Mineola Memories: Steam

BY JACK GARLAND

The recent series of articles in Nassau Illustrated News on Long Island Rail Road stations has brought back many vivid memories of the railroad during the ‘40s and ‘50s.

Mineola was an ideal setting for the train enthusiast. Historians tell us that, in the 19th century, the Village was appropriately named “Mineola Junction.” Seventy years ago, in addition to the Main Line and the Oyster Bay Branch, an additional route used mostly for freight branched off just west of Main Street and ran south, across Old Country Road, into Hempstead. Decades earlier, a trolley line departed just north of the Main Street rail crossing, ran north along Main Street, and then turned east toward Hicksville. A trestle carried this “inter urban” over the Oyster Bay branch of the LIRR and I can recall, at least into the 1970s, still seeing the concrete footings from this structure near the southeast corner of the Little League parking lot.

With the exception of Mineola Boulevard, all rail crossings were grade crossings, that is, at surface level. This included all the locations that today have overpasses. The road surface at the crossings consisted of pieces of wood fastened between the rails. This provided a somewhat tolerable trip across the tracks for only a few months. The planks were subject to extreme wear, and as they deteriorated, so did the ride. Our family’s ‘39 Plymouth was no match for these conditions; driving over the switches at the Main Street crossing bottomed the suspension, rattled the teeth, and shook down the lunch.

The freight spur was not used too often, so traffic was halted at the Third Street and Old Country Road crossings by flagmen, as needed. All other crossings were protected by gates. In those years, the crossing gates were not automated. Those approaching the tracks were confronted by a diamond-shaped sign with the mysterious wording, “Railroad crossing, look out for the cars.” Youngsters would comment, “Shouldn’t the ENGINEER be looking out for the cars, and WE be looking out for the train?”

Off to the side of each crossing was a small shanty not much larger than a phone booth. Inside sat what the railroad called a “guard”. An approaching train would trigger a little alarm at the shack and this guard would step out and turn two counter-rotating cranks on the nearest gate. This, coupled to an underground mechanism, would lower not two but four gates, completely obstructing any incursion onto the tracks. I don’t recall there being any bells or lights, but there was no way an impatient motorist could drive around this configuration, a feature that probably saved several lives. As the train passed, we would always exchange the traditional wave with the engineer, and then I would count the cars, a habit that persists to this day. Afterwards, the gates were cranked up and the system “locked” by placing a metal ring over the crank handles. The gateman then returned to the shack, awaiting the next alarm. Although the gates had a number of disk-shaped counter weights attached to the bottom, a tremendous amount of effort was needed to operate them. One day, at my request, the guard allowed me to “wind ‘em up.” After a futile thirty seconds, as the lines of stopped traffic grew even longer, he advised me to eat my Wheaties and took over.

One of the gatemen had quite a colorful personality. One minute he would wave his arms frantically for the cars to close up the ranks, and the next he would reprimand a motorist for stopping too close to the gates. I can never remember seeing a changing of the shifts, and it almost seemed as if these vigilant sentries lived in the shacks full-time.

The railroad station looked pretty much as it appears today, except for the fact that there was less automation. Tickets were dispensed by a human, not a machine. I don’t recall the station master’s name, but I do remember him as being a very large, very kind gentleman. After my father put down $24.00 for one month’s transportation to and from Penn Station, it was time for movies. On the floor of the waiting room stood a couple of movie machines that, even then, looked old-fashioned. I would step onto a small foot stool so that I could peer into the scope, and five cents would provide about one minute of low-tech cinema magic - pretty comparable with today’s price for a three hour DVD. I recall that one film was some sort of cartoon, and another featured a boxing match. All of these quaint surroundings merely set the stage for the real superstars of the railroad - the steam locomotives. Rail travel through the East River tunnels has always required electric powered trains and this equipment would often be seen at Mineola.

It was the impressive steam giants, however, that were usually seen and heard rolling through the village well into the mid 1950s. When it was time to select my first Lionel electric train in 1947, my dad took great care in choosing an engine that most closely resembled the G5s locomotives so common to the Long Island fleet.

Today, in many locations throughout the world, tourists willingly buy tickets for rides in trains drawn by vintage steam engines. However, all they are really paying for is the passing scenery; once seated in the train, it is difficult to tell what’s at the front end. With the exception of the engineer’s perspective, the best view of a locomotive was always next to it as it passed, and my dad and I see STEAM on page 9