Railroads In Dutchess County

RAILROADS IN DUTCHESS COUNTY

by James Lumb

This is a paper about the years between the time of travel by horse, foot and canal on the one hand, and of modern airplains and automobile on the other hand.

It will explore briefly a rather short span of time that quickened our journeys over this broad land. Together with the then concurrently invented telegraph, this new freedom of movement made us one country. It reduced the difference in local custom, idiom and accent. It tended to make us more homogeneous in dress, thinking and social custom. It formed us into a nation in a few generations — rather than in a span of centuries.

The times, the things and the happenings in this paper, were a mere phase in the changes that have been and still are — going on constantly around us. There will be very little emphasis on social significance, portents for the future, or impacts on ecology. It was merely — but fascinatingly — an interim in our industrial and social development. Its time may have nearly passed forever in the transportation of people by private enterprise. The age of propulsion by reciprocating steam locomotives is in total eclipse. But, it is worth at least a memory and a fond remembrance for its place in our earlier days.

When I was young, many people considered the Steam Train a fascinating subject. In my home — members of all ages talked, thought and expounded on the subject. Partially, in our case, because my mother was crazy about them. She'd often take us on a, picnic supper to see those wonderful strings of passenger cars drawn by an explosive, powerful, awesome, vibrating steam locomotive. This could take place adjacent to any well travelled railroad — at home or on vacation. The whistle at a far-off road crossing before the train even came in sight, the pounding rhythm of the engine, the plume of smoke and steam heralding the approach made for anticipation. And then — the great machine came rumbling and wrything up the track, noise increasing momentarily, smoke, dust, cinders, and the clackety-clack of wheel on rail joint until it passed taking its glamour with it.

We'd seen the driving wheels, pistons and connecting rods of the locomotive in high powered motion, we observed superior beings gazing at us complacently from their pullman or coach windows, envied persons eating contentedly at dining tables and a brakeman or passengers on the observation platform. It was all much more rewarding than any visual spectacular or any sports event today on the "tele". Where were these select few going? To what destiny or what adventure, were they being carried? And then, as the train receded, the rhythm slowing as it passed us, we watched for the last sight of it, the last car with its red signal lights as it eased around a curve far away.

Back in the early 1800s, the first designers, and inventors of rail locomotives mounted an upright, wood burning boiler on a four wheeled cart. They used the stam this tea kettle generated to work a single recipro-

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cating cylinder. And this drive made this four wheeled cart go 10, 12 or even 15 miles an hour over a wooden track with strap iron on top. Pulling a few "carriages-on-wheels" made for a noble advance over horse drawn wagons on bumpy, muddy, rocketing roads. And it was all much more progressive and speedy than day-dreaming on a quiet canal boat. Chuffing steam donkeys like the "Best Friend of Charleston" or the "DeWitt Clinton" blazed the way for an increasing network of railroads all over the country. Such a new advance in travel made mockery of dirt highways or canals or rivers. People flocked to use this entertaining convenience of place utility (as economists term it). Transportation in ever widening reaches was the new mode and — suddenly — the popular profitable thing. Road beds, rails, cars, stations and the many conveniences improved markedly.

Now a whole new vista of movement became apparent to the people of this vast country. No longer did a wedding trip end at the Inn in the next town — nor was it encompassed by a voyage on a canal boat. ( incidentally, my mother's great aunt accompanied a married couple — she was maid of honor — on a tour of the Erie Canal to Buffalo and back. It must have taken weeks). Now one could go to Niagara Falls quickly and with considerable comfort. The nearest big city became a week-end adventure with only a few hours pleasant trip each way on the steam trains. Business could be transacted in a commercial center during a single day including an easy round trip on the train.

The demand for accomodation on the flanged wheel cars seemed insatiable. Everyone wanted to go, everyone wanted to use this new, fast, exciting way of moving from place to place. More cars were needed and promptly built. Engines were designed and developed to pull the greater number of cars more swiftly and more safely. As the short railways joined into longer lines, individual trains made longer journeys from terminal to terminal.

Of course there were competing routes — everybody was getting into the profitable business of transporting goods and people ( I mention things before persons became freight traffic has always been the bread and butter and sugar of railway revenues — passengers were usually the "loss leaders"). So, of course, competition saw to it that the trains were faster and more comfortable. New services were invented to attract traffic — dining cars with "gourmet" meals, hot water, excellent sanitation facilities, interior decoration par excellence, plus impressive names for the crack, "high varnish", expresses and limiteds.

The change in the cars themselves was equally striking. ( As mentioned, the first cars — both passenger and freight — were of wood on a metal skeleton). They were small, light, loosely hooked to their fellows. Pretty soon passenger cars had open but covered — platforms on each end. It wasn't easy at travelling speed — especially in the wind, rain or snow — to move from car to car. Someone invented closed vestibules so the train from end to end was reasonably enclosed. The long distance expresses adopted this quickly and one could go to a smoking car (no cigars or cigarettes allowed in coaches to annoy the ladies) to the diner or the glorious observation car.

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By the way, of all the romantic equipment ever developed for travel and sightseeing, this last was the most ingenious. One could sit inside at the rear of the train and see the world go by at high speed and see it slowly diminish and disappear back down the track. Hardy souls — who didn't care about soot-covered linen — could sit on the outside back platform, guarded by polished brass railings, and observe the whole country intimately with no interference — and plenty of smoky air, cinders and fresh breezes. This was indeed the ultimate of exciting travel — as impressive to the traveller and his host of acquaintences as the great luxe ocean greyhounds. To have been on a long rail journey gave one an aura of status and a fund of story to relate to the stay-at-homes. Passenger cars were great; riding luxuriously and looking at the swiftly passing scenery was great, deluxe dining with attentive service or riding the observation cars was tremendous.

But the big advance, the exciting development was in motive power. Pretty soon, the vertical boiler which Stephenson and his followers invented had to be made horizontal. It must need be bigger — yet go under bridges and thru tunnels. A vertical boiler became a distinct inconvenience and the designers put it on its side. With larger, longer boilers, the engine frame must be made longer. And, curiously enough, if the locomotive increased its speed, some way must be developed to keep it from jumping the rails. These huffing iron horses bumped and jumped on the uneven road bed and demonstrated a proclivity towards hurtling over and off the rails despite their flanged wheels.

Someone hitched a four wheel truck in front of the drivers and found that the locomotive meekly followed this truck or "Bogey" over bumps and around curves. Now we had a new prime mover — 4 wheels making for a better balanced propulsion system with a 4 wheel truck ahead as a leader. This was designated the "American Type" locomotive, it became standard equipment by the 1830's and was still in use until the middle of the present century. Here was a locomotive with a four wheeled bogey in front of four wheels driven by cylinders, pistons and connecting rods between the wheels. More of this type engine was made than any other — racy, high drivered, often beautifully decorated: the idol of its crew, the traveller and the whole public.

You still see pictures of these idolized racers. There was always a great square lantern hung over the front of the boiler. It was mounted on a rococo bracket — usually sculptured metal and very fancy. The bell was of polished brass and very impressive. The steam dome was a high bubble in immaculate order. The number of the engine, often its high sounding name and the railroad's identification were emblazoned in gold leaf script or victorian characters along side locomotive cab and tender. It was an entire display of pride in the big, powerful machine that took everyone and everything on a journey of adventure.

Pretty soon they invented an engine that they called the Mogul. This had three drivers on each side and drew the heavier freight trains of the day. Shortly the boiler on passenger engines had to be so big — because of the increase in weight of cars and higher speeds — that a pair of wheels

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was needed under the boiler to support its weight. Now we had four guiding wheels, four drivers and a pair of trailers to make up the new locomotives and they called this racer the Atlantic type. The 999 — high speed queen of its day — was so built. Designers, builders and road engineers had now broken out of a habitual pattern of locomotive building. They were faced with longer trains, heavier cars, better road beds with heavy, well leveled rails and they must have more speedy and efficient motive power to deal with their problems.

Beginning at the end of the last century, there was a transformation in locomotive building. Many new improvements appeared — Mr. Westinghouse's air brakes, higher steam pressures, superheated steam and better valve gears. Then came multiple cylinders and powered stokers to feed more coal to hungry boilers than one or even two firemen could shovel. From 4 or 6 driving wheels attached to one pair of cylinders they came to 8 or 10. They even tried 12 but found this was a loser on curves — 6 driving wheels in line couldn't adapt to even a fairly large radius. Then the great articulated hogs as they called the engines — especially the big ones — were built — locomotives with two sets of cylinders and pistons on each side with 6 or 8 drivers powered by each set. The traffic demand in the 1920's and again in the 2nd war called for tractive systems that designed almost the ultimate into reciprocating steam power. The peak of efficiency was being reached.

Right now was the time when internal combustion diesel propulsion came into popularity. The traditionalists and the romantics resisted a change into a quiet, unexciting, efficient motor system — but the result was foredoomed.

Just for a minute remember. Remember the importance of getting ourselves to a railroad station — by electric trolley, hired hack or the family 4-cylindered touring ca,r. Once at the station, we became an integral part of railroad travel. Any newspaper, magazine or candy bar was available at the Union News Stand. Tickets were bought at a wicket from a competent, knowledgeable functionary who could tell us schedules, accomodations and the probable arrival time of our train. And in those times the whole railroad organization made a point of trying to meet the printed schedules. It was a matter of pride with them — a pride that has long since vanished.

Down to the platform with luggage we went to meet our exciting destiny. We might see a local come in — disgorge its passengers (some of whom might join us for a further journey) or a switch engine with 2 or 3 box cars trundling along the track to deliver cargo to local industrial or warehouse sidings. A long, heavy freight might roar thru the station on the opposite track with a consist of 80 or 100 great freight cars — box, (for misc. freight that must be kept dry), flat (for steel or machinery), hopper (for coal or cement) and tank (for oil and chemicals) — on its way to deliver goods to a far off classification yard for switching, forwarding and so on to far off places. We could well imagine the goods in these cars being distributed all over the country.

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But now, the freight disappears, its thunder diminishes and a new, less strident rythm grows and our train appears, winds around a far off bend in the track, rushes towards us and slow to a stop at our platform.

There's a brakeman — for coaches — or a porter — for the pullmans or chair cars — who meets us at the car vestibule, helps us — or at least the ladies and children — up the stairs and sees that we're safely aboard. We ca,n sit in the plush (or later plastic) covered seats in day coaches. If we're feeling affluent, the pullman porter will take our luggage, and show us to a reserved seat and give us first class treatment. There's ice water — hopefully — fans or ventilation (and, later, air conditioning). There's a wonderful candy-butcher who has peanuts, hershey bars, polished red apples, grape juice or even semi-iced cream. We can look out of our windows, wave good-bye to our friends and feel the start — maybe a little irregular — of our train and see the station glide by and recede. There are back yards and factory platforms. The cross streets with their crossing gates and flashing red lights pass by. The town diminished and we see the open land —farms, fields, streams and hills. The whole country side is an interesting panorama — it's all around in full view and not 30,000 feet below us. What does todays air travel have to offer that can compare? Do your remember?

What more can we ask of a journey? There are men's and women's rooms at the opposite ends of the car. On a truly great train there's diner with — supposedly — gourmet meals. How about club cars with the soft seats, latest periodicals and a good solid 2 ounces of liquor in a drink? Sometimes there were even vista dome cars — on any long run railroad where there was a decent vista — and I've even eaten dinner in a vistadome dining car with pink damask cloth and napkins, watching antelope skitter away as the train passed and seeing the sun set over the Wind River mountains of Wyoming.

Oh, there were inconveniences to be experienced — jerky starts and stops, a 20 hour journey to Chicago instead of 2 or 3 hours by planes after one gets to the big airports. Earlier it was pretty smoky ( especially in the tunnels) hot (in spite of open, screened windows), not entirely relaxing in an upper berth as our express rushed into the curves in the track at night. But we luxuriated in the service of the diner; a, porter or brakeman was available to take care of minor problems. And in the really crack trains, manicurists, even secretaries were there to be of help and there was telehone service to every office or phone in the country.

There's an old song from the musical "Oklahoma". It's entitled "They went about as far as they could go". And, in railroad passenger service, they did. Nobody has ever mentioned any conveniences — within imagination — that weren't developed and incorporated in rail passenger travel. Except for, some discomfort at night, speeds less than that of jet planes, late arrivals (unlike the auto or airplane) and the problem of getting exactly where you wanted, when you wanted to, it lacked little in our whole need for travel.

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You can't take the Century from Harmon to Chicago over night anymore cossetted by the cream of the railroad and pullman personnel. You can't take a local from the Central New England — later the NYNH & H — station on Parker Avenue to VanWagner's, Pleasant Valley, Salt Point, Pine Plains, Millerton, Lakeville and Canaan. There aren't even any tracks for the New York Ontario and Western to take you from the Hoboken Ferry to Sullivan County resorts. The Minute Man no longer carries you from Troy to Williamstown and Boston. The Lehigh Valley Railroad has off scheduled its expresses drawn by anthracite hard coal burning locomotives over the hills of Jersey and Pennsylvania where the mythical Phoebe Snow once road. That railroads' PR Men even had a jingle about "Miss Phoebe Snow with dress so white rides on the road of anthracite". Big advertisement for clean journeys.

You probably all remember a visit to the Poughkeepsie station of the New York Central Railroad. Evening was the best time to savor the miracle of rail transportation. We went to pick up family, friends, or guests from New York. We were ahead of time, of course, as the train couldn't be late. Especially on a winter evening, we gathered on the West Bound platform and chatted with friends and acquaintances who had a similar mission or who were bound on a trip to Albany and beyond. There always seemed, in the winter, to be snow — between the rails, at the edges of the cleaned platform and everywhere swept or plowed so that it wouldn't interfere with travel. Signal lights shown — red, yellow, green — plus the purple glow at switch points. Over by the round house, the engines for the morning locals to New York rested under the careful eye of the hostler who kept up steam all night. Soft, slow vapor came from the smoke stacks, a wisp of steam from cylinders and water pumps. These were powerful machines, temporarily asleep, but ready for action during their early morning journey.

We met with others on the platform. We talked — but with a feeling of expectancy — until suddenly down the track toward New York, a light flickered, a semphore signal changed color from red — danger — to green — all clear. A light reflected on the cement walls beside the trackage, became more and more luminous until the headlight of our train came into view around the curve. Now was the time! People moved in anticipation, the big moment approached, train noises reached us — the rythmic sounds of a great reciprocating machine, the hiss of steam, a noise of brakes being applied. The monster, especially to us standing at its lowest level — roared into the station, the locomotive throbbing, hissing and decelerating, cars sliding by in a cloud of steam, sparks flying from the brake shoes, doors slamming open, brakemen or porters wiping down hand rails and people with baggage, packages and children-at-hand, waiting to get off. The diner slides by just before the train stops and we see the true elite — dining in grandeur attended by white coated experts — really romantic people who are travelling to grand places far away and who carry with them our envy for their superior adventure.

With a final crunch, rattle and bang, the whole train stops, functionaries drop off, put down small steps, and graciously help the travellers to

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alight. Our friends or relatives arrive, leaving their luxurious cars and we greet them. Steam swirls between the cars, windows are frosted up. Passengers get off, passengers get on again. Then a voice calls out: "All aboard", lanterns are waved to signal the engineer and the whole equipage starts off slowly at the start, next a hesitation, more speed and then a promise of great acceleration with an accompaniment of tremendous explosions from the locomotive — toward an unknown adventure far from us. And we have met — not a local — but only a mere short distance express — not one of the great limiteds.

Remember the long distance limiteds of the vast railroad systems in those days. They travelled from 300 to almost 2,000 miles in one direction. They could be drawn on one trip — by 10 or 12 different locomotives. Crews would be changed many times at division points and trips could take up 2 or 3 days. Think of it, 48 hours or more. One could entrain in Chicago and arrive in Los Angeles, San Francisco or Seattle. Or one could leave Chicago and at high speeds race to New York, Washington, Boston or wherever. Furthermore, one could put a fascinating name on the string of cars that took the journey.

The Public Relations men really had their big start during the railroad era. Each train had to be identified and romanticized so the public would flock to ride on it. There's no record of the first crack train with its own name. But in the day of passenger rail travel, the P.R. boys really created some catch names. We all know the Twentieth Century Limited (that's a high, authoritative, aristocratic label), The Broadway (on the Pennsylvania R.R.) and others on the New York-Chicago run. But, how many of you remember the Olympian or the Empire Builder from Chicago to Seattle? Do you know where the Panama Limited ran, the Super Chief, the Overland Limited, the Daylight? Try to recall the routes for the Asa Packer, the New England States, The Merchants Limited or (this is easy) The Bar Harbor Express? Have you ever heard as delightful a name as the Wabash Cannonball? Isn't it a shame that The Sunset Limited, The Capitol Limited, Denver Zephyr, The Ohio State, The Southwestern Limited and the Spirit of St. Louis no longer roar down the rails with great plumes of smoke and steam, whistles sounding to warn the country side. What excitement, what feeling of motion, what varying scenes of countryside have we missed. The racket is bygone, the majority of steam railroading has now gone the way of old soldiers, the great engines and cars have given way to progress and the junk man's torch.

No one would be hotheaded enough to add excitement to auto travel. What fun or excitement is there in riding steadily at 70 MPH on a modern turnpike? What interest is there in mass produced vistas along the super highway when our whole driving attention must be riveted on a ribbon of concrete to save our very lives? Where is there any glamour in intercity bus travel — prosaic, every day business of getting there — with 15 minute stops at a rest area with its not quite cordon bleu cuisine?

And the air plane — after anyones' hesitant nervous first trip — is the supermarket of travel. We experience a dull commute to get to a massive impersonal airport, •we wait in a large dull room for permission to

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board a great silver sardine can. After waddling for miles of start and stop procession with other winged coffins, there's a lot of revving up, taxiing again, stopping and starting until — the one great moment — our bird exerts tremendous thrust, projects itself into the air and up in the clouds.

From then on, we see clouds, sky and a firmament that seems stationary until we descend again into the clouds through them and down to the amazing landscape of another smoky smoggy cluttered city. What excitement, what feeling of motion, what varying scenes of country side have we missed. It's really pretty dull. Our urge to get there is now satisfied. With the least delay — by car, bus or plane — we arrive at destination. Enjoyment in the act of travelling has disappeared.

And, as far as we can see now, by and large the enjoyment is gone forever. No one goes up the Hudson, thru Northern New York and Vermont to Canada on the Laurentian. The Crescent Limited no longer can give you a warm, intimate picture of our heart land. The Powhatan Arrow has ceased to wind its way thru the green Applachians. The whistle has become silent on the Sportsman, the Banner Blue and the Forty-Niner. Trains like the great Golden State Limited and the Pan American were offscheduled some time ago when the lack of need for, and interest in, their services starved them to death. And at about 10:00 A.M. there's no more clear track, green signal, or rush, thunder and roar as the Empire State Express — one time holder of the speed record of 112.5 miles an hour behind famous #999 — crashes thru the Poughkeepsie Stations enroute to Buffalo and beyond.

At least, those wonderful highways of steel rails that spanned our continent with over 260,000 miles of track were completed by private companies with the money of individual citizens to finance it, in general. Of course there were grants of land, loans by governments which must be paid back, and lots of other political help to new lines — often hopeless enterprises — to permit their operation. Generally, it was a peoples' — rather than a state — promotion. Stock subscriptions from the individual bank account, the family sock or a place behind a brick in the chimney bought the steel rails, the stations, and the rolling stock that put the great transportation revolution in motion nationwide. It brought a place utility to nearly every small or large town and city in the country. Imagine Springfield, Wilkes Barre, Dayton or Indianapolis growing up if they depended on canal, river or horse transportation. Now, progress isn't all that good and, yet, we're not here to praise or blame the change that has gone on, we're only here to mark that change and, maybe, become a little wistful.

The cycle of change began with the Stephensons in England. The virus came across the ocean and entered the veins of the Yankees, the agressive sons of the melting pot, the seekers, the promoters, the dreamers. With a true Chamber of Commerce spirit, the vision of progress — progress above all — had to be fabricated on the broad canvass of our country. And these people did create a transportation system that overcame the geography of a continent.

Think of the engineering problems that faced the challenge of our topography. They built tunnels under the Hudson and the East Rivers to

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connect Long Island, Manhattan and New Jersey. They built a tunnel through the Berkshires to allow train traffic from Boston to Troy, thru the Rockies to allow passage from Denver west and thru the Cascades in the Northwest. They built bridges across the Hudson, Potomac, Mississippi, Missouri and even the Great Salt Lake. They built a bridge from Florida to Key West. They made cable railroads to bring coal to the eastern seaboard. They even built a little locomotive with a front tilted boiler called the Peppersauce to take observers up a cog railroad to the top of Mt. Washington. Where steam and smoke became obstacles, they even used Mr. Edison's invention of the electric locomotive to carry them into the big cities and through tunnels to make our passage a little less stuffy and uncomfortable. At times they even put their rolling stock on ships and took it across bodies of water that were in the way. As the old song says "They went about as far as they could go".

We read today about the efforts to reduce accidents in automobiles and airplanes. All sorts of government agencies and activist groups are militating for no-accident transportation. Well, the railroads are veterans in this movement. Engines came to have safety valves so the boiler wouldn't explode. Head lights, whistles, bells and crossing gates warned and protected vehicular traffic. Air brakes on each car insured a prompt ( tho unnerving) stop in emergency. Cars became reinforced steel instead of varnished wood. And railroad personnel rules aimed at full safety — accurate watches, training of crews, rigid rules of conduct by all crew members. They had new patented vestibule cars, track walkers to see that the rails were safe and unbroken and later electronic cars that searched out broken or flawed rails. At one time, the safest place in the world was the pullman car — more people died in bed, in home accidents or even in the great out-of-doors than the fatality per day or per mile in the parlor cars or sleepers that comprised Mr. George Pullman's great moving hostelry. In theory, if you stayed in a Pullman, you'd be over 300 before the morticians got you.

Just as in political elections, the people made a choice. With automobiles and airplanes as an option for travel, they just stopped buying rail tickets. The decree read -- we no longer wish to patronize this exciting way of travel on steel rails riding in cars with flanged wheels from station to station. And the people abandoned the railroad train in droves.

Within a few years, tens of thousands of the iron horses were supplanted by capable, unromantic, unimpressive diesel power. Trains went more smoothly, more quietly with little smoke, no steam or enchanting, rythmic, explosive sound. The ecology may have benefitted slightly. The cost per mile may have subsided — temporarily. But the thrill, excitment and raw enjoyment of passenger travel disappeared. (Passenger travel was bound to wither away anyhow, but this might even have hastened its decline).

So, in a short space of time — fore shortened of course in the duration of this condensed paper — a miracle, a development engaging much of our genious was born, flowered and declined. In less than 120 short years (say 1830-1950), steam locomotive power was tried, improved to a work-

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able level and evolved to its highest efficiency. Changing times, a new propulsive system plus an unbeatable competitive transportation wrote its finis. We think of the short lived Pony Express, we look at pictures of the Conestoga Wagon, the Overland Stage Coach, the gorgeous, decorative river steamers and can see the reasons for their demise in social changes or new inventions. Once again a new method in place utility was developed; once again — like the horse and buggy, the whale oil lamp, the coal stove, the ice box and the trolley car — it was to decline and disappear from our country side. Steam propulsion was to vanish from our sight. And passenger traffic in the great long cars with flanged wheels that rode the steel rails so grandly, would disappear.

Some railroads really tried to keep a fleet of high varnish rolling in an attempt to maintain the service. Some roads actually down-graded their passenger trains to make them unattractive in the public eye. No matter, the long runs gave way to airplane travel, the short runs to automobile transportation. Only now, the Amtrack agency is trying to keep alive a limited run of railroad passenger trains. It involves a loss in operation — supported by government subsidy. It operates — at its best — in the heavily travelled, short run passenger traffic corridors. The metro liners show some promises the commuter runs are miserable, unprofitable but indispensable. The overnight auto-passenger run to Florida is remarkably popular and will be expanded.

The future of this renaissance in railroad passenger travel is cloudy. You must realize that the problem is how can we get along with it and how in God's name could we get along without it. But, if any of us can remember the convenience of rail travel, let us not forget its satisfaction and its utility. We surely have developed different methods of going from place to place. Our new ways are utilitarian; often, nerve wracking and dull. We get there sooner, make our own schedules, and are completely mobile on arrival in our own or in rented cars. But — is it fun? Is it satisfying? Is there any satisfaction or excitement left?

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