Rail Moment: Dread 107 and the Black Swan

The year was 1883 and the Denver and Rio Grande narrow gauge recently acquired a number of new 4-4-0 locomotives. These were designated as the 8-18c class from the Baldwin Locomotive works. However unlike previous versions of this class of locomotive, these had the addition of a straight boiler with an rather long firebox for burning anthracite. One of these locomotives was allocated the number of 107, and thus a railroading legend began.

D&RG 108, sister to the "Dread" 107

**************

The Tale of Dread 107

It was said that if ever there was a locomotive that was possessed by supernatural forces, the 107 was it. It all started not long after she was put in regular service, in the spring of 1883, when the Black Eagle Canyon Bridge was washed out from hard-flowing waters. 107 took the plunge into the river below, killing her engineer and fireman. She lay in the canyon until the late summer when the water level was low. Only then she was able to be retrieved.

A rare photo of the #107 in service. 

Later, 107 was in her second incident just out of Gunnison, Colorado on a place known as Blind Man's Curve. Her engineer and fireman were killed after she slammed into a boulder that had fallen onto the right of way, rolling onto her side. After the first two wrecks, the 107 was moved to the Salt Lake City to Ogden route. For the while, her trips were were rather uneventful. However, it seemed that trouble wasn't far behind. 107 found herself involved in a minor derailment, in which a hobo riding the rear of her tender fell off and under the cars as she left the rails.

By this time, rumors began to spread among the employees, suspecting there was something wrong with her. As it went on, the employees and locals began to give her the nickname "Dread 107", saying she was haunted by ghosts and demons that would reside in her cab. Engineer Ole Gleason was assigned her, and after six months at the throttle, he and four others ware killed in a head on collision.

Afterward, an unknown D&RGW employee carved 107's records into the woodwork of her cab. this included the number of wrecks, and the names of those who had died on board her. Stories were told of ghosts who hid in the roundhouse shadows whenever she was present.

"Death Rode In Her Cab" (Illustration from Anthony W Reevy)

In the fall of 1889, she was crewed by the Flynn brothers; Tom Flynn as the engineer and his brother, the fireman. She was running out of Ogden Yard, when on a trip Tom noticed the markings engraved inside her cab. The story goes that insanity struck the engineer, who threw his brother off of the speeding train, letting the 107 run away. The locomotive overturned after an insane run down the line, pinning the engineer underneath her. Tom flailed around, seemingly possessed, and later bled out and died. Tom's brother also died of his injuries.

The railroad took her to their shops in Alamosa where she'd undergo a major overhaul, her death record was erased, and the locomotive was renumbered 100. It was believed that changing the identity of an engine would break the curse. This seemed to work, as the locomotive ran uneventfully for a number of years. That is, until she ran into a ditch due to a washout. Not long after, she led a gravel train, going downgrade from Mear's Junction to Alamosa. An engineer by the name of Frank Murphy was at the throttle. The gravel train became a runaway and met a light mixed train in a head on collision. Killing five more people in the process. After being taken back to Alamosa for repairs, her original number was restored!

107 ran in regular service until 1908 when she was scrapped, after a 25 year career of death and destruction. Even scrapping the engine couldn't end her terror. Residents in the Grand Junction area have claimed to have seen her ghost running down the ex-D&RGW line outside the town. She is often seen along the Gunnison River between Grand Junction and Montrose, Colorado. Some say to have heard her whistle, but never see the engine.

***********

Fun story, isn't it? However, how true is this tale of locomotive supernatural tomfoolery?

The 107 was indeed built in 1883, as a part of order of D&RG Class 42.5 locomotives. These locomotives were essentially class 42s on the D&RG (Baldwin class 8-18c) from the Baldwin locomotive works; however they were built with the addition of a straight boiler with an unusually long firebox for burning anthracite coal. The firebox wasn't especially deep, but in order to provide sufficient grate area it was rather shallow and long. More then likely this construction resulted in an excessive amount of weight on the rear driving axle, and led to a higher center of mass. Thus the locomotives gained a reputation for being potentially top heavy.

How many incidents the 107 was involved in as a result of her mechanical ungainliness is up for debate. However, what can be said for sure, is that there was never an insane engineer. No narrow gauge 4-4-0s ever operated on the Rio Grande's Utah lines, nor was there a list of names carved in the cab walls. For starters, no roundhouse foreman would put up with such vandalism of a cab in his charge. Likewise, there simply are no records of a Tom Flynn. Whatever small derailments the 107 may have had in her life can be simply chalked up to her propensity to waddle.

After a rather unremarkable career, the 107 actually was broken up for scrap in 1908.

The tales of a ghost locomotive are fun, and as Ward Kimball once said; “Never let the facts get in the way of a good story!” However...as in all good tales, there is a grain of truth.

**********

The Black Swan Locomotive.

177, the "Black Swan"

In 1884, Baldwin built a 4-6-0 for the D&RG. This locomotive was a part of the 47N class, which would go on to be reclassified as the T-12s. With the construction number of 7306, this locomotive was given the road number of 177. The Class 47s were the largest and fastest narrow gauge ten-wheelers to operate on D&RG irons. They were acquired to pull passenger trains, and their 46 inch drivers made them suitable for relatively fast passenger service.

At first glace, the 177 seemed just another number on a roster. However, she quickly started to gain a reputation as a bad luck locomotive. If only her issues were as simple as ghosts and phantoms. 

The 177 waits while a rock slide is cleared. Seems she had a cloud over her head.

 

An issue of the Salida Mail, dated April 15, 1887 had this to say: Many interesting things have happened since my last, two weeks ago, which are too state to speak of. Engineer Philliber is off on account of illness. Pickett is out of luck, he seems to be blessed with a multitude of slight accidents. That the 177 is an unlucky locomomotive.

Looking past the strange spelling of “locomotive” ... what do they mean by unlucky? Railroad men, especially during the age of steam, could be very superstitious and often were very religious. There was often times a belief that select locomotives could become unlucky.

That this superstition had a basis in fact is indisputable. Some locomotives end up over the course of their operating careers involved in incidents and mishaps more then other locomotives of the same road, class, or builder. This reason usually is a result of mechanical reasons, or even just a simple freak of circumstances and statistics. It would seem that the 177 would be one of these locomotives.

One year before the Salida mail published this issue the 177 found herself involved in a collision. Not with a boulder or falling through a trestle: on December 17, 1886 she collided with a cow and rolled onto her side. Killing both her engineer and fireman. The fireman was doubly unfortunate enough to have been ill for some time. This trip being the first since his recovery and return to service. Bad luck all around.

The 177 was repaired at the Burnham shops on Christmas Eve and put back into operation. 

She was sent to the Salida shops where we catch up to her thanks to the Salida Mail, dated January 28, 1887.  On April 15, 1887 the 177 ran into a small rock-slide. The locomotive rolled onto her side and down 12 feet into the Creek, injuring her crew. Once again, this required her to be overhauled. Interestingly, the 107 story also involves a rock-slide.

Also there seems to be an altercation between the Burnham and Salida shops. More bad luck on behalf of the 177? Not likely. More a case of good old workplace rivalry, but still interesting to note. The locomotive found herself on a regular run between Gunnison and Grand Junction Colorado.

In November of 1887, the 177 would one again find herself dancing with lady luck. On Nov 3^rd she was the victim of a train robbery. The Idaho Springs News, dated November 11, 1887 has this to say: The eastbound Denver & Rio Grande passenger train was held up by masked robbers at 8:45 this morning at a point five miles east of Grand Junction. As the train ran under the bluff, Engineer Maloy discovered obstructions ahead and whistled for brakes. The robbers burst their way into both the mail and express cars. Unable to break into the safe in the express car, the robbers stumbled over themselves in regards to blowing it. They debated going through the passenger cars and asking for donations.

Evidently they began to get uneasy, and started to fear an uprising by the passengers. Brakeman William Welch and a passenger, started toward the front. Not out of any bravery, but more to find out what in god's name had them sitting for so long. They got two bullets over their heads for their troubles, and were sent scrambling back to the passenger cars were the air was decidedly more healthy. Assembling together the bandits decided to cut their losses, and along with the engineer they themselves kindly removed the obstruction, bade good night and struck out into the darkness.

By now it seems the locomotive definitely has a reputation as she is noted as a bad luck locomotive. It seemed that she was constantly returning to the shops in Salida.

The Salida Mail comments on her constantly with sick and ill engineers, finally conning a nickname for her based off her paint colors calling her a “Black Swan:” A black swan being a term that for an unpredictable event that is beyond what is normally expected of a situation and could potentially have severe consequences.

Not content with merely causing bad cases of the flu, in 1888 lady luck once again grabbed 177 by the throttle. The Solid Muldoon Weekly, dated March 16, reported on a run in with train wreckers! No doubt following up on the train robbers the previous year. A misaligned switch threw the helper locomotive which was leading the train, then the 177 followed by the mail car off the main and into a siding where they tried to take a short cut back to the main through the roadbed. The end result was a pile up that killed a fireman and dislocated the shoulder of an engineer. After the accident an examination showed that the switch rail been pried by some Snidely Whiplash character, and a light arranged to signal a clear track. It is unknown as to if the guilty parties were ever caught...however the implications of “stretched hemp” gives an idea of what awaited them should they be discovered.

A number of years seems to have gone by without enough of an indecent to require note. That is, until our favorite railroad gossip rag, the Salida Mail records in October of 1890 that the 177 was once again held up! No doubt the robbers from more then 15 years ago were back for an encore. The record doesn't say the details of the robbery, nor if the men were caught. However, Mr. McKelvey and his hounds were hot on the trail! 

 

Still, life couldn't be all bad luck for the 177. They sure felt she was good enough for the president of the road to have on the head of his train. Once again, we turn to the daily show with the Salida Mail, dated November 6, 1891, which reports that she could be found pulling the dignitary without incident. Likewise, she once again found herself on the head of the Vanderbilt special in the same year. 

The next notation of the 177 was her finally being kicked out of Salida and winding up on the Chama-Alamosa line sometime after 1900. The Black Swan vanishes from record until 1923 when she was reclassified as a T-12. She was removed from service and scrapped in March 1926. Did the run of luck finally kill her off? More then likely she was scrapped as the company was trying to clear out old property following a reorganization in 1924.

************

The final recorded score is four deaths, an untold number of illnesses, two robberies, a tangle with train wreckers, and the Vanderbilt family. The locomotive seemed to have a reputation of bad luck that speaks to many other smaller incidents and mishaps. Perhaps small and meaningless had they not occurred to the 177. Is it possible that the 177 was really cursed? A clue could be found with this almost meaningless comment from the Salida Mail. A larger then usual ash pan.

Much like the 107, perhaps this is the real key to the many mishaps that plagued the 177. This one small change perhaps led to a higher axle loading on the rear driver. Giving the locomotive an unusual gate that may have led to some of her minor derailments. The rest are a freak of statistics, that when coupled with an ungainly locomotive led to an unjust reputation. The truth may never really be known.

What is known is that the 177's story would have vanished from history had it not been for a small notation in “Railroad Stories” magazine. In the 1930s, the mag ran a small blurb about a cursed D&RG locomotive. Tales of train robberies, wrecks, and wreckers. It would seem as if the 177 found herself reaching out beyond her final fate to tale her story. Except the locomotive recorded was said to be not the 177....but the smaller 4-4-0, 107. The blurb did not account the locomotive's follies as anything supernatural. Just unlucky.

The tale spread. Getting embellished with each retelling. The book A “Treasury Of Railroad Foklore” by Botkin and Harlow contains a retelling of the hoodooed locomotive. Freeman Hubbard's “Superstitions” also recounts tales of cursed engines, bringing an element of the otherworldly into the story....and finally the tale of 107 is brought forth as a ghost story complete with eerie illustrations in Anthony W Reevy's “Ghost Trains.”

107 is seems, got a bad rap. She was never cursed, never haunted, and otherwise lived an unremarkable life. Yet, hidden behind her tale of supernatural shenanigans lays a very real curiosity in a fellow slim gauge locomotive: The Black Swan locomotive, number 177.

*******************

Sources:

SalidaMail, Volume VII, Number 29, December 24, 1886

SalidaMail, Volume VII, Number 28, December 17, 1886 

Salida Mail, Volume VII, Number 34,January 28, 1887

Salida Mail, Volume VII, Number 35,February 4, 1887

Salida Mail, Volume VII, Number 45, April 15, 1887

Idaho Springs News, Volume V, Number 32, November 11, 1887

Salida Mail, Volume 11, Number 91, April 21, 1891

Salida Mail, Volume 12, Number 28, September 11, 1891

Salida Mail, Volume 12, Number 44, November 6, 1891

Salida Mail, Volume 14, Number 99, May 15, 1894

Alamosa Courier, Volume XXIII, Number 7, February 11, 1911

A Big thank you to Josh B for thier help in the research and commentary on this article. His work was invaluable to brining this story to light! 

 

Rail-Moment: Septimus Norris and his Crampton

There are people in this world, who no matter how well they do, or how many successes they achieve, it's that one grand failure that sets them up for life. The one thing that everyone remembers above all, and no matter what you do, you can't seem to get away from. Here’s one of those grand flops. So grand in fact, that it caused a locomotive builder to shut down, and stained the reputation of one of America's most inventive designers. All thanks to a misunderstanding of physics, and the French. 

 

Septimus Norris (1818 to 1862) was one of America's more earlier locomotive designers, and he seemed to have a bit of a cloud over him. He did hit some home runs though. He built the first 4-6-0 ten-wheeler, helped pioneer level cylinders, and was one of the more influential people who developed the 4-4-0 wheel arrangement. Probably his most successful design was the pilot truck. This was a center-pivot two axle wheel-set. Arguably one of the best all-American locomotive innovations of the 1800s, and a key to unlocking the abilities of the 4-4-0.

A Norris, exported to the UK.

It's flexibility locomotives on uneven track no matter how sloppy the construction. Perfect for hastily constructed American right of ways that climbed over mountains and twisted through valleys. (The British had a knack to overbuild their roadbeds and make their track-work stupid perfect, so they never really saw the need for a pilot truck. That’s why you rarely see them on UK locos until the 20th century.)

However, he wasn’t exactly an exceptional designer either. Plenty of his innovations just outright didn't work, or some unforeseen circumstance thwarted it between the design table, and reality. One has to remember that while these men were educated in a sense, simple physics wasn’t simple to a generation of do-it-yourself steam engineers building the very foundations of an industry. Most were better at iron casting and blacksmithing than at figuring weights, wheel adhesion, and tractive effort tables. Almost all master mechanics from those years got their education by the school of hard knocks via an apprenticeship, not no fancy books. (In fact, most of them were writing the books on steam engineering) 

The Norris 4-2-0, one of the more successful designs.

The Norris Locomotive Works was started in 1832 as the American Steam Carriage Company by older brother William Norris and Major Stephen H. Long. The two men had experimented with steam engine building for years and had a few solid designs under their belt. Major Long later left the firm and William Norris was joined by his brother Septimus, who patented several locomotive-related inventions. The two brothers reformed the enterprise into the Norris Locomotive Works.

When Septimus took over the management of the spanking brand-new Schenectady Locomotive Works in 1848, he thought he had a foolproof scheme for success. There was a spanking new type of locomotive design circulating around in Europe, where the Norris brothers had a few, shall we say, business connections (see spies) and the plans for this new design had been surreptitiously re-routed to Septimus’ back pocket like a downloaded youtube video.

The design had been the 1845 brainchild of one Thomas Russell Crampton in England, and it was said by many who drink tea to be the best design for a high-speed passenger locomotive. It had been common knowledge for a while that the best way to get a fast machine was to give it big driving wheels, getting the longest stride for each stroke of the cylinder. However, this had a consequence that the bigger the driving wheels, the higher the axle center. The higher the axle center, the higher the boiler above it had to be placed. High boilers made for a top-heavy locomotive, which became unstable at high speeds, and prone to sudden upright existential crisis.

Crampton’s solution was to design a locomotive with a single stupidly large driving wheel with it's axle behind the boiler instead of underneath it. Crampton’s locomotive had low centers of gravity and better stability. The idea spread, and very soon Crampton locomotives were hauling fast passenger trains in England, France, Belgium, and Germany. In France, they became so popular that “Le Crampton” became synonymous with “Locomotive.”

In 1850, the Syracuse & Utica RR came knocking on the front door of the new Schenectady plant and wanted a fast locomotive. Septimus Norris knew exactly what to give them. Using his new 'jacked Crampton plans he rolled out the “Lightning,” a 20-ton machine with a set of 84-inch drivers, a pair of ridged carrying wheels under the boiler, and his own spin on the remix, a 4-wheel pilot truck in front. The locomotive had English-style Gooch valve gear, and as if flexing on his master of design piracy, Septimus even included front buffers instead of a cowcatcher and no cab.

The machine was tried out in January of 1850, and it flew as fast as the track— newly upgraded from wooden stringers and strap rails on blocks of stone, to iron rails on ties— would allow. Septimus and the Norris organization advertised the locomotive to be the beginning of a new age of American motive power. That must have been a thrilling ride being so close to the drivers with a open cab! I feel like the engineer learned real quick to keep his arms in.

The Lightning herself.

There was just one problem, well...okay a few problems including this things propensity to de-limb it's crew, but one major one. All the weight of the locomotive was carried on wheels other than the drivers. So adhesion and traction were virtually nil. All Cramptons had this issue. In Europe, where trains were short, cars were light, the land was level, and the roadbeds were advertised as billiard table, this wasn’t a problem.

However, on the Syracuse & Utica, the “Lightning” could barely pull her own shadow with a set of heavy American-made passenger cars chained behind her, The S&U’s primitive roadbed made the locomotive ride like a car-sick ten year old, which exaggerated the formally mentioned problems of being in an outside cab. To add insult to injury, the locomotive's design couldn't even achieve the high speeds it's American-designed counterparts could hold on the same track, and it's rough handling at the speeds it could reach caused the locomotive to constantly be in a state of self-disassembly. After a few months, the S&U’s management pulled the plug, and the “Lightning” was sidelined until she could be rebuilt into a conventional 4-4-0.

The “Lightning” fiasco was big news in railroad circles. There were other experimental Crampton designs tried by the Camden & Amboy RR, the Pennsylvania RR, and the Vermont Central RR. None seemed to work any better.

Septimus Norris’ reputation as a builder of locomotives was the real victim. Who wanted a locomotive from a builder who flopped as dramatically as Septimus? Trying to hock someone else's design no less. Poor Septimus went from an up and coming designer to a laughingstock. Customers at the Schenectady works took their business elsewhere, and Septimus and his brother Edward were forced to close the plant doors in 1851. Septimus Norris continued to build locomotives at the original Norris factory in Philadelphia until a “carbuncle” took him out in 1862. However, his reputation as a designer would never really recovered.

There is a silver lining for Schenectady Works. The works would reopen later, under the hands of John Ellis and Walter McQueen. With sound construction and more traditional designs, they made the operation into one of the nation’s largest. Including building the Jupiter and her sisters of Golden Spike fame. The Schenectady Works would eventually become the heart of the American Locomotive Co. after the turn of the century.

Man, isn't it a right bitch when your entire career, which is highlighted by such innovations that would last to the end of steam power, is reduced in history book to a few paragraphs describing your worst decision. The story of the “Lightning’s” failure is repeated in locomotive books to this day. 

The Railroad Riots of 1877

I would like to take a moment and look back in time to an event that shook the growing 19th century railroad industry Exactly 140 years ago this week, starting on July 21st, 1877, the height of the Railroad Riots reached its violent peak in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. This strike had a profound effect through the railroad industry and has a legacy of violence and chaos unmatched. 

Pittsburgh PA, circa 1877

By the 1870s, the railroads, which were at the time the second largest employer outside of agriculture, demanded sacrifices of large amounts of capital investment for their construction, and thus entailed massive financial risk. Men of purpose who were part speculator, part gambler, poured large amounts of money into the industry, causing abnormal growth and over-expansion. Many northern banking firms invested a disproportionate share of their depositor's funds in the railroads. In 1873, this finally blew up spectacularly when the offices of Jay Cooke & Company declared bankruptcy. Thus kicking of the Panic of 1873.

The public's emotions behind the big railroads were abundantly clear

In the wake of the Panic of 1873, a terribly bitter antagonism existed between workers and the leaders of industry. Mass immigration from Europe and the existence of thousands of freedom searching able bodied men allowed the railroad companies to drive down wages and easily lay off workers who spoke out. By 1877, 10 percent wage cuts, distrust of capitalists and insane working condition and hours led to workers getting more and more fed up. Management worked to break up such movements, usually with harsh and often violent results. Tensions built up on this powderkeg until the fuse was finally lit.

The Union Depot of Pittsburgh before the riots

The Great Railroad Strike of 1877 which was aptly referred to as the Great Upheaval by those who got to enjoy the party, began on July 14 in Martinsburg, West Virginia after the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad sliced wages for the third time in a year. The strike spread like cancer, and soon the whole industry was either striking, on the verge of striking, or joining their neighbors who were striking.

Finally, on July 21st the city 0f Pittsburgh Pennsylvania and the Pennsylvania Railroad snapped.

After being forced to take a reduction in wages, railroad workers awoke on July 19 to find that the company announced that it would implement the practice of double heading (joining two small trains of cars into one large train powered with two engines) for all of their trains moving through Pittsburgh. This screwed over train crews by favoring one crew handling two trains, while increasing the workload of that crew. That very same day double heading was to go into effect, the (no doubt shaking in his boots) superintendent of the Pennsylvania Railroad at Pittsburgh issued an order that, according to strikers, effectively doubled the mileage of what was considered a day's work, increasing it from 46 miles to 116, without increasing the size of the crews.

This meant that the company would be able to discharge fully half of their workforce.

One crew, led by Conductor Ryan, put their foot down and gave the railroad the middle finger. The company called for replacements, who when they refused to act were immediately fired. The powder-keg exploded. Freight trains were stopped in the yards, and a crowd of rioters took possession of the company's property at the 28th Street Roundhouse. 

The remains of the roundhouse.

The 18th & 19th regiments of the PA National Guard were ordered to Pittsburgh to protect the company's property. This stirred the rioters to a fiercer anger. The troops arrived on July 21st and were met by the growing mob. The riot act was read, and an attempt was made to arrest the ringleaders.  A cry arose of "Stick to it; give it to them; don't fall back!" and some protesters began to throw rocks and fire pistols at the troops; several men were injured, at least one seriously. The General ordered his men to charge and open fire on the crowd! The troops returned fire and used their bayonets, beginning with a single unordered shot, and continuing in a volley for nearly ten minutes.

Burned locomotives

An estimated 53 rioters were killed (including three children), and 109 injured, although many injured hid their injuries to conceal their involvement in the mob. Eight soldiers were killed in clashes, and another 15 were wounded.The militia then took charge of the Roundhouse. After the rioters captured all of the guns from the local Hutchingson's Battery, they fired several solid shots through the roundhouse in which the militia had taken refuge. The rioters then fell upon the rail yards, set fire to train cars and engines, and prevented any effort at extinguishing them, in some cases at gunpoint. Meanwhile, other rioters set cars

afire, and after saturating a railcar of coke with oil & igniting it, they succeeded in running it into the Roundhouse. As one member of the mob phrased it: "We'll have them out if we have to roast them out."

As one soldier recounted: "It was better to run the risk of being shot down than burned to death, and so we filed out in a compact body ... It was lively times, I tell you, reaching the US Arsenal ... I thought we should all be cut to pieces!"

Later, on July 22, a burning rail car was run into the Union Depot and the building set alight. A grain elevator nearby, the Panhandle Depot on Grant St and a locomotive shop on Quarry St were also burned to the ground, and before sunset, every railroad building & car in Pittsburgh had been destroyed. Looters then turned their attention to the Cincinnati & St. Louis Railroad,as well as the steamboat docks, and when the goods there were carried away, it too was set on fire.

Union Depot after the riots...

The strikers exerted such total control over the area that on July 24, when the governor passed through the area, it was only with Robert Ammon of the Trainmen's Union's blessing that he obtained safe travel.

On the morning of July 23, and there was a great anxiety as to whether violence would continue. Many prominent members of the town had set to work organizing a militia, and by this time several thousand had been gathered and were put under the command of General James S. Negley, a veteran of the Civil War.

On July 28, Governor Hartranft arrived in Pittsburgh with fresh militiamen from Philadelphia, in addition to 14 artillery and 2 infantry companies of federal troops. This suppressed the rioters, and two days later the railroads began to resume operation.



Estimated damage was close to $92,000,000 when adjusted for inflation.

One has to wonder about the level of anger throughout an entire community that would cause destruction of this magnitude. Both wide and deep. Today's labor laws and safety centrist world has a lot of blood on the foundation of which it's built. It pays to remember that.