NORFOLK & WESTERN RECOLLECTIONS
In early June 1944 I got my first-ever honest-to-God
close-up look at what a big busy bustling place a major
steam engine terminal could be like -- especially near
the peak of wartime activity and backup effort on the "home"
front -- the transportation front.
Ever since some of my earliest childhood recollections
I could only wonder and dream of what it must be like. The
closest I had ever hoped to get was during summer vacation
time. I'd "hold down" the back seat of our family automobile
from home in eastern North Carolina up to Gran-fa's in
piedmont Carolina. This trip always took a route which found
me expectantly waiting until US 29/70 rolled down off of a
hill and would swing across red muddy Yadkin River -- soon to
skirt the long edge of the SOUTHERN's SPENCER shop.
Spencer - named after one of the Southern's early
pioneer presidents, Samuel Spencer, was the site of their
main locomotive backshop. It was also the division point
seperating the Danville division from the Charlotte division
on the double tracked mainline from Washington (Potomac Yard)
to Atlanta, plus it was the eastern terminal of the Asheville
division. As such then one could expect to see here a variety
of handsome and unique steam power. There were the green and
gold trimmed flashy Ps4 varnished 4-6-2's made famous by the
CRESCENT LIMITED of the mid 1920's, sharp looking heavy USRA
mikes for high-balling main line manifests like the "Cotton
Cade", the " Spinnin' Wheel", and the "Flash", as well as the
brute proportioned heavy USRA Sants Fe's needed to conquer
the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina to the west. For me
Spencer was "Mecca".
But while affording a good ground level view of store
houses, office buildings, etc. the highway took a dastardly
dip as it rounded a soft gentle curve to our left at just
the point where some big engines were always parked off of
the turntable - awaiting assignments. Alas, all I could ever
really see were the uppermost quarters of smokebox fronts
and shiny brass bells peeking over the edge of that embankment looking down at me. But I just knew that they had to be
forty-eight "hunnerts" and fifty "hunnerts" (Ms4 class 2-8-2's
and Ss class 2-10-2's."How long, OH LORD! OH how long must I
wait to see some of those beasts 'UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL'?
Well here I was ready to find out - and find out NOW!
-in just a day or two - maybe tomorrow! However over the years
the Southern's firm grip on my fascination had been loosened
somewhat and now it included another road as well.
I was ready to begin my first assignment on the NORFOLK
& WESTERN! Right out of North Carolina State with a fresh (ink
hardly dry) BME degree - scarcely ten days following a muted
graduation. It had been muted because most of my class mates
were long gone - as juniors the previous year - to Uncle
Sam's military. I'd been a part of them too but the good
Lord must have moved the Army medics to spot my busted eardrum
scar and then further moved them to bounce me back out of
service to civilian life post haste, which gave me the
opportunity to finish up my degree on time.
I'd hitch-hiked from home that morning up past my alma
mater in Raleigh and on over to Durham where I caught N&W's
No 36 the 2PM afternoon local north. Up through the country we
ambled behind an ancient little pacific of the E2a class.
Finally at 5:35 we trundled on into old Union Station in
Lynchburg, Virginia -- just before dark. Down along the river
bottom the station served three lines: (1) the C&O's James
River line between Clifton Forge and Richmond, (2) the old
original Southern main line which wound its way around knobby
hill sections - through residential neighborhoods - across
several grade crossings - and down ravines until it finally
reached the station (coming north from Danville, that is),
and (3) - of course the Norfolk & Western - east-west
passenger main plus the Durham, North Carolina branch. The
N&W passenger line near Lynchburg splits off from a tidewater
freight beltline at Forest - about ten miles west. Then it
too wandered around through the outskirts of town until
it slipped into the station. From this point then it twice
scrambled across the river and twisted over the C&O and some
back secondary roads until it joined back up with the same
belt freight line at Phoebe some fourteen miles or so on
toward Crewe and Norfolk.
I didn't have long to wait!! The westbound Pocahontas
was right on time - 6:15 - with an engine up front that-
in the softening light of late afternoon- looked like
it was twice as big as the little 4-6-2 that had towed us
in from Durham a little earlier.
Immediately the thought ran through mind, "My God, what
the heck is that?" For a fleeting second I'll swear I thought
it must have maybe been a borrowed ACL class R1 - a 4-8-4 -
out of Baldwin only a few months before - one of the "Coast
Line's" behemoth 1800 series. But on second thought that
obviously didn't make any sense. I really was too excited to
catch many details but this I do recall: it was a 4-8-4, an
N&W 600 series, a "J" all right, but where the heck was the
streamlined bullet nose, the "skyline" casing on top of the
boiler, the tuscan red stripe along the side and all the
rest? And "Holy Cow! Did you see the size of those blankedty-
blank side rods?! My Lord! They must have been a foot and a
half 'tall'" Of course now I know what a "J1" looked like -
and would find out that very next day. But at that moment -
in the pent up emotion of realizing that everything in my
life was about to change - what a thrill it was to have this
enormous giant come rolling smoothly by me (almost silently)
as I stood right at track side to greet her! This would be the
first of many many instances when I could be UP CLOSE AND
PERSONAL! There was not a clank, - nor a slap,- nor a wheeze.
I was conscious only of the soft chuff-chuff-chuffing of the
stack as the hogger stretched out the slack in the train by
skillfully working a very light throttle against a light
trainline reduction (brake application) while simultaneously
holding the engine and tender brakes off.
"Boy these guys are for real! Real pros!" I could hardly
wait to get on board!
The trip to Roanoke was over too fast. All I can
remember seeing after leaving Lynchburg were street lights
and automobile headlights. - not much else. Too dark outside.
No 3 - the Pocahontas - was due in Roanoke (53 miles away)
about 7:30. I checked into the local YMCA, bought a map of
the "city" at a drug store, located the motive power building
on my map, and then tried to get a night's sleep (fitful as
it turned out).
As I reported to the motive power building next morning
I wasn't surprised that Mr R.G. Henley - superintendent of
motive power was not in. But no matter. His chief clerk put
me through the entering employee's initial paperwork
routine, and I was able to interview Mr Clarence E. Pond-
assistant motive power superintendent- just briefly. Man!
What a kind and genuine gentleman Mr. Pond is - through and
through. Just a prince of a guy! I thought so when I first
met him - later on I'd find out for sure!
Next it was across the street to the little red brick
building housing the "test" department to interview an aging
Mr. H. W. Coddington - head of "tests". Finally I was turned
loose to find my way out to Shaffer's Crossing via the
decrepit 24th Street bobtailed city bus. I'd have to ride
that noisy contraption twice a day six days a week for the
next nine months. At Shaffer's Crossing another reporting in
exercise supposedly with the master mechanic Mr. Veasy (or
his assistant Mr. Pettry) but really their chief clerk took
care of the leg work. The chief clerk is really a very
important cog on the railroad in lots of ways, I'll tell you.
"So OK. You're to report to the coal wharf for your
first two weeks. Yonder it is out past the roundhouse, 24th
Street, and the lubritoriums. Report to foreman 'blank'".(I've
forgotten his name - sad to say - but) I've never forgotten
him. I'll call him "Randy". Such an engaging and energetic
personalality, he was full of enthusiasm and genuine
friendliness - another prince! The wharf was huge! Must have
held upwards of 2000 to 2500 tons. After all it was being
called on to service 90 to 115 locomotives every twenty four
hours. It spanned two sets of double engine service tracks
directly beneath the bins and fed a fifth service track
(adjacent) to the south. To the north were two unloading
tracks from which hopper cars were dumped into underground
pockets for the two vertical skip hoist feeds. The crew
consisted of three black laborers and (now in addition) me.
"Randy" spent our first couple of days orienting me, and
a good place to start that would be clear up on top of the
structure. WOW! I'd probably be able to see all the way into
the next county from up there!
"So let's go up." (No, not up those eight or nine flights
of outdoor stairways.) "Step up on 'this-here' skip hoist bucket
frame like I'm doing - keep your toes in the clear - hold
onto the hoist cable like I am and we'll ride the bucket
up...
...OK, Jack! Push the 'up' button!"
Before I could take it all in and just a flick of an eye
lash before Jack's gloved finger found the electrical push
button I found myself eager to follow Randy's lead. I was
perched on the opposite side of the bucket from Randy ready
for whatever was to follow. It goes without saying that I was
hanging on for dear life! (There was no OSHA in those days to protect stupid idiots like Randy and me!!)
From somewhere way up above us came the stepped electrical
sound of the wound rotor hoist motor as it sequenced through
its secondary resistor control. "Whu.u.u.ur - whe.e.e.er -
whi.i.i.ir"! Up we accelerated through the open steel
structure framework for a few seconds and shortly we were
stepping off of our "conveyence" and onto a couple of 2x12's
on top of the concrete floor upstairs. We were in what you
might call the "attic" of the building. Those 2x12's didn't
offer much protection for a foot path. It was all covered in
about 1/2 inch of fine coal dust ("bug dust" the West
Virginia miners call it). Like I said: coal dust was
everywhere and on everything. Two small windows about
shoulder height faced south. Not much ventilation for a place
like that, and in short order I was BLACK! If I had been the
least bit self conscious that morning on account of my fresh
new denim clothes amidst a "sea" of well used and faded
apparel - well, Bud, I was sure one of them now! Britches,
overalls, shirt, cap, socks and shoes, face, gloves, ears
were all black. Everything but my eyeballs and they were fast
becoming affected.
But since you could see the whole panorama much better
if we were truly up on top - you know - above the attic on
top of the roof..... Well, again I followed his lead as he
climbed a final flight of steps up to a platform which
fronted access doors to the skip hoist motor/control
room. Extending south from the protective presence of the
motor/control room structure - out the peak of the roof ridge-
was a narrow "cat walk" for electricians to reach an
assembly of yard flood lights. From this level I could...
(still trembling a little from the excitment and - no doubt -
from no small measure of fear) ..I could see the whole world
it seemed. "Hang onto that hand rail." (Maybe my finger prints
- or at least my glove prints - are still embossed thereon
years later!}
Down around our "base" were more engines in one place
than I'd ever seen before or hoped to see. (Like- old General
Custer must have said to himself: "Lookit all thim cotton-
pickin' injuns!) There were Y6's as well as older versions
of 2-8-8-2's (Y3's - Y3a's - Y4's) plus some old Z class
2-6-6-2's, magnificent class A's (1200 2-6-6-4's), a couple
or three 4-8-2's, some old class M (4-8-0's) mastodons still
being used as yard goats, a streamlined J or two and - yep!
there's a class J1 like hauled No 3 in last night. Some
place, and to think - I'd be spending the next nine months
here at Shaffer's Crossing assigned to sundry jobs. Man alive
but I was overwhelmed!
Off to the east yonder several hundred yards sat the
roundhouse - all forty stalls worth! It was a complete circle
except for one small pie shaped sector just large enough for
two lead tracks onto the center turntable. Nearer our base
sat the two "lubritoriums" (long houses they were called
officially, but roundhouse jargon simply refered to them as
"wind tunnels" since in winter time that's exactly what they
were.) The left one was strictly for freight engines, the
right one for passenger power. Four service tracks separated
the "wind tunnels" (two being runaround tracks) with wash
rack stations on the middle two. Again, everything was laid
out symmetrically for production efficiency. An engine could
come under the coal wharf - be serviced with coal, sand and
water (sand supply and water plugs were a part of the wharf
installation as well), proceed on a little further and halt
for a jet of hot water/steam plus detergent directed at its
running gear, then on past the switch just short of the
turntable. If the engine needed to be turned then it was onto
the table for that - otherwise a reverse movement back onto
wind tunnel lead and into the lubritorium for pin grease to
be Alemited into her rod ends, lubricators filled - engine
oil on the right side and valve oil on the left - and supplies
put aboard. All the while "roving" pipefitters or machinists
or maybe an electrician could be seen performing last minute
minor repairs and tidy-up chores. Then it was out to the
ready track until "called". The N&W really made a production
line out of it - freight and passenger engines were "processed"
in parallel. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry but every move
counted - no lost motion.
Finally as I began to relax a little up on that catwalk
and I became a little more accustomed to our "perch", I was
able to lift my gaze (as the Psalmist once wrote "I will lift
mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength") to
the horizon. Another spectacular scene! And in many ways I
could tell that this was indeed a blessed spot - the Roanoke
Valley. One could feel the majesty of the mountains - all
around - and on every side. Staring directly at us from
across the city to the southeast stood the mountain which
(later) gave Roanoke its nickname - "Star City of the
South"- Mill Mountain. There was no star in those days but
the mountain was just as prominent then as it today - even
when the "star" is illuminated at night.
Back to the north - beyond the municipal airport
- Woodrum Field - stands Dead Man's Mountain (looks like a
body on a strecher covered by a sheet). Slightly to its right
and running for miles to the northeast is the famous Blue
Ridge. To the southwest stands the multiple peaked Poor
Mountain - tallest in the vicinity - while guarding the
valley to the northwest run the long multiple ridges of
Brushy - Fort Lewis - and Catawba mountains. As I said this
was and is a blessed spot.
In the weeks and months ahead I'd have the opportunity
again and again to learn to know these brutes of the high
iron UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL in more ways than I could then
imagine. I'd learn the importance of binders, knuckle pins,
barrel wrenches, seven foot (pry) bars, drop tables, "mules",
fire rings, spring saddles and brake hangers, cylinder
packing and piston packing, union links and combination
levers, the difference between a feed valve and a reducing
valve, and what a crossover pipe is for, etc. etc. I'd come
to know them underneath (especially) - on top - as well as
inside. And this would fulfill a lifelong yen I'd nursed- it
seemed like forever.
