsic value.”
Rice gave up ticket printing. The life was too strenuous. He got married moved to Iowa, and sold insurance. Lands died shortly afterward. Ticket faking was made illegal in most states. It would take a very shrewd crook now to evade these laws – and the railroad detective force is still on the job. – Jim Holden.
Two soldiers were having a chat during their free time. First Soldier: Why did you join the army? Second Soldier: I didn't have a wife and I loved war. So I joined. How about you? Why did you join the army? First Soldier: I had a wife and I loved peace. So I joined.
Good morning Dave and whoever else may be reading. I think I need an Ohmar device that detects who all is viewing this thread, but not posting! If that describes you, then just jump in with any subject you would like and introduce yourself!
I know for a fact though the Metra conductors in Chicagoland mostly get their fares, but there are misses, especially as the train approaches the end-of-the-line. Pretty much anyone who gets on at the next-to-last stop rides free. I wonder how much it all adds up to. I see you have ended your post with a funny or two .... very good sir!
Here's another article about old train stuff:
Setouts and pickups by W.F. Knapke – Aug 1935 Railroad Stories
Among the many things vastly improved by the railroads since they were first used are torpedoes – “guns” or “caps” to the boys on the road. The first one I ever saw was crudely made of paper and sealing wax, with no means of fastening it to the rail. You laid it on the rail, slapped a little mud on it to make it stick, if there happened to be any handy, and if there wasn’t, you trusted to luck.
Then the railroads invented a new kind of tar-dipped torpedo. Through a hole in it a wooden peg had to be pushed into the opening of a rail joint. But since only one space in ten would match up with the peg, the idea wasn’t so hot.
After that came the round, tin-box kind, with lead straps to clamp to the rail. Next the “turtle back,” much the same, but larger and rounder. Some of them had steel springs instead of lead straps. When one of these “wheel busters” exploded, hunks of tin and gravel were scattered for yards. After a number of men visited the company sawbones to have debris removed from their anatomies the present fiber case was developed, and the gravel omitted from its contents. The new ones are just as loud, and they’re a lot safer.
During the time of the steel spring variety, some unsung genius invented what was known as the torpedo fork. The device was much like a four-pronged pitch fork, with the space between prongs Nos. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 a little wider than the head of one rail. To use it, you put a torpedo between 3 and 4. Then you reached over the rear caboose railing and let down the prongs so they straddled the rail. When the torpedo hit the rail head, the springs were loosened by the impact and caught on the rail.
* One of the few things in common used by the railroads which does not have a nation-wide slang name is the fusee. Once in a while it is referred to as a “torch” or “candle,” but they are rare. Moreover, fusees have undergone a few changes. There used to be certain types, such as the ”fifteen0-minute,” which burned red five, green five, and white five minutes (back in the days when green was caution and white meant clear). But, of course, they are no more. There used to be the five-minute red fusee, for use on the freight trains only (don’t ask me why). Somewhat different was the type with a cap in its head, and which you banged down on the rail to light it. This was fine unless the rail was wet, when you lit it with a match if you could. But outside of these freaks, fusees are about the same today as they always were.
* Once a crew overlooked their orders, two engines smacked each other on the nose, and the “big hook” came to pick up the pieces. Among the pieces was the tank of one engine, too damaged to proceed on its own trucks, with its flare board ripped along the seam joining it to water compartment. It was loaded on a flat car, but darkness had fallen by the time the wrecker was ready to return to the terminal, where, upon its arrival, the entire train was shoved on a track close to the back shop.
Later the same night a passenger train sped over the same track. The postal clerk was alert to catch the mail sack from its crane, and he swung out his catcher. Nothing on the crane.
“Doggone sleepy-headed postmaster,” muttered the clerk, “wonder he wouldn’t wake up and get on the job.”
But when the second, third and succeeding cranes were passed and there were no mail sacks on any of them, the clerk got busy on the telegraph wire, and a little later operators were awakening track walkers and sending them out along the right-of-way, searching for the missing mail.
In spite of a diligent and continued search, the pouches were not found, and the mystery of the missing mail sacks bade fair to go down to posterity. But a couple of days later an employee passing between the wall of the back shop and wrecking train looked up, and there were the missing mail sacks, all nicely wedged between flare board and body of the damage engine tank. The flare board had evidently bent out from vibration, or was not noticed when it was loaded, and stuck out enough to gather in the mail very neatly.
A young lady came home from a date, rather sad. She told her mother, "Anthony proposed to me an hour ago." "Then why are you so sad?" her mother asked. "Because he also told me he is an atheist. Mom, he doesn't even believe there's a Hell." Her mother replied, "Marry him anyway. Between the two of us, we'll show him how wrong he is."
Hmmm .... no replies at all yesterday. Here is a helpful guide of old railroad signs for you to practice today!
"That wife of mine is a liar," said the angry husband to a sympathetic pal seated next to him in the bar. "How do you know?" the friend asked. "She didn't come home last night, and when I asked her where she'd been, she said she'd spent the night with her sister, Shirley." "So?" the friend replied. "So, she's a liar. I spent the night with her sister Shirley!"
Sorry for the absence but my computer at home has been giving me fits. I can read the messsages but can not reply. Sort of like every mans dream for a wife. She can hear you but can't talk back. Anyway am in the office at the present so jut wanted to let you know i should be back on line by midweek just waiting for the tech to drop by.
TTFN Al
A minor quible on the SP GS-5 post. The GS-5s were delivered in June of 1942. I don't really know when the WPB started supervising eng production or how long it takes to put an engine together but I doubt that the WPB had much to say about the GS-5s. The big difference (in addition to the roller bearings) was the fact that GSC had to make new castings for the frames due to the greater size of the journal boxes.
The metion of WP's (almost) Berkshires got me to thinking(always a dangerous situation). Other than the ex-B&M engines the SP converted from coal to oil were there any oil burning Berkshires. I can't think of any unless Santa Fe converted some of theirs but I think they stayed in the east end, coal burning territory.
Good morning everyone! Sorry you had a hot day yesterday Dave. It was absolutely gorgeous here for a change with lower temperatures and clear skies. Good thing too, as I helped my son move into his new home. Thanks for the great SP and WP info, and thanks also to Jim for his embellishments. I also liked the tactful way it was handled! Great to see my buddy Al on the thread too! Hope you get your computer issues fixed soon. I'm sure we all know how frustrating it can be!
Here's a little WP info that I happen to have on hand:
From 1939 until inauguration of the California Zephyr in 1949, combined passenger service over CB&Q, D&RGW and WP lines was provided by the Exposition Flyer, trains No. 39 and 40. Here westbound No. 39 meets eastbound No. 40 at Jungo, Nevada (37 miles west of Winnemucca), in 1948. On the point is WP No. 180, built at Schenectady in 1924, one of ten handsome light 4-8-2’s purchased by WP from the Florida East Coast in July, 1936, and mainstays of WP passenger service until the end of steam. Its dark “stack extension” was a WP=design smoke lifter, applied in 1939.
Among America’s legendary passenger trains was the California Zephyr, operated jointly by the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy between Chicago and Denver, the Denver & Rio Grande Western between Denver and Salt Lake City, and the Western Pacific between Salt Lake City and Oakland. The train was noteworthy for its modern Budd stainless steel cars with Pullman and coach accommodations, including numerous Vista domes. It had a schedule designed for daylight transits of both Rocky Mountains and Sierra Nevada scenery; comfortable travel and excellent service were the Zephyr’s watchwords. Inaugurated in Mach, 1949, the train, widely and familiarly known as the “CZ” survived until March 22, 1970, when WP was granted a discontinuance for their segment. For a short time, CB&Q and D*RGW used their part of the CZ equipment to provide service as far west as Ogden, whence passengers had to take Southern Pacific trains over the Sierra.
At the time of the initiation of Amtrak in April, 1971, D&RRGW reached an agreement with Amtrak, and the California Zephyr train name was revived in July, 1983, for Amtrak service over the original Rocky Mountain route. But farther west, the train traversed SP’s Donner Pass line, not the WP’s Feather River Canyon.
This photo shows westbound No. 17 at Stockton, Calif. Headed by passenger-geared F7 unit No. 804, the motive power carries the famous WP passenger paint scheme, and orange and silver body with red nose wings. Beginning with its wartime FT units, Western Pacific became a firm believer in EMD power, and used both F3 and F7 locomotives on the Zephyr. This image dates from about 1952. WP photo.
A man was complaining to a friend, "I had it all - money, a magnificent house, a fast car, the love of a beautiful woman... then, poof! It was all gone!" "What happened?" asked the friend. "My wife found out..."
March 1943, westbound Chief at Cajon Pass, eastbound freight to the left in the distance, photo by Jack Delano (Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division)http://memory.loc.gov/pnp/ppmsc/00100/00186r.jpg
One of the things I really hate is those guys that are constantly carping about this nit or that nit and I'm afraid I'm becoming one. The Delano picture (don't you love those 4X5 negatives?) shows a Santa Fe heavywt psgr train on the east slope (actually compass south) of Cajon Pass. I've 2 problems w/ the caption. First, the Chief was streamlined in 1937 and, except for the baggage and baggage mail which were frequently heavywt, the 10 car bulk of the train should be stainless steel lightwts. Second, according to my 1945 Official Guide the Chief left Bartstow at 430 AM and arrived at San Bernardino at 635AM. Now it's quite possible that the train might have been running late but if on time the angle of the sun would be considerably lower from the right of the picture and, if winter, not even up.
No. 123 and no 23, the Amarillo and La Junta sections of the Grand Canyon respectively had times of 620AM and 630 AM at Barstow and 830Am and 845 AM at San Bernardino which would be a much better fit as far as the lighting and both would be predominately (if not entirely) heavywieghts.
Doug, here's a link to a photo of D&RGW eastbound California Zephyr at Glenwood Springs, Colorado on 11/2/52 http://purl.dlib.indiana.edu/iudl/archives/cushman/full/P06400.jpg
Jim, your insights persuade me that the Chief is not necessarily the Chief. The title of the photo is "Santa Fe R.R. trains going through Cajon Pass in the San Bernardino Mountains, Cajon, Calif." and from the notes, "Title continues: ... On the right, streamliner "Chief" going west; in the background, on the left, a freight train with a helper engine, going east. Santa Fe trip." Jack Delano was a photographer for the Farm Security Administration and the picture was from the Office of War Information Collection. Here are links to a few more of his color photos from 1943:
Santa Fe freight about to leave for the West Coast from Corwith yard, Chicago http://memory.loc.gov/service/pnp/fsac/1a34000/1a34600/1a34699v.jpg
Westbound freight waiting in a siding to meet an eastbound train, Ricardo, NM http://memory.loc.gov/service/pnp/fsac/1a34000/1a34700/1a34732v.jpg
Servicing engines at coal and sand chutes at Argentine yard, Kansas City, Kansas http://memory.loc.gov/service/pnp/fsac/1a34000/1a34700/1a34716v.jpg
Santa Fe diesel locomotives
http://memory.loc.gov/service/pnp/fsac/1a34000/1a34700/1a34711v.jpg
http://memory.loc.gov/service/pnp/fsac/1a34000/1a34700/1a34736v.jpg
Mike
Good morning one and all, and especially DWD (always nice to see a new face)! Looking forward to seeing info on some of your favorite RR companies. Great pix as usual, Mike, and especially enjoyed seeing comments on your research. Looks like one of my pix was incorrectly labeled Jimrice, and glad to have you point out the inconsistancy. I also enjoyed Dave's comments on the subject as well! 117 degrees! I don't even want to think about that!!
Here's a little more stuff from me on this warm & rainy morning:
A heavy Union Pacific freight heads west, working up the 16th St. hill out of Omaha. The lead unit is the new EMD SD60 No. 6065. Interestingly, the balance of the all-EMD power consist reflects the “Triple Merger” of UP with Missouri Pacific and Western Pacific, announced in 1980 and approved by the ICC in September, 1982.
The first unit, No. 6065, is less than a year old in this photo, having been built in April 988. The second unit is No. 2307, a former MoPac locomotive inherited in the merger, and painted in temporary “UP-style” MP lettering, that is, the standard red characters, outlined in black on the yellow locomotive, but spelling out “Missouri Pacific” instead of “Union Pacific” on the locomotive side. This 200-hp unit, built in 1981, is a GP38-2, a model produced from 1972-86; its MoPac number was also 2307. The trailing unit is No. 785, a 2500-hp GP35 built in 1963 (and rebuilt by Morrison-Knudsen in 1981) which came to UP from Western Pacific as No. 3004; GP35’s were produced during 1963-66. Both GP units have left the UP roster; No. 785 now wears that number for Eastern Idaho RR.
As is typical of freight trains in recent decades, most visible cars in this photo are of much higher capacity than in former times, often 70 or 100 tons in place of the 50-ton cars which dominated freight car rosters as late as the 1960s. Accordingly, much more horsepower was and is being used to manage these trains, and a train of, say, 60 cars today carries far more cargo than the same size train 30 years earlier. This today’s railroad moves more freight with substantially fewer trains. George R. Cockle photo, Sept. 10, 1988, courtesy of Union Pacific.
A funeral service is being held for a woman who has just passed away. At the end of the service, the pall bearers are carrying the casket out when they accidentally bump into a wall, jarring the casket. They hear a faint moan! They open the casket and find that the woman is actually alive!
She lives for ten more years, and then dies. Once again, a ceremony is held, and at the end of it, the pall bearers are again carrying out the casket. As they carry the casket towards the door, the husband cries out: "Don’t bump the wall!"
Ut oh .... looks like this thread is back to having no participants. That will include me if there is no interest. Let's see if the follwoing produces any comments:
Ghost Railroad of the Mojave by Alvin A. Ficklewirth, April 1942 RR Magazine
Once a resplendent combination car on the New York Central, this desert-beaten relic is now a pathetic souvenir of the almost-forgotten L&S
California’s vast Mojave Desert, noted for its scores of deserted mine towns, likewise harbors the remains of more forgotten railways than any other similar area in the nation.
At least that’s the impression you get from delving into the history of this dreary waste of sand, sagebrush and cactus, inhabited mainly by poisonous rattlesnakes, shy lizards and bright-hued gila monsters.
Narrow-gage, standard-gage, circular systems, rails that ramble off to nowhere, ending in the desert wastes – even an old monorail – dot the Mojave’s wide expanse. Wind-blown, sand-blasted remains of stations are found on the outskirts of virtually every ghost town, though some of them never got to serve a single train. Progress in the booming mine days sped so rapidly that it passed up many towns before the rails were laid. Rich gold and silver veins played out; unfinished routeage was abandoned.
Perhaps the most interesting and best preserved of these Mojave ghost lines was the old Ludlow & Southern, a seven and one-half mile stem built at the turn of the century to connect the fabulously rich Bagdad-Chase diggings with Ludlow, fifty-three miles east or Barstow, on the Santa Fe.
Competition in the mining and shipping of ore was at that time keen. The twenty-mule teams operating out of nearby Providence Town had already hauled some sixty million dollars worth of pay dirt, but in their mad rush to be first to the mills, operators sought a more efficient means of transportation. Old-timers tell of a curious steam tractor called the “iron monster,” which clattered over the desert from the Ord Mines to Dagget (next station to Ludlow on the AT&F) hauling three wagons in the smoke and dust behind it.
The more successful performances of the Borate & Dagget Railroad, a combination narrow- and standard-gage line built to supplement mule-train shipments from a neighboring mine, led the management of the Bagdad-Chase Company to project their own wavering streak of rust across the Mojave hills to the silver ribbons of the Santa Fe.
Originating terminal of the road was the sun-scorched desert town of Rochester, named with a grim trace of nostalgia for the cleaner, greener New York State metropolis which had once been the home of Mine President Benjamin Chase and his right=hand, J.H. Steadman.
A dozen cabins and tent homes dormitories, a café, company office, and newly built station – these and timber gantries that lay squat above the black mine shafts, were the substance of the town when the road’s first locomotive, a tall-stacked Baldwin ten-wheeler, whooshed in from the north, on her maiden trip from Ludlow. She carried a down-east designation of her own – the New York Central herald and the number 99. For that Empire State road, and more particularly its president, Chauncey M. Depew, was a heavy stockholder in Bagdad-Chase.
Behind the locomotive, soon to be renumbered Ludlow & Southern Number 1, trailed a flatcar with a stout tapered tank standing upright on its deck, directly above the forward truck . Eight feet in diameter, perhaps, and not quite so high, it stored a cargo more precious to the desert people than the ore that was soon to creek northward to the Santa Fe.
That shipment was water, hauled from the nearest source on the larger system, since no successful wells could be sunk in arid Rochester. Daily, thereafter, the company-built tank car made its circuit run. On your author’s desk, as he writes, lies a brittle yellow bill made out to the Ludlow & Southern by the AT&SF for water hauled at a cost of $1.55 per thousand gallons.
Besides the One-Spot and the tank, the company’s initial equipment roster listed two flatcars. This rolling stock, however, was soon to be buttressed by a colorful addition.
Around 1903, word reached the camp that a group of the mine’s stockholders, most of the New York Central men, were enroute to inspect their investment. Rochester had by that time been renamed Steadman, and was known as one of the cleanest run towns in the area; probably because the General Manager, E.H. Stagg, had brought his wife and three daughters there to live.
A capable operator, Mr. Stagg had already converted Bagdad-Chase into a plant that was paying dividends of $10,000 per month. One can easily visualize, then, the blend of curiosity and smug satisfaction with which the corpulent visitors from back east climbed down from their special New York Central combine coach to view this sand-blasted desert holding.
Some say that Chauncey Depew, himself, was a member of the delegation, and that the car was his private chariot. This latter contention seems doubtful, however, in view of the combine arrangement. In any event, Steadman’s citizens had never seen so magnificent a specimen of the coach-builder’s art. Admiration of flamboyant vestibules and ornately glazed windows was as hearty as the reception according to the stockholders and when the bewhiskered tycoons got back to Ludlow, they expressed their appreciation and delight by leaving the car behind as a gift.
Heavily armored and renumbered L&S Number 100, the combine made regular trips across the desert thereafter not infrequently carrying gold bars directly to Los Angeles, then up the coast by Southern Pacific. Officials estimate that during its more useful lifetime, it hauled more than $17,000,000 in gold bullion.
Umber 100 had another and more pleasurable duty each payday when, loaded with miners and their families, it chuckled down to Ludlow at the tail of the brace of flatcars.
A large supply of whiskey helped to shorten the seven-mile journey, and by the time the train pulled into the Santa Fe metropolis the miners were ready to paint the town red.
Nightfall, however, always found a weary aggregation piled in the coach and sprawled out on the dusty decks of the flatcars. Then, with Isaac Stagg, brother of the General Manager, at the throttle of old Number 1, the little train crept cautiously back across the Mojave under the desert stars.
A woman awakes during the night, and her husband isn’t in bed with her. She goes downstairs to look for him. She finds him sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him. He appears to be in deep thought, just staring at the wall. She watches as he wipes a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his coffee. "What's the matter, dear?" she asks. "Why are you down here at this time of night?" The husband looks up from his coffee, "Do you remember 20 years ago when we were dating, and you were only 16?" he asks solemnly. "Yes, I do," she replies. "Do you remember when your father caught us in the back seat of my car making love?" "Yes, I remember," says the wife, lowering herself into a chair beside him. The husband continues, "Do you remember when he shoved the shotgu
Doug, there was a crash on the Burlington Route on April 25, 1946, in Naperville, Illinois. Many of the passengers were servicemen returning home from World War II. The photographer Charles W. Cushman was at the scene about 15 minutes after the Exposition Flyer plowed into the Advance Flyer, which had made an unscheduled stop. 47 were killed.
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I was living in Chicago at the time of the Naperville wreck and it was major news for quite a while. The underlying cause was the practice of "riding the yellow" that had grown up at the time. With the Twin Cities and Denver line of the Q coming together at Aurora and long distance trains tending to bunch up at certain times of the day, traffic density could get rather, well, dense, and the engineers had gotten in the habit of trying to adjust their speed to where, on approaching a yellow signal they would hit it just as it turned to green, thereby illiminating the need to slow to 45 until seeing the next signal. The assumption was that the Exhibition Flyer did just that, only when the signal didn,t go to clear, assumed that w/ a mild speed reduction he'd have a green on the next signal. Unfortunately Naperville is on a curve and by the time he got to where he could see the next (red) signal he found the Advance Flyer just beyond, stopped.
If memory serves there were 57 people killed and that accident, and 2 similar ones on the Long Island at about the same time, led to the ICC imposing 60, 79 and 99 MPH speed limits on, respectively, dark, ABS, and Automatic Train Stop track
I believe it's on the 7th or 8th picture you can see an E-5 B unit immediatly behind one of the crushed cars. The awsome implication being that the A unit is in the car. Very dim prospects for many survivors there!
Good morning guys! Really interesting URL's Mike! It's hard to believe how many wrecks used to occur out here. We still get a few occasionally, but certainly not with the damage or loss of life there used to be. Thanks also to Jim for his recollections concerning the Naperville wreck. I'll be looking for information I might have too. Yeah, Dave, I thought you just might know a thing or two about the old mining railroads in the Mojave. My mom and dad frequently take trips out there in the winter. I'll have to ask if they have come across any abandoned railroad equipment. Here's the 2nd part of the story:
By 1905, ore shipments were flowing north in such quantities that a second locomotive had to be purchased. Some say that the L&S acquired its Two-Spot from the Tonopah & Tidewater, though how that newly-organized road could have found the motive power to spare is a subject for conjecture.
Of the same wheel arrangement as L&S Number 1, this Hinkley engine was put to work dragging equipment borrowed from the Santa Fe. Meanwhile, the road was dickering for the purchase of more cars of its own, but their cost was finally deemed prohibitive and the notion dropped. Instead, the company picked up occasional flats from roads doomed by the playing out of neighboring mines. A letter in your author’s possession contains an example, an offer from the Las Vegas & Tonopah and the Bullfrog Goldfield, to sell ten cars at $400 apiece, with supplemented information: “their condition is only fair.”
Records show that in August, 1917, the Ludlow ^ Southern rented a car from the Tonopah & Tidewater at a cost of but fifty cents a day. Before the year was out someone left the brakes set on this piece of equipment and when it arrived at Ludlow, all eight wheels showed 2 ½ inch flat spots. Result: a $56 repair bill n the Tonopah & Tidewater shops. This latter road’s Ludlow facilities were similarly used for L&S locomotive overhaulings.
IN 1925 hard luck hit the once busy little road. Water in limited quantities was being shipped into Steadman, then, as it had from the very start. This, when a raging fire broke out at the mines one day, there was little to do but watch it burn. The engine house collapsed in a cascade of sparks and with it went all that would warp or crack of the Mason mill. Out of her wreckage and the motor of a big Holt tractor, the management later attempted to assemble a new power unit. But the $3000 venture went for nothing when the engine refused to budge the gaunt frame of the old ten-wheeler. Mine operations had slowed down, however, and two years later fate wrote finis to another chapter of desert railroading. The rusty entrails of a locomotive, a few old cars, including the once resplendent New York Central combine – these and a wavering trail that might have been left in eons past by a grinning dinosaur – are all that remain of the Ludlow and Southern.
Wealth and fame have ridden in this car. So have lusty adventure and back-breaking toil. You can almost see the wraiths of bygone days that pace its creaky floor.
A woman walks into the store and purchases the following:
1 small box of detergent1 Bar of soap3 individual servings of yogurt2 oranges1 stick of women’s deodorant.She then goes to the check out line.Cashier: Oh, you must be singleWoman: You can tell that by what I bought?Cashier: No, because you're so ugly!
Good morning all, but it looks like Dave and I are the only ones holding the fort recently. Thanks for the terrific Mojave information Dave! I suspected that all traces of the old mining operations would be gone. Speaking of narrow gages:
Last of the Two Foot Gages Feb. 1942 Railroad Magazine
Picture story of the 6.16-mile Monson Railroad.
Maine, home of the two-foot-gage, was bereft of its Sandy River Line some years ago. Also its Kennebee Central, its Wiscasset, Waterville & Farmington, and then its Bridgton & Harrison a few months ago, leaving the 6.16 rather desolate miles between Monson and Monson Jct. to carry on the tradition of thinly-spaced ribbons of steel.
Track is fairly straight. Sharpest curve is located here at the road’s solitary bridge. Albion Johnson, fireman-brakeman, rides with head car, ready for any emergency. Piscataquis County has wild landscape; weeds sheltering deer, moose, jackrabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, snakes, bears and even bobcats. Engine 3 once tumbled off this trestle into a boulder-strewn brook.
From a standard gage Maine Central gondola to a narrow Monson flat equipped with link-and-pin couplers, the Monson’s only three full-time employees are busily transferring a load of seashore sand for the polishing stones of Monson Mill.
She was not exactly a streamliner, but Engineer French, in the cab of No. 4, managed to get this old combination car there and back. This shot was made in November, 1938, just before the Monson discontinued passenger service.
At Monson Jct. the narrow gage connects with the Bangor & Aroostock’s Greenville branch (formerly Bangor & Piscataquis Railroad). Note the snow plow turntable in the lower right corner. BAR freight-house looms in the center background, and behind that the tiny depot, presided over by genial Giles Fogg, 74, oldest BAR station agent. Fogg has spent his entire 37-year rail career here. He used to handle Monson passenger tickets; in one good month he sold 214 for $104.65
Daily coal consumption of Monson motive power a about a ton, at the rate of $9 a ton. All of it is laboriously shoveled by hand into the tank at the Junction. Engine No. 4 weighs 18 tons, has 10X13-inch cylinders and carries 160 pounds of steam.
Every few days a little train gets “off the iron.” Engineer French and Fireman-Brakeman Albion Johnson are ruefully inspecting such a mishap – a car of slate shingles on the ground. However, a few deft moves of this expert crew will put her back where she belongs. The broken truck-frame, blocked up with a stick of wood, will be good for another hundred miles or so.
Deserted: The old Monson combination car, built by Laconia Car Co. in 1883
Number 4, a sturdy pig fabricated by Vulcan in 1918, is equipped with an automobile headlight – which is seldom used, for she does her work in the daytime.
Early in the morning, three or four times a week, the engine-house doors are opened and out comes the 4-spot with a cough and a wheeze for a round trip on the 59-year-old road. This pike is owned by Monson Slate Co. A short time ago its 30-pound steel rails reverberated under eight scheduled trips a day. Nobody knows how long operation will continue on the “last of the two-foot gages”
Incidentally, the first two-foot-gage line on the globe, the Festiniog Railway in Whales, built nearly 120 years ago and evidently still operating, was a slate-carrier; and now the Monson, last of its tribe in North America, owes its existence to the same commodity.
A man walked into a therapist's office looking very depressed. "Doc, you've got to help me. I can't go on like this." "What's the problem?" the doctor inquired. "Well, I'm 35 years old and I still have no luck with the ladies. No matter how hard I try, I just seem to scare them away.""My friend, this is not a serious problem. You just need to work on your self-esteem. Each morning, I want you to get up and run to the bathroom mirror. Tell yourself that you are a good person, a fun person, and an attractive person. But, say it with real conviction. Within a week you'll have women buzzing all around you."The man seemed content with this advice and walked out of the office a bit excited. Three weeks later he returned with the same downtrodden expression on his face. "Did my advice not work?" asked the doctor."Oh, it worked alright. For the past several weeks I've enjoyed some of the best moments in my life with the most fabulous looking women." "So, what's your problem?""I don't have a problem," the man replied. "My wife does."
Doug Still having problems with computer at home. The tech still hasn't showed up.
Interesting report on the Naperville accident the other day. Have a complet list of cars that were involved in that accident somewhere both the heavyweights and lightweights. This was the first accident on the CB&Q that claimed one of the lighweight streamlined cars from Budd. That car was from memory SILVER DINER one of the prewar cars from Budd. Several heavyweights were destroyed as well. Will have to look up the complete report when I have some time and get back on line at home. I vcan receive but cannot send until the tech comes by.
Just needed to clarify something I sent earlier. The SILVER DINER was the first full sized CB&Q car fom Budd destroyed one of the original three car articulated Twin Zephyrs had been destroyed by a fire following a grade crossing accident in Dacus Texas in 1944 while operating jointly for the CB&Q/CRI&P in Dallas - Houston service.
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