True stories of 19th century railroading

from:   A Treasury of Railroad Folklore (1953)

Slow train in Arkansas   (originally from a joke book often sold on trains circa 1904)

... It was down in the state of Arkansaw I rode on the slowest train I ever saw. It stopped at every house. When it came to a double house it stopped twice. They made so many stops I said, "Conductor, what have we stopped for now?' He said, 'There are some cattle on the track.' We ran a little ways further and stopped again. I said, 'What is the matter now?' He said, 'We have caught up with those cattle again.'

  "It is a rule that an inferior train must keep off the time of a superior train at least ten minutes.

    One night, starting out of Moberly for Stanbury, one hundred forty-six miles, I was pulling what was known as the Manifest freight, and we had the right of track except as against the Cannon-Ball, which we were due to meet
at Pattonsburg.  We arrived at Jamison, ten miles distant from Pattonsburg. My watch indicated that I had twenty minutes in which to reach Pattonsburg, and I went through Jamison with throttle wide open and the old girl spinning
along for dear life, with plenty of time to clear the Cannon-Ball at Pattonsburg.  As we left Jamison we struck a gentle down grade and our speed gently increased until we were flying along like a meteor with a trail of smoke and sparks marking our path across the country.

  We had just got under good headway when Conductor Chas. Hamlet came running over the train against the wind, smoke and cinders. Reaching the engine he stumbled over the tender and dived into the cab exclaiming,"For God's sake man, don't you know you are on the Cannon-Ball's time?"

  I looked at my watch, which showed seven minutes to the meeting time, which was more that ample to get into the clear.  But the conductor comparing his time with mine, found that the two watches did not agree and if his time was
right we were already on the Cannon-Ball's time with no chance to clear before reaching Pattonsburg.  It was no time for argument, and I grasped the reverse lever and gave it a couple of notches to increase our speed.  Already
going at a fast clip the added energy sent a stream of fire out of the old Rogers smokestack that gave the machine the appearance of a charging, fiery monster threatening to set the world on fire.  Vomiting a trail of fire that
old engine started on as wild a run as ever train and engine took.  I had taken my switchkey out and had blown into its hole to remove any obstruction and then I gave it to the fireman and told him to crawl out to the pilot and
be prepared to head us in when we stopped for the siding switch.  I told the head brakeman to wait until I whistled for brakes before setting them and then when he did so he was to make a York and Era stop-head brakeman starting
from the front of the train and working back until he met the rear brakeman coming towards him from the rear.

  The fireman was hanging onto the pilot, the brakemen were in position and we swung around the last curve with our hearts in our throats and bore down on the switch.  In the faint gleam of the headlight we discovered that the
switch was already set for the siding.  We glided into safety and the fireman hurriedly set the switch for the mainline.  He had just finished when the Cannon-Ball swept around the curve, flew past us, and dashed safely into the
night.

  No one ever did find out how that switch came to be open.

  In this run we had violated the rules and had managed to avoid a disastrous wreck of the Cannon-Ball.  Of course, nothing of this ever reached the general office or it would have meant ill to us."

From Forty Years an Engineer - pp.45-47.

Robert S. Butler posted:

  "It is a rule that an inferior train must keep off the time of a superior train at least ten minutes.

    One night, starting out of Moberly for Stanbury, one hundred forty-six miles, I was pulling what was known as the Manifest freight, and we had the right of track except as against the Cannon-Ball, which we were due to meet
at Pattonsburg. 
From Forty Years an Engineer - pp.45-47.

Now that's a story - thanks Ace!

Firewood posted:

Robert S. Butler posted:

  "It is a rule that an inferior train must keep off the time of a superior train at least ten minutes.

    One night, starting out of Moberly for Stanbury, one hundred forty-six miles, I was pulling what was known as the Manifest freight, and we had the right of track except as against the Cannon-Ball, which we were due to meet
at Pattonsburg. 
From Forty Years an Engineer - pp.45-47.

Now that's a story - thanks Ace!

 Please note, Thanks to Robert Butler for that one.

It reminds me of this story from the book I'm reading ...

Breaking the Rules in the Old Days

Every road in the United States has a written code of standard rules ... and these must not be violated - but they are! When you hear some division superintendent praising a conductor for getting over the road in short order, you can always put it down in the blue book that the conductor is lucky and is getting away with some long shots.

I am reminded of "Hard-Luck" Shrenk ... he would never get over the division on time, because he tried to clear every superior train by five minutes; and if he couldn't do it, he would stay in the clear just wherever he happened to be.

I have started out on a drag of cars, six hours behind that fellow, and beat him into the terminal by two hours, all because I had a conductor who took chances. When you take the chance and get away with it, you're a good railroad man ...

Make the time, get over the road, that's what you have to do if you're going to keep your full name on the pay-roll; and you're expected to know that the rules are there just to keep the company in the clear. Here's a few things a good railroad man does every day of his life which are against the rules on almost all roads:

He will flag against trains; he won't clear by five minutes if he knows he can make a station by the leaving time of a superior train; he won't shove a car into a siding if he can kick it in just as well; if he's on a local, he'll run ahead of any old train, any old time, any old way, to get over the ground, and he gets away with it ninety-nine times out of a hundred ... when you fall down running ahead of the varnished cars and lay them out for ten minutes, of course you are supposed to have an argument more unique than logical ... an argument which gets a man out of trouble when he violates the rules in the interest of the company.

Good reading, all of the above.

I've been pondering some of the posts every now and then over the past few weeks, especially those of the "bad old days" line of thought.

I think I've deduced something that I hadn't really thought of before:

Some of us men LIKE an element of danger in what we do.

Even with today's sterile, universally accepted "safety first" approach within almost all US industries, there is still an element of danger left in some of them that some of us men find compelling.

I've done both: Earned paychecks doing work that had physical risk, and earned paychecks that were very physically "safe". I prefer the ones where there is some risk involved. The thought of having to go back to a desk in a room where the major risk is tripping on the way to the coffee pot is quite depressing. I like being out and about, I like herding large equipment around within an environment that requires my attention in order to accomplish the work safely and efficiently. I like the feeling of having done a difficult (and can be very dangerous) task well without incident. 

I will need to train a replacement within the next year or so to replace me on the seasonal passenger train at the terminal at which I operate out of. I've tentatively asked some of the newer (younger) engineers if they would be interested in qualifying for passenger service.  I was shocked to hear "no thanks... I don't want the responsibility of all those lives in my hands".

Instead of seeing the challenge (and yes, some element of danger) in learning to deal with several miles of 2.5%+ grade  to bring those passengers (that have entrusted their lives into my hands) safely home, they are intimidated by the responsibility.

Given my personality type, to learn that there are those that are not willing to accept a  challenge was, well, alien to me.

Why, even some of my hobbies have some physical "risk" involved: Riding off-road motorcycles, and up until a few years ago, racing them.  (In regards to racing them, I like to win/place. Thus, I decided instead of racing until I was so old I was back-marker, I would choose the time to step back, and that I did. My last two races I won my class, and placed second in my class. Therefore I look back at my racing with good feelings instead of thinking "wow... it sucks growing old.")

I like the risk.  Don't know why, can't really explain it, but I do.

The way I'm wired, I find that I can't wrap my mind around the insulated way of thinking. However, I suspect there are other men out there that also think like I do. Otherwise, there would be no one to become steel workers to build those tall buildings, or work on drilling rigs, or change those light bulbs at the top of those tall radio/microwave towers, or fight fires, etc, etc, with little to protect you except your skills and your wits.

So, in recap, even though the indoctrination message for the past decades has been/is the "safety at all costs" approach within US industry, some of us men don't mind, even seek, some "risk" in our vocations. To do your job well without incident, and no property damage or physical injuries with all concerned, leaves me feeling quite good about things when my shift ends and I'm headed for the house. FAR better than thinking "wow... I didn't trip on the way to the coffee pot today... what a great day!"

Thus, I think that in many instances, those early railroading men were of the personality type that accepted risk as a challenge and an ingredient to keep one on one's toes as well as motivation to learn and utilize the needed skills in order to do so.

I think there are still other men out there that think likewise.

from A Treasury of Railroad Folklore (1953)

The Coming of Standard Time   (condensed from the book)

Prior to the adoption of Standard Time on November 18, 1883, the only "time" that existed in this country was local time, commonly called "sun time" ... cities or towns adopted a time standard that was based upon mean local sun-time at the city hall or some other designated location. Many another city or town adopted the time standard of one of its railroads or of the principle city in its area. Each railroad adopted the time standard of its home city or of some other important city on its lines.

[A "time ball" system was developed to help set clocks]. Each day at official noon at a particular location, a large ball, sometimes three or four feet in diameter, so as to be visible for several miles, was dropped from a lofty mast. As the ball fell, the people - watching from many vantage points - adjusted their time pieces to noon, and thus everyone in the city was was provided with uniform time. In the large cities, thousands of people watched the time balls daily.

The railroad movement [towards establishing Standard Time] may be said to have had its beginning in May, 1872, when an association of railway officers, a forerunner of the Association of American Railroads, held its first meeting at the old Southern Hotel in St Louis ... for the purpose of arranging summer passenger train schedules. At the St Louis meeting a permanent organization was formed which became [eventually] the Association of American Railroads. [A subsequent convention in Chicago in 1883 voted overwhelmingly for the adoption of Standard Time].

Five days before Standard Time was to go into effect, the United States Attorney General issued an edict that government departments had no right to adopt railroad time until authorized to do so by Congress. However, this did not stop the railroads from putting Standard Time into effect. But apparently the Attorney General did not believe they would do so, for a few hours after Standard Time went into effect, he went to the railway station to take the train for Philadelphia and was astonished to find that he was 8 minutes too late.

The American people soon came to accept Standard Time without question, and it has since spread to other lands until today it is in almost universal use ... put into effect without federal legislation of any sort. It was not until 35 years later [in 1918 during the Great War] ... that Congress passed what is known as the Standard Time Act.

Those who have traveled much on the Little Miami Railroad, must have noticed a little old fellow, with grizzled locks and an unpoetical stoop of the shoulders, who whisks about his engine with all the activity of a cat, and who the railroad men all call “Uncle Jimmy. That is old Jimmy Wiggens, an engineer of long standing and well known. I believe Uncle Jimmy learned the machinists’ trade with Eastwick & Harrison, in Philadelphia; at all events he has been railroading for a long time, and has been always noted for his carefulness and vigilance. Let me attempt to describe him. He is about five feet four, stoop shouldered, and short-legged. His hair is iron-gray, and his face would be called anything but beautiful. He has, though, a clear blue eye that looks straight and firmly into yours with an honest and never flinching expression, that at once convinces you that he is a “game” man. Not very careful about his dress is old Jimmy; grease spots abound on all his clothing, and his hands are usually begrimed with the marks of his trade. In short, Uncle Jimmy is anything but a romantic looking fellow, and a novelist would hesitate long before taking him as the hero of a romance; but the old man is a hero, and under that rough, yet placid exterior, there beats a heart that never cools, and a will that never flinches. It is not the casket that gives value to the jewel; it is the jewel that gives value to all. So it is with Uncle Jimmy. I’ll tell you now why I think so.

Uncle Jimmy was running a train that laid by on the switch at Spring Valley for the Up Express to pass. He got there on time, and the express being a little behind time, the old man took advantage of the time to oil around. The whistle of the up train was heard, but he paid no heed thereto, for it was to pass without stopping. The fellow who attended to the switch stood there at his post. Jimmy was coolly at work, when a shriek from the conductor called his attention, and looking up, he saw what would frighten and unnerve almost anyone. The stupid fool at the switch had thrown it wide open, and the express was already on the branch , coming to at the rate of thirty miles an hour – thirty feet in the beat of your pulse – and Uncle Jimmy’s train loaded with passengers stood there stock still. Ordinary men would have shrunk from the task, and run from the scene. Your lily-handed, romantic gentry would have failed then, but homely old Jimmy Wiggens rose superior to the position, and, unromantic though he looks, proved a hero. No flinch in him. What though two hundred tons of matter was being hurled at him, fifty feet in the second? He leaped onto his engine and with it he met the shock; but his own engine was reversed, and under motion backwards when the other train struck it. It all took but an instant of time, but in that moment old Jimmy Wiggens concentrated more of true courage than many a man gets into in a lifetime of seventy years. The collision was frightful; iron and wood were twisted and jammed together as if they were rotten straw. Charley Hunt, the engineer of the other train, was instantly killed; passengers were wounded; terror, fright and pain held sway. Death was there and all stood back appalled at what had occurred; yet all shuddered more to think of what would have been the result if Old Jimmy’s engine had stood still and everyone felt that his life too must have been the sacrifice to his bravery. But out of the mass, as cool, as calm as when running on a straight track, crawled Uncle Jimmy unhurt. He still runs on the same road, and long may his days be, and happy.

   From Trips in the Life of a Locomotive Engineer – 1863

WOW! What a story!

Dan Weinhold

Robert S. Butler posted:

... The stupid fool at the switch had thrown it wide open, and the express was already on the branch , coming to at the rate of thirty miles an hour – thirty feet in the beat of your pulse – and Uncle Jimmy’s train loaded with passengers stood there stock still... 

   From Trips in the Life of a Locomotive Engineer – 1863

You have to wonder how such awful mistakes could have happened. The man at the switch may have been drunk or totally fatigued from working long hours. The switch didn't have a switchstand indicator that might have alerted others? Those were really primitive days of railroading, over 150 years ago.

Ace posted:

You have to wonder how such awful mistakes could have happened. The man at the switch may have been drunk or totally fatigued from working long hours. The switch didn't have a switchstand indicator that might have alerted others? Those were really primitive days of railroading, over 150 years ago.

You would be alarmed at how easy it is to miss-align a switch.

Think about it: As a Brakeman/Conductor, almost every time you walk up to, or step off at a switch, you throw it.  It's just part of railroading when it comes to switching. Doing this day in, day out, month in, month out, year in, year out, it can become such an ingrained habit (and is a bad habit), that it is WAY too easy to walk up to a switch you WILL be throwing, and mindlessly reach down and throw it... even if it's not time to do so. The end result of doing so in yard switching will not be disastrous (as in lives can be lost), but can result in damage to the switch or derailing. In a mainline setting on dark territory, doing such can have tragic results.

This is why the rule is in place that after you ascertain the switch is lined properly for the required meet, you are to physically distance yourself from the meeting point switch until after the train to be met has passed over it.