I was recently looking at some of J. Parker Lamb’s images and started to see locations I’ve shot at myself around Meridian, Mississippi, over the last couple of years. It’s truly amazing to see stuff that has changed over the decades. You see things in a totally different perspective and it kind of gives you the desire to go out and explore and try new techniques. At least that is what happened with me.
The exact date is lost, but one warm summer afternoon in 1980 I headed over to Washington Union Station from my office at the American Railroads building for an overnight ride to Chicago. A meeting of the Research Committee was scheduled for the 9:00 a.m. the next day and my attendance was mandatory. I was a little worried about taking the train knowing that it could well be late, but the Assistant Vice President of the department was a former Pennsy man and he assured me that it would be okay. Even so, the rest of the staff flew.
My train was Amtrak’s version of the famous Broadway Limited. The original Pennsylvania Railroad Broadway Limited ran from New York City to Chicago via Philadelphia. In 1980 however, there were two trains that combined at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station. The Washington section passengers rode forwards while the New York riders rode backwards across New Jersey.
Over the next several months, I want to talk about books. I have some thoughts about photo books in general, and also wish to share with you some favorite books that have inspired my own photography. Books are the perfect showcase for photography.
David Plowden has spend decades photographing the vanishing remnants of America’s rich past with a poet’s eye. Although Plowden is perhaps best know for his railroad photography, he has published over twenty books on everything from bridges, to barns, to tugboats; things that were once a familiar part of the American landscape. Published in 2007, Vanishing Point: Fifty Years of Photography is a perfect summation of his life’s work and is a highly recommended introduction to Plowden’s vision.
When my mother asked me to write a story on my trips to Maybrook as a fireman for the Penn Central, I had to give it much thought. It had been more than twenty-nine years since I had been there and I had to dig deep to remember what a trip was like. They were all good ones because I never derailed or had any accidents on any of my trips. Some of the guys you worked with of course were better than others. What I mean by this is more of a personality angle than anything else. Some engineers were quiet and others would talk to you and explain things to you during the trip. Unfortunately some did not like having an “off division man” in the cab.
The Trackside Photographer lost a friend this year. Bob Hughes was an active contributor and enthusiastic supporter. He wrote over a dozen stories for us, and they are among our most popular articles. A former railroader himself, Bob was actively involved with the SONO Switch Tower Museum. He gave generously of his time to help preserve the history of railroading, working with other railroad enthusiasts to restore and preserve valuable collections of railroad photographs.
We are thinking about Bob this Christmas, and thought it appropriate to reprint this story from December, 2016. Enjoy his words and photos, and, if you are so inclined, lift a glass to his memory during the Christmas season. He will be missed.
This is Dale Bryan, thirty-three-year-old Southern Pacific relief second-trick telegrapher-clerk at Paso Robles, California (Paso de Robles/pass of oaks) on a warm July evening in 1960. And these are the tools of his trade:
Clockwise: earphone; scissors phone; shelves for 3-, 5-, 7- and 9-copy blank train-order forms (with carbons at the ready); dispatcher’s loudspeaker; westbound and eastbound annunciators (‘bells’); Motorola radio; clearance cards; telephone line ‘jacks’; ‘O.S.’ sheet; levers for westbound and eastbound train-order semaphores (‘order boards’ on the SP); a red flag and of course a classic Underwood typewriter. Although he is still referred to officially as a ‘telegrapher,’ Dale no longer has Morse code in his job description: the key and sounder were removed three years earlier. The new-fangled Motorola is the future of train control.
By 1960 Paso Robles, with its single overhead bulb burning in the dark, was the only fully-open, 24-hour train-order office remaining between Santa Margarita (which is north of San Luis Obispo and at the foot of the Cuesta grade) and King City. This is a distance of 75 miles.
What I remember is the understated manner with which Dale handled his duties while engaged in a great enterprise with all its dangers and opportunities to make consequential mistakes. Train-orders on single track were often about taking time from superior trains and lending it to inferior ones. Dale needed to transcribe his dispatcher’s orders quickly and with complete accuracy because as little as a typo would invalidate the order and stop a train. What’s more, that error would be magnified over distance causing further delays and recalculations up the line. No pressure then!
And Paso Robles’ annunciators gave minimal warning. How much ground did No. 99, the westbound Coast Daylight, cover in two-and-a-half minutes? The classic Hollywood films High Noon (Gary Cooper) and Suddenly (Frank Sinatra) drew on the dramatic potential in a rural California station like Paso Robles. Cue the ticking clock and the unseen inevitability of a fast-closing express.
The railroad will always be about time and distance
SP No. 98 the southbound (SP eastbound) Coast Daylight by the Pacific Ocean at Surf, California (between San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara) in 1960, watched by the first-trick operator and his wife. With a clear order-board the engineer can power through in Run 8. (Patrick E. Kelly Collection)
It’s worth remembering that the railroad in those days didn’t run only on rails. It ran also on an invisible matrix with real people passing detailed computations of time and distance from one to another. And these computations were of great importance, since the railroad was literally the main line of commerce and communication.
Now I guess it’s only natural that the sight of my old friend at his operator’s desk sixty years ago will shout analog, even if many of us do find historical railroad technology important and interesting. But whether analog or digital, steam or turbocharged diesel-electric, the railroad will always be about time and distance. From this modest station and using comparatively primitive and manually-dependent communications, time was given and time taken away. How many people could put that in their job description?
