Reprinted with permission from James B. Stevenson, Publisher,
‘THE TITUSVILLE HERALD,’ Titusville, Pennsylvania 16354.
Submitted by Oscar L. Carson, Route 1, Pleasantville, Pennsylvania
16341.
The little group of denim-clad railroad engineers, their
cherry-red faces indicating they had worked near steam and hot fire
boxes over many years, read with routine interest the assignment
sheet just posted on the bulletin board by the yard master.
It created little surprise and very little comment that
‘Foot-and-a-Half’ had bid in the newspaper run. Having many
years of seniority, he was what was known as an engineer’s
engineer. This was acquired on the Penny, each hour of which he was
earnestly and constantly seeking to combine speed with safety.
Strange Name
Foot-and-a-Half was so nicknamed from having lost all toes on
one foot in a wreck. That was before the turn of the century.
One could easily get the idea from the speedy sounding name that
the Chicago Express was the coveted run. Far from it. Among
engineers in the know, it was second or third choice to the night
newspaper run. Thus it was expected that Foot-and-a-Half would get
it as he did.
The 1905 Express made many stops all along the line. This alone
tossed it aside as a choice run. The men at the throttle prefer
them with few stops. The newspaper run stopped only when its water
gauge indicated low water in the tender.
Its timetable schedule was marked up for leaving the terminal at
2 a.m., hauling only six baggage cars, each packed with newspapers
hot off the big New York presses. It ran to Harrisburg on the first
division for its entire run from Trenton, New Jersey, to Gary,
Indiana. Average speed was about 63 miles an hour.
Foot-and-a-Half, a small individual with neat gray hair, his
shoes polished to a glitter and a smart crease in his slightly
faded but freshly laundered overalls, pulled himself up into the
engine’s cab with the agility of a much younger man. Easing his
lean frame onto the cushioned seat on the right side, he spoke
softly as he issued instructions to his fireman. At the same time
he carefully checked the several gauges, especially the steam and
air.
The little hogger, highly respected and envied for exceptional
ability to get over the road, had one haunting fear falling asleep
at the throttle. He once remarked that more engineers were killed
while dozing than through wrecks as a result of faulty signals.
Plenty of Rest
He took no chances on not having enough rest. On several
occasions when feeling a little fatigued as he was due for a call
for a run, he notified the crew dispatcher he would like to be
marked off the board. He preferred to be docked a round-trip from
his pay than to take a train out when not fully rested.
As everything checked OK to leave, Foot-and-a-Half leaned out
the cab window and peered ahead as he notched the throttle. Slowly
the big drivers on the iron horse began to turn as wings of snow
white exhaust steam hissed straight out from the cylinders. He
expertly avoided spinning the wheels. Within a few minutes the
newspaper special, after numerous blasts of the whistle, was out of
the Trenton yards.
At Rahway the firemen yelled ‘green-over-green’ across
the pounding boiler to his engineer, receiving an understanding
nod. The night lights of New Brunswick loomed up as the special,
now hitting 70 mph, roared down the four-track main line.
Papers Kicked Off
On approaching a station the baggage men assorted out the fat
bundles of papers billed to that town. They rolled the printed
material to the edge of open doors, stood with one foot resting on
them as a strong wind whipped their eyes to slits and distorted
their features for a few seconds.
The bundles were kicked off 200 feet in advance of the station.
Landing on brick or wooden platforms, they bounced high and end
over end, finally easing into a skid or a roll close to the station
door.
While this was going on Foot-and-a-Half was rocking and rolling
in his seat to the rhythm of the pounding drivers and the sway of
rounding curves. His left hand tightly clenched the throttle handle
as his eyes were glued to two white strips of steel ahead, dimly
lighted by a kerosene headlight. His ears instinctively listened to
the sound of the water injector.
His drawn-out whistle of two longs and two shorts shattered the
stillness of the night near Philadelphia as the sound moaned across
the green hills and died out in the valleys. He raced against the
approaching streaks of dawn and breezed through town after town on
schedule. Then the special eased into Harrisburg yards on the
proverbial button, the little locomotive clanking, panting, its
cylinders hot from constant chugging.
Annoyed at Delay
One night of early morning Foot-and-a-Half was at the throttle
nearing New Brunswick. Annoyed because the New York Herald had
delayed him a full four minutes, he was up to 90 mph on a straight
stretch to Track No. 3.
Five miles ahead on Track No. 2 a freight train was crawling in
the same direction. It had orders to cross Track No. 3 and onto No.
4 and then pull into a siding and wait for further orders.
Two miles in advance of the freight train, a train-operated
electric signal providing there was no malfunctioning should have
warned Foot-and-a-Half to cut his speed. The color would be glowing
yellow. Another mile and a red signal meant coming to a complete
stop. The sweating fireman, busily bailing in coal for heavy use of
steam, had no time to peer out and check the trackside signals.
Passes Red Signal
It was presumed the Special zoomed past the red signal, like the
proverbial pay car passing up a walking hobo.
Just ahead half of the freight was across Track No. 3 as the
speeding newspaper run rounded a curve. The Special knifed through
the plodding freight cars, causing hoppers, tanks, gondolas and
boxcars to pile up amid the sound of twisting metal and splintering
wood.
Like a badly beaten boxer staggering and hanging on, the Special
kept going for a short distance, swayed for a few seconds and then
floundered on its side in a ditch. Both members of the engine crew
were killed.
The cause of the accident was never solved.
But indications were that his most dreaded and feared
eventuality had at last caught up with the little hogger.
The evidence was strong that Foot-and-a-Half had fallen asleep
at the throttle.
