Cross Country Steaming

The proposed trip presented difficult planning problems: Enough
supplies and equipment to operate the engines and sustain a large
group of men for a six week trips had to be shipped from.

Tulsa to Wichita. This included a chuck wagon and provisions,
and what were known as ‘punching boards’three inch thick
boards used to protect concrete walkways across dirt streets from
the iron cleats of the engines. Several water wagons had to be
transported, not only to carry water to steam engines but also to
fight fires which sometimes ignited as the engines rolled across
fields and grassy lands.

Jim watched the engines coming off the train in Wichita. To
unload the behemoths, the men put timbers on the tracks. Some
engines were pulled onto the timbers with winches, while others
were pulled off by two good teams of horses on level ground. Once
unloaded, only a small amount of assembly was required to prepare
the engines to steam up: The grates for the engines were bundled
under the cab, while the brass parts were stored in the coal
bunkers in boxes. Nine engines, about 30 men, and one nine year old
boy left Wichita, bound for Tulsa, 180 miles and three weeks
away.

Because the weight of the engines could cause serious damage to
roads and cause some bridges to collapse, the route included
detours to avoid city streets and bridges. This steam engine
‘caravan’ was regarded as a valuable contribution to the
war effort, so townspeople were anxious to help the engines move
cross country. Townspeople would often meet Jim’s group to tell
of the strength of the bridges and areas of possible damage to the
roads. They would often build a ford for streams on which the
bridges couldn’t sustain the weight of the engines, and suggest
alternate routes to avoid roads which could be extensively damaged.
Jim recalls crossing the Arkansas River by bridge. But two large
rivers, the Cimarron and the Canadian River, as well as all the
small streams, had to be forded. One engine would bank the fire,
cross the river, then restoke and help pull the others across.
These fords and avoidance of town sites frequently required detours
of five to ten miles.

In hilly country, the engines could break away going down hill,
if the governor belt broke. So the group removed the belts,
requiring close attention to throttle and engine going down hill.
They would sometimes attain speeds of three miles per hour, making
as many as 25 miles per day on the prairies outside Wichita. But in
hilly country and areas crisscrossed by creeks, where the going was
tough, a day’s effort might have taken the caravan only a mile.
Frequent adjustments and repairs further slowed progress. Part of
the problems arose because the engines were new and untried and
many operators were inexperienced. Jim did anything he could to get
acquainted, serving variously as operator, mechanic, water boy and
go-fer. His dad would hunt for him about every 30 minutes. But the
men seemed not to notice or consider him – they had other things
they were interested in. And a rather constant and widely pervasive
over-indulgence in moonshine liquor was taking a toll, too.

These were men who had never had a vacation in their lives. This
trip presented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for adventure and
fun. Though liquor was illegal, the group had large quantities of
rot gut and many were tipsy as each night of the six week trip fell
upon the group. Some drank and wanted to fight but would generally
be corralled by the others before any great harm could occur. Some
played games (particularly galloping dominoes) and some told
stories. Jim’s heroes were those brave men who told of fighting
experiences around the fire. He’d listen as long as his young
eyes could stay open, but would eventually fall asleep under a
wagon with his dad, the men’s stories, full of braggadocio,
ringing in his innocent ears.

As the weeks passed, some of the men began reaching their
destinations and dropping from the caravan. As each would take his
leave, the men would shake hands all around as if losing a brother
and talk of getting together-pulling it off again. Jim and his dad
were the farthest from Wichita and made the last 15 miles of the
trip alone. Jim’s dad spent much of this time patiently
explaining the importance of not discussing details of the trip
with Jim’s mother for fear the accounts might offend the
‘good Christian woman’, as Jim’s father called her. For
Jim’s dad, the trip was once-in-a-lifetime-a highlight of his
hardworking life. For Jim, the trip was the foundation of a life
that would keep him involved with fighting men and steam.

Jim’s grandpa had a jewelry store in Bixby, Oklahoma.
Because of his mechanical ability, Jim divided his time as a
youngster between learning watch repair at his grandfather’s
side and learning to operate steam and, later, gas engines at his
father’s knee. He bought his grandfather’s store in 1938
and lived quietly in Bixby. His outside activities were calm
compared to his boy hood singing in the occasional quartet and
working from time to time at the Macknick Company, manufacturing
parking meters.

Jim was in his jewelry store in Bixby when Pearl Harbor was
bombed on Sunday, December 7, 1942. Monday morning, at the age of
32, Jim presented himself to a recruiter. The ‘experienced
men’ of perhaps 20 years of age who sat on the other side of
the recruiting desk explained to Jim that they wanted ‘fighting
men’, not ‘old’ men. Not satisfied with this answer and
hoping to help end the fight before his son would be old enough to
be caught up in it, Jim asked the school superintendent to write a
letter to the Navy, explaining that Jim’s years as a watchmaker
might be of assistance in avionics if they’d just let him in.
The Navy wrote back for three references to verify the time he had
worked as a watchmaker. His grandfather, a local banker, and school
professor vouched for him. He was to report to Oklahoma City where,
after training, he became Chief Aviation Machinist’s Mate.

Following three years in the service, Jim was a civilian teacher
to military personnel, instructing on the overhaul of aircraft
instruments for the next 12 years. Then he was a civilian teacher
in a four year apprentice program teaching the same subject
matter.

After 16 years teaching aviation instrument repair, Jim was
bored. He began inspecting aviation instruments for the Navyradios,
props, guns, turrets, anything in avionics. After a short time, he
became a supervisor and then quarterman. He was transferred to
California where he was chief inspector for avionics division in
Alameda.

Jim found out he was a capable fellow with a lot of skills while
he was in the service, giving him the confidence to pursue his old
love: STEAM. In 1955, Jim heard of the Mount Pleasant show and came
from Corpus Christi, Texas, to ‘have a time.’ Jim had built
a 1′ scale using supplies from Cole. Jim didn’t see another
scale until he saw one built by Jack Kauer from Wichita. After two
or three trips, Jim began building bigger and bigger, finally
stopping at 3. With Jack Kauer, he is generally recognized as the
father of the V4 scale.

The story might end here, but it doesn’t. While Jim worked
at the Macknick Parking Meter Company, he was supervised by Mr.
Hauser. While Jim was in the service, his former supervisor, now
Lieutenant Hauser, recognized Jim and remembered Jim’s fine
singing voice in the quartets. He asked Jim to’
‘pitch” the sale of war bonds over the public address
system. Jim’s success earned him a lifelong reputation as a
fine public speaker, particularly ‘pitching’ over a public
address system. Although Jim no longer wants to work with models
because of the strength required to move parts and engines about,
he continues devoted service in promotion of steam by serving as a
public announcer of unsurpassed skill at steam shows throughout the
prairies of America.

And so it is with things of quality and enduring importance
steam engines and Jim Thomas: What goes around, comes around.