I Hate Steam Shows!

weekends and holidays ‘working’ on the iron tenants. And
the money poured into this ‘work’ transforms the engines
(at least in my mind) into huffing, puffing, lumbering versions of
the Black Hole of Calcutta. Like the spouses of other steam people,
I surfer these indignities in comparative silence, with an
occasional long-suffering smile, accepting them as among the many
compromises necessary to maintain ‘marital harmony’. But I
draw the line at attending steam shows.

My husband knows all this, of course. I’ve explained my
feelings on the subject in gruesome detail with the occasional
angry outburst which emerges when my spirit of compromise fails me.
So I was mildly surprised at the insistent tone in his voice as he
suggested I accompany him to a steam show in Valley Center, Kansas,
over Labor Day weekend last summer. It wasn’t near anything I
would enjoy, like a big shopping mall. Where is Valley Center? For
all that, where is Kansas? Isn’t that the place Dorothy ran
away from? ‘Auntie Em, hate Kansas. Have taken dog.’ It was
at the wrong time of year. Anytime is the wrong time for a show, as
far as I’m concerned. But summer in Kansas has little appeal to
a woman who vacations in northern Minnesota in the winter. There
would be nothing for me to do. That is, of course, unless one views
sweating and getting dirty as ‘doing something’. But two
arguments persuaded me to ignore my better judgment: First, he
would be there. Second, I would enjoy all the other people,
particularly Tom and Lois Terning who run the show.

4 Avery engines in a row: Tom Terning’s 40-120 with Avery
Sullivan at the throttle and John Tomey at the wheel. Linda Britton
and Joe Heath with their scale Avery built by Paul Kusnefsky. Dick
Burd with his scale built by Paul.

So we loaded up our scale Case 65, which was built by Tom
Terning, and a scale Avery we had purchased from the Paul Kusnefsky
estate. In spite of my husband’s glowing accounts, I was ill
prepared for what lay ahead: The amount of engines, machinery, and
equipment on display, the exceptional condition of everything
present; the number, variety and novelty of events and displays;
the willingness (to say nothing of ability) of every exhibitor
present to keep everything running full tilt every day of the show;
the remarkable collection of knowledge and skills spread through
the exhibitors and their unfailing willingness to share know-how,
tools, parts, and tall tales. And last but, for those of us not
enamored of steam shows, not least, the presence of some semblance
of civilized living including enough toilets to meet the needs of
large crowds without long lines, food suitable for human
consumption at a going rate, places to sit down, shade, music from
both live and recorded sources throughout the show, religious
services on Sunday, and smiling people with IQ’s larger than
their shoe sizes who want to pass the time of day. I was impressed
if not entirely converted.

I’m probably a poor person to make this report. What’s
of interest to ‘engine ignorant’ me might not stand out to
this readership. But it will probably bear some interest to the
‘significant others’ of the ‘engine aficionados.’
Here’s what caught my eye and kept me hoppin’ for three
days:

When I came onto the 20 acres of show ground, I crossed a narrow
gauge railroad track. Throughout the show, a
⁵/₈ scale model of a Baldwin steam locomotive
made endless trips around the show, pulling four cars full of
guests, on a mile track.

We’d come a day early to get set up, and I soon became
entranced watching Herb Ottaway and his son, Jerry, assembling
their 1894 Herchell Spillman Steam Carousel, one of six known
surviving. Like so many exhibits and events I would see in the days
ahead, I gradually became as fascinated and charmed by the
operators and enthusiasts as the ‘stuff’ they brought to
display with such care and pride. The condition of the carousel and
the Ottaway’s gentle efforts to persuade it together were as
close to a definition of true love as I hope to see in this
lifetime. The carousel, like the train, ran continuously throughout
the show, thrilling children and anyone who looked on at their
delightor anyone who could hear their organ, for that matter. And
if someone was too much of a grinch to enjoy the carousel, they
would surely have to give at least a moment’s notice to the
world’s largest hot air engine, running endlessly and
effortlessly right behind the organ. Later, I would see Herb riding
with considerable enjoyment in one of the many steam cars which
drive through the exhibit grounds at the will of the operators.

With the locomotive, carousel, and organ providing a steady hum
in the background, the sawmill swung into operation. It was built
by Paul Kusnefsky (1895-1987), something of a legend. (For some
background on Paul, see Lois Terning’s article in the
July/August 1989 issue of Iron Men Album.)

As the last log was ripped for the day, the LaFrance steamer
pumper which put out fires in Wichita from 1901 to 1925 began to
shoot fountains of water up and up into the clear blue air of
Kansas summer. The operator wore a red shirt, suspenders (probably
invented by firemen as ‘quick hitches’ to answer the fire
bell), red bandanas artfully hung from each hip pocket, and
would-you-believe a handlebar mustache complete with wax. He poured
on the coal as if he hoped to extinguish the fires of hell. He must
have failed because he pumped valiantly on and off for three days.
If you grew weary of the carousel, the sawmill and the steam
pumper, then you could study the grist mill and threshing going on
almost continuously.

And everywhere you look, every step you take, the engines,
engines, enginesall running and most moving throughout the day from
place to place as prideful exhibitors, not content to simply
display, turn themselves magically into engineers, operators, steam
people. While I have no knowledge of such matters, my spouse says
this is by far the largest and best assortment of scale engines
he’s ever seen. And even I, in all my ignorance, was impressed
to see three Avery engines of varying sizes side by sideTom
Terning’s huge 4120, a scale owned by Linda Britton and Joe
Heath, and our scale.

My eyes were drawn to Fay ‘Avery’ Sullivan, operating
the big Avery. He was wearing John Lennon style sun glasses
(he’d be horrified to know how modish he looked), and carefully
caressing the huge Avery into locomotion. I thought there must be a
story behind his pale, kind eyes. But, try as I might, I could not
draw it out. About to give up and move on, I absently patted the
underslung engine of the old Avery and commented on its beauty. And
the story came out: As a boy growing up in Oklahoma, Fay had seen a
big Avery unloaded new onto a neighbor’s farm. It was,
apparently, love at first sight. Fay still clearly remembered the
dress she wore: The ‘trademark’ plate and bulldog on the
front were gleaming brass. He left his love behind in Oklahoma and
went to Wichita to make his way as a young man in 1927. And there
he began working at a Ford dealership where he remained until he
retired at 72. But the Avery lingered in his mind. He saw that same
engine again in about 1958. It was sold to a Mr. Willits of Mt.
Pleasant, Iowa. So Fay dropped him a line. Mr. Willits wrote back
two pages. And the correspondence was on; Fay couldn’t write
fast enough to keep Willits answered. That Avery led an odd life:
Instead of being driven by a little old lady on Sundays, it was
fired on any day except Sunday. Mr. Willits played the organ at his
church and wouldn’t hear of working up a sweat on himself or
the Avery on a Sunday. Fay went to a show in Mt. Pleasant. After
the show, Mr. Willits’ letter beat Fay home. It was filled with
apology for becoming absorbed with the show and neglecting to offer
operation of the Avery to Mr. Sullivan. Fay went again the next
year and served as engineer. The love affair deepened. Fay said he
saw that Avery pulling two road graders in Oklahoma. He claims it
will pull two Cases backwards. He wasn’t smiling a bit when he
made these claims, but I’m not sure the truth lay behind those
pale eyes.

As for the Terning’s Avery he was operating, Fay said that
engine had originally been used on the Ringling Brothers’ ranch
in Montana. The engine was purchased by a fellow named Judson
Henging in Iowa. His wife sold it to another Iowan who, in turn,
sold the engine to a doctor in Terre Haute, Indiana, the last of
several bought by the good doctor. Tom Terning bought it from him,
removed the jacket, installed a safety valve as a backup to the
throttle, and put in six new flues. Under Fay’s steady hand,
the restored behemoth Avery moves confidently.

There are steam races, both fast and slow, for every kind of
engine, every kind of ‘racer’. If you grow sick-to-death of
steam power, try horse power; get aboard the stagecoach for a ride
with John Hogo-boom from El Dorado, Kansas. Or you could watch the
radio controlled model planes. Perhaps the WW II military vehicles
would spark your interest. If you simply don’t want anything
whatever to do with engines at any time for any reason, there are
always the art and craft exhibits and vendors and lots of food
concessions.

But in the end, with all the steam engine razzle-dazzle dancing
before my eyes, it was the people who left the lasting impression.
I think especially of Mahlon Griffin, a retired aeronautical
engineer. He exemplified the best of what I saw. Day in and day out
he kept his scale Case 65 fired up. But I rarely saw him operating
it. Instead, there were two young boys always on the engine or at
Mahlon’s elbows, eager to learn all he knows and Mahlon just as
anxious to share.

What draws Mahlon and all the other engine people into the heat,
the soot, the dirt, anyway? It is not just a love of the engines.
It has more to do with the people themselves their appreciation of
the beauty of enduring workmanship. And their belief in the values
that cause people to create with care.

Tom and Lois Terning have ‘created with care’ as fine a
show as can be seen. They reflect the best of the world they live
in. This particular show deserves particular attention. It brought
me to a genuine appreciation of that which I could not earlier
understand. That’s a very fine show, indeed, in Valley Center,
Kansas, over Labor Day weekend each year.