It is a glorious thing, to watch a train being pulled by a steam locomotive of any size, and at any speed, but especially large ones, and at high speeds. I am also able to relate to the reader, that riding in the cab of such a large engine running at high speed is an enormous, indescribable thrill. Growing up in Washington D.C., I always spent much time, either riding trolleys or watching trains. At about 12, I got a ride in a steamer near the Benning Car barn of Capital Transit. I was riding old style trolley cars between 14th and New York Ave. and Seat Pleasant, Maryland, which was a favorite trip of mine. As we approached the Benning car barn, I saw a steam switcher working, signaled to get off, did so, and walked over to the B&O’s tracks, where an 0-6-0 switcher was working. The engineer bade me up in the cab, and I had a marvelous hour riding up and down the tracks, switching various freight cars. A thrill for a 12 year old, but small time.
The big time came in 1956, when I was 22. TRAINS Magazine had an issue which told of Pennsy K-4’s, regularly pulling commuter trains on its subsidiary New York and Long Branch line, from Bay Head Junction, New Jersey, to Perth Amboy, where GG-1 electrics took over for rest of the way into Manhattan. It was the absolute last of steam on the Pennsy, and wouldn’t last much longer. A buddy of mine, Bob Flack and I, decided to go see for ourselves. We loaded ourselves into my 1952 Chrysler, and headed up to Bay Head Junction. It was late fall, cold, and the line ran along the Atlantic coast. Sure enough, there were steam locomotives in the yard, and a double headed train was going to leave pretty quickly. What a find!
Bob decided that we should ask for a cab ride. My reaction was, “Sure Bob, fat chance.” Undeterred, Bob walked up to the second engine of the double header, and shouted at the engineer that we would love to ride in his cab. “Sure, come on up,” was his reply. You could have knocked me over with a feather. We climbed up, and were greeted by the hogger, who was a tiny man of about 5’6″, or maybe even less. He was smoking a great big cigar, which he took turns chewing and smoking. He said we were welcome, but when we passed the yard office, we must duck, because cab rides were against the rules. We readily agreed, and within a few minutes were whistling off. Slowly at first, until we left the yard limit, and then a stop at the station to load passengers.
After loading, the head engine whistled, ours replied, and we were off. The stubby engineer, actually had his legs curled under him so he could adequately see out of the cab window. We were off indeed! Sander on, reverse lever in the corner, throttle jerked out, and the trip began. In no time at all, we had gotten up to 60. The noise was deafening. I looked out the gangway, and in front, was another K-4, pulling for all it was worth, as were we. The rods were going up and down so fast, they were a blur. Whistles moaned at crossings, water in the tank jostled and splashed all over, as the fireman worked the stoker and injectors to keep up steam pressure. The engineer was chewing on his stogie, hanging out the cab window with his goggles over his eyes, neckerchief wrapped around his neck to ward off cinders, and we were roaring down the tracks! Indescribable pandemonium.
This little guy, sitting on his legs so he could see, was manhandling several hundred tons of swaying, jerking, smoking, roaring, steam locomotive, as if it were a toy train. His left hand was resting on the throttle, right arm leaning on the cab window’s padded arm rest, and that K-4, was putty in his gloved hands. Every once in a while, he would glance at the pressure and water gauges to be sure his fireman was doing his job correctly, and adjust the reverse lever, but mostly the concentration he showed was amazing. Looking back from the gangway, the 13 cars were rocking along nicely, and the passengers, headed to work in Manhattan, knew not what was going at the head end of their train.
We stopped at several stations to pick up more passengers, and then were off again, at every mile per hour those two steam locomotives could muster. Brielle, Sea Girt, Manasquan, Belmar, Red Bank, and on we went. We had a schedule to meet, and were meeting it. It was a glorious ride, and one that will never be forgotten. I can still smell that cab, hear those engines, and see that pint sized hogger, with his cigar. Indelible! I took pictures, some of which came out, in spite of the motion, and I prize them to this day.
Finally, Perth Amboy was reached, and the engines as well as Bob and I were cut off. We stood there, filthy with soot and grime from our hour-long ride, and watched the locomotives head to a side track to await homecoming commuters, later in the afternoon. We looked at each other, and smiled the smile than comes with having had a great and unexpected time.
Bob went into Newark, and I returned to Bay Head Junction to get my car. I spent the next couple of days shooting great slides of working K-4’s, which were condensing gloriously, with clouds of white steam, mixed with black coal smoke. (Those slides were later inculcated into a special steam issue of Trains Magazine). They bring back floods of fond memories, when I look at them. Today, kids and men, are in awe of science fiction, rockets, computers, and things we oldsters frown upon, because we know that our memories are of far more interesting things. Our vivid memories, are of iron and steel, throbbing, roaring, smoke belching, almost human machines, called steam locomotives. When we were kids, we longed to be engineers. We longed to be the masters in those big, black cabs, with the throttle in one hand, and a wave to other kids as we roared by, making them ever so jealous. Computers hadn’t been invented, no one had gone to the moon, and we knew what was real, tangible, and thrilling. How sad that 65-year old thrills and longings are no longer appreciated, or even understood. If, as a kid, you never stood by the track as a 500-ton steam locomotive went by you, at 60 miles per hour, pulling a string of cars, with you getting a friendly, gloved wave from the engineer, you just do not know what a thrill is. You got goose bumps from head to toe, and tears ran down your cheeks as the train vanished in a cloud of smoke, cinders, and dust. As it vanished into the distance, your young mind had visions of yourself one day, attaining that glorious seat in the right-hand side of the cab, with hat, goggles, neckerchief, and gloves, waving to kids of all ages as you expertly kept your schedule, and roared off into the horizon. No, you can keep your space shuttle launches and weightlessness in airless space. I’ll take a stroll down memory lane, with a full color remembrance of a great ride, in a double headed K-4,, on that cold, fall day in 1956.