While the 819 was the undisputed star of the show, Joe McNabb's latest creation was a close second. Joe fabricated a miniature train from assorted parts, including an old riding mower, and treated kids of all ages to a ride around the museum parking area. Visitors also had a chance to browse through the large museum building and look over the latest display items, many set up in newly acquired glass display cases. Volunteers working the souvenir counter reported brisk business as many visitors purchased posters, caps, T-shirts and other railroad items. Passenger equipment was also open to the public. It was definitely a great day at the Arkansas Railroad Museum.

State archaeologists have confirmed that a steam engine, possibly dating back to the 1870s, lies a few feet beneath the intersection of U.S. 301 and North Carolina 186 at Garysburg, North Carolina. This autumn it is hoped to recover what may be the oldest locomotive in the state.

How did it get there? According to Steven Ward, chairman of the Weldon Railroad Museum Foundation, the story goes back to 1933. Road crews were widening Highway 301 starting at the Virginia border and when they reached Garysburg they found the locomotive in the right-of-way.

Apparently used on one of the state's first railroads, it was later used to haul logs. When the logging company went out of business, the locomotive was left to rust. The state couldn't get the last owners to move the engine but they secured a court order giving them permission to dispose of it. A former worker in the North Carolina Highway Department said they couldn't move it - so they dug a pit and buried it!

Last winter a Weldon police detective went to Garysburg with a metal detector and traced the lines of an engine facing north. A test excavation by the state Division of Archives and History showed the engine is apparently in good condition. It may take a month or more to excavate the engine this fall if the state approves the $49,000 cost. Then the engine will be sprayed with a preservative to keep it from rusting. The man who toppled the engine into the pit 61 years ago is excited about the effort to recover the lost locomotive. "I would like to go over and watch them dig it up. I never got to take a picture of it before. I never thought I'd see it again." (Central South Carolina Chapter via NRHS News)

When early steam engines ran dry at a town without a water tower, the crew had to "jerk" water in buckets from wells and haul it to the locomotive. Hence, they contemptuously labeled the place a "jerkwater" town. (John Ciardi, A Browser's Dictionary via July 1995 Reader's Digest)

In the good old days, before automatic signals and radio, railroading was a very dangerous profession. The men who rode those beautiful steam engines were especially brave, always mindful of what might be just around the curve.

The Jonesboro Sub-Division of the Cotton Belt ran across the Grand Prairie. The 800 engines were capable of 90 mph with a freight train, and I've had brakemen tell me that they've gone even faster than that on the Jonesboro Sub-Division. I had a young friend speeding south on No. 3, the Cotton Belt Blue Streak, reportedly the fastest scheduled freight train in the world, who leaned out from the engine to inspect the train when his head struck the water column, and another brave man was lost. It happened at Fair Oaks, Arkansas.

But on the Pine Bluff Sub-Division you had a completely different story, hills and curves. There the tonnage rating on an 800 was 3,000 tons or 60 cars. Through Bearden, for example, southbound you were dropping off Little Bay Hill, and northbound you were making a run for it, at 70 mph.

With schedules of freight trains running in five or six sections, in addition to all the troop trains and Extra trains, the system was pushed to the limit. It was exceeded one morning when I lined up the interlocker at Fordyce Tower to head in a southbound freight to meet seven trains, then continue six miles to Thornton and meet six more. This was during WWII.

I live within sight of the Cotton Belt and the only whistle I ever hear is a highball, two blasts, and the highway crossing, two longs, a short and then a long until the crossing is past. But back years ago the whistle was very much in use. Whenever the train made an unscheduled stop, the engineer immediately whistled out his flagman, one long followed by three shorts. The flagman was recalled when ready to move again by four long blasts from the SOUTH, and five long blasts from the NORTH.

Wrecks were frequent, and most of them were rear-end collisions, mainly due to the flagman not being back far enough to stop a high speed train. I recall two slight rear-end bumps where the rear platform of the caboose was crushed, but still operational, and the rear brakeman picked up his orders standing on the front porch.

One engine whistle signal which would unnerve any operator, hurriedly copying a last minute rush train order, was the "Calling on the Board" signal. With the operator tied up with the dispatcher, the engineer would whistle four short and rapid blasts, pleading for the operator to come out and hand-up. Many's the time I got out just in time to deliver orders and a clearance to the engine just as it roared past. Then I'd rush back into the depot and do the same for the caboose, hoping the freight was a long one. Then I'd give the caboose his orders as it flew past. Failure to deliver orders to the engine or caboose resulted in the train having to stop and back up. This would result in a 20 or 30 minute delay and both the dispatcher and the train crew would throw you in their dog house.

After such an experience, with your blood pressure very high, you'd dash into the depot, as you watched the caboose markers disappear around the curve, re-check your train orders, hoping against hope that everything was OK. If not, A MILLION DOLLAR WRECK COULD OCCUR, AND SIX GOOD MEN DEAD!

Off duty, an aftermath of such stress would result in frequent nightmares during fitful sleep. During such nightmares I was fired at least a hundred times, and I delayed a thousand fast freights.

What a relief it was to wake up!

A man appeared in court charged with careless driving after his car hit a train at a level crossing controlled by a wig-wag warning system. He was not injured and entered a plea of Not Guilty. At the conclusion of the hearing the judge asked some questions:

Where this transpired is not known, but it happened! (Blackhawk Chapter and Ottawa Valley Associated Railroaders via NRHS News)

Every crew member who goes on a steam locomotive with the intention of becoming the fireman should do so with the determination of making himself, if possible, a first-class engineer. But, we know that it is not possible for all to do this, as there is among firemen, as in all other trades and professions, a great many men who are totally unfit for the business - men that perhaps would succeed in some other pursuit, but who become a failure and often a reproach to the profession they have adopted, simply because they made a mistake in the selection of a suitable trade or service.

If we study the history of locomotive boiler explosions, the experience of others has taught us, so far, that the majority of explosions that have occurred have been caused by circumstances which might have been prevented had sufficient care been exercised in the selection of materials and workmanship for the boiler in the process of repairs and in the care of the boiler after it was put under steam.

The first step each person should take to prevent boiler explosions is to secure good material for the boiler. Next, good workmanship and then care and intelligence in their use and management. Finally, almost every accident is a sign that something is wrong with the skill of the workers, the materials, or the methods. Let's learn from all accidents and avoid repeating them in the future.

This is an actual report of a never-to-be repeated experience as recorded on two days in August, 1953. It is an introspective journey into yesterday, like an ocean voyage on a four-masted schooner, a trip down-river on a Mississippi River steamboat to old New Orleans, or an Atlantic crossing on the once magnificent Queen Mary.

Our adventure began in the Cotton Belt railroad yard at Pine Bluff, Arkansas. It was evening and the sky was brilliant with stars; the night was filled with the moving lights and chuffing sounds of hissing steam engines mixed with the clanging of warning bells and the intruding roar of an occasional straining diesel switching locomotive. The loud thumps of coupling freight cars could be heard as they came together in the making up of trains. The hands on the all-important clock on the dispatcher's office wall registered ten o'clock.

We were, as always, fascinated by all of this, but especially in the particular train that we were about to board for a last fast 300-mile ride in the cab of a giant steam locomotive that was about to be retired in deference to the age of road hauling diesel locomotives. Our train originated on the West Coast in California, and has raced for two days across mountains and deserts, through the piney hills of Northeast Texas and the woods of Southeast Arkansas to this rice, bean, and agricultural center.

With eyes turned expectantly to the south, the beam of a powerful headlight could be seen like a moving star on the distant horizon, lighting the bright and merging rails as our train approached. We experienced a thrilling sensation at the throaty call of the great steam whistle that warned us of its approach; and then the wild and hissing roar of escaping steam and grinding driving-wheels braking on steel rails as the awesome mammoth slowed to a clattering and screeching halt before us.

Deft hands disengaged the mastodon, a proud beauty boasting eight high driving wheels and bearing the number 681, which has just completed its final run and was headed for its sad destiny in the railroad's local scrap yard. But hardly had this engine pulled away before a fresh and more awesome locomotive was backed into its place. The new crew climbed aboard as our engineer checked time with the yardmaster and train crew, and we knew by a swinging arc of light far to the rear that the train inspectors had completed their safety check and the trainmen had settled in their caboose. We climbed the iron rungs to the engine cab and were wordlessly greeted by the friendly nods and handshakes of the three crewmen who motioned me to a seat behind them as we felt the nervous monster strain mightily forward.

Beyond the yard lights and onto the main line, our locomotive's song now rose clear and vibrant as our train's speed increased; the broad shaft of our engine's headlight revealed an unending web of telegraph wires adjacent to the right-of-way. Despite the calendar and the flashing heat of the oil-fed firebox, the chill of the night air penetrated our cab and we were glad to hunch snugly into our jackets as we peered ahead into the darkness.

Our giant steed, Number 814, four-eight-four, nearly 100 feet long and standing 15-feet over the rails, continued to pick up speed as strings of freight cars on sidings were swept behind us; the lights of Pine Bluff rapidly faded into the distance. The long black barrel of our engine extended into the darkness ahead; the shining rails, lighted by the glare of the headlight, seemed never ending as we moved. The steel wheels on steel rails played a steady staccato rhythm accompanied by a roaring melody ... soon to be silenced by the inexorable stride of progress. Our plunging giant vibrated through its every fiber - like a living thing, rocking from side to side in its interminable advance.

Within the cab our fireman checked the complex pressure gauges and indicators on the riveted butt of the plunging boiler. On each side and above, the stars kept pace as the roadbed flooded under and past us like a torrent.

"High Green" called the fireman above the incessant roar. "High Green!" came the responding echo from the engineer, as the crew peered intently into the darkness ahead ... and we could see the brilliant signal spots, glaring like jewels in the dark; a ruby below a gleaming emerald.

"Sixty-five," the fireman shouted in my ear as he pointed a finger to the gauge above us. "We got a clear track," he shouted through the din to me as the signals swept by us. We peered ahead as the changing panorama embraced us like racing time; the telegraph poles and woods and hills and signal boxes and darkened houses reeled by us like a motion picture out of control.

"High Green," came the call of assurance, and again the ever-echoing confirmation, "High Green!" and we knew that all was well. The brilliant gems continued to flash past, and still that shaft of light bit into the darkness ahead. We understood that 'trust' was the definition of what we felt as we realized that the headlight could only be a warning of our approach; a useless tool to reveal a broken rail or open switch. We knew that, except for the anonymous hands and eyes outside our small world within the cab, we would be but pawns of potential disaster as we swept beyond the range of that light's illumination.

Blind for all practical purposes, we had a growing sense of helplessness in our dependence on the unseen men and women we knew were there to assure our safety as they flashed their word to us of a clear safe track ahead. The engineer sat silently on his high seat, his hands gripping the throttle and brake valves. Through his goggles he continued his sharp vigil, asking only time enough to set his brakes to avert disaster in any emergency.

Far behind us, the dispatcher traced our progress - mile by mile, as he controlled the traffic of other trains along our route. A patterned electronic replica of our route and our passage over it revealed in progressive points of light on the board before him to keep him informed of our location at every moment. As with all the world, man and his fellowmen, the keepers of the safety of our paths; how perfectly we trust them; how great and how little noted their service.

Ahead, a growing point of white light, an approaching train on a passing track. We pulled abreast the crashing roar of the opposite locomotive and its instantaneous streak of flashing windows of coaches and Pullman cars and, looking back - a ruby eye disappears into the distance. And then another brief time, the instant crash of another southbound freight, out of the night with a slamming roar that rocked us more turbulently - then it too was gone.

Through thick woods bordered by blackness on either side; across the timbered trestles over the swamps and bayous, and girdered bridges that carried our steel highway across streams and rivers, we rolled on into the night. A sleeping town, a wayside station, whizzed past as a lonely figure, pressed against the building, waved us on. "High Green," came the now familiar call. "High Green," the echoing response.

A yellow light, and then a red signal as we approached a watering place called Ancell. Our engineer eased his steaming monster to an impatient stop beside the spreading legs of a high and dripping tank, for all the world like a giant wet wine cask. Our friendly crew moved gingerly to make place for a relief crew, as a scurrying figure tugged a huge spout atop the tender. A torrent of water flooded into the thirsty reservoir of our hissing, churning engine.

The thirst satisfied, the new fireman swung the spout aside, closed the hatch and signaled a quick departure; our locomotive strained into the last leg of its run to St. Louis. Friendly greetings all around and our train picked up speed, and momentarily we rolled by the Illmo, Missouri, station - the last division point on our journey. A wave of hands of scurrying figures on the brightly-lighted platform and the town receded from view behind us; the developing darkness ... and presently our headlight revealed the high approach to a girdered bridge over which we thundered above the broad waters of the Mississippi River into Illinois at Thebes.

Dawn broke as a pale pink consciousness that imperceptibly saturated the dark from the perspective of a fast-traveling locomotive. We saw the waking of the world of birds and beasts and men and the growing streams of trucks and automobiles moving along adjacent roads and highways. Now our grim-faced engineer kept his hand on the cord that kept a constant wail of our engine's hoarse whistle. Past villages and farms we raced, and then the awareness of the nearing megalopolis. Scarcely an hour later, wheels hammering on crossings and tracks, and now more frequent signal lights as we slowed our speed through the complex mazes. We entered the urban area of Greater St. Louis and its growing hubbub of increasing activity. On either side, warehouses and shops and industries flashed by us as we clattered past strident warning bells at crossings, and then our Cotton Belt terminal yard at Valley Junction in East St. Louis.

The crew gathered their belongings and prepared to alight as our engineer brought his charge to a slow braking stop. Slowly, the men looked at one another and then a last longing look at the cab's imposing interior. A callused hand fondly caressed the now locked controls; another smoothed a leather seat; the men wiped sweat from their faces - there must have been dust in the air as they turned to brush kerchiefs across smarting wet eyes. "Farewell, old friend," was the unspoken message.

Old 814 was moved to the roundhouse under its own power by an appreciative hostler who stroked the great engine lovingly. There it was parked long enough to permit the ignominious stripping of its great brass bell and whistle before it was switched by an arrogant diesel switch engine onto a Terminal Railroad cut for departure and delivery to a St. Louis metal scrapyard and the cutting torch.

(Editor's Note: M. W. Hamil, retired Cotton Belt News editor and public relations officer, resides in Tyler, Texas. The tender from Cotton Belt 814 was recently restored by CBRHS and is on display at the Arkansas Railroad Museum.)

This summer I found myself headed to St. Louis for a short (too short) family vacation. We planned our trip around a couple of Cardinal games and a day at Six Flags. Having included an article about the St. Louis light rail in a previous issue of the Cotton Belt Star, I most certainly had a MetroLink ride on my "to do" list.

We stayed in the Forest Park area, which just happens to have a MetroLink station nearby, problem was finding it. After having no luck obtaining the specific location (street address) of the Forest Park station from the maps and brochures at my disposal, I called the local MetroLink telephone number and received directions. After navigating the maze through Forest Park, we found the station and adjacent parking lot and purchased tickets from the vending machine on the platform. Single ride tickets are $1, but we opted for the $3 one-day pass which offers unlimited travel on the date of purchase. Within minutes our train arrived and we were westbound to the airport. Even though it was midday, the train was fully loaded with passengers. After making several short stops, we arrived at the airport and stayed onboard to make the eastbound trip. After a short layover, we were on our way. I found the equipment to be well maintained, and the service was excellent. All the stations appeared to be safe and clean. MetroLink's downtown stops include Union Station, Busch Stadium, the Convention Center and Laclede's Landing (adjacent to the Gateway Arch). Trains run over the Mississippi River via Eads Bridge to Illinois with a stop on the east bank for the riverfront gambling crowd and a final stop in the downtown area of East St. Louis.

Having made a tour of the line, we realized that every place we planned to visit was adjacent to a MetroLink station, so why mess with the car? We stopped at Union Station for a visit to The Great Train Store, of course, and then we rode the rails under the streets of St. Louis to the Gateway Arch. We then rode MetroLink back to Forest Park and picked up the car for a little relaxation at our motel before the ballgame, then it was back to the MetroLink station for the trip to Busch Stadium. Needless to say, it was "standing room only" both to and from the game. Additional trains were lined up to handle the ballgame crowd after the game. Extra personnel were also on duty to supervise the crowd on the platform. It all went smoothly and within 15 minutes, we were on our way back to Forest Park. It was great to see so many folks using the light rail system. In fact, it was so convenient that we chose to take MetroLink the following night to the game and again found the service excellent.

During the past couple of years I have had the opportunity to ride light rail systems in San Francisco, San Jose, San Diego and Cleveland and have found all of them to be fast, comfortable and economical. Add St. Louis to the list. MetroLink is a great way to visit downtown attractions without the parking hassle, and like Cleveland's light rail, offers direct transportation from the airport terminal to downtown.

The Cotton Belt used three types of train orders to facilitate the movement of trains. Form 19, green in color, consisted of oil impregnated thin tissue. Form 19-A was like Form 19 but was longer by several inches to accommodate schedules for Passenger Extras. Lastly Form 31, yellow in color, was to further restrict a train, and required the signatures of both engineer and conductor.

Train orders were copied with a stylus. Double faced black carbons were used. Until the 1950s we were not allowed to use a typewriter in copying train orders. We made five copies when copying for one train, nine copies for two trains, and thirteen for three. When you copied orders for six trains, as during World War II, you had to re-copy the order, and repeat it again to the dispatcher to prevent error.

Telegraph was widely used until the 1950s. All the branch lines used the telegraph exclusively, as did the 62-mile Shreveport Branch, which was a misnomer as it was actually a busy main line. On the main line the dispatcher's phone was used for train orders except when it failed, and telegraph had to be used. At Fordyce Tower all communication was via telegraph on the Rock Island, as was Kent.

Then there were the double-headers. Each engineer and each fireman, as well as conductor and flagman, were required to receive clearances and orders.

Back about 1975 the L&A detoured a 150 car freight over the Cotton Belt, from Stamps, Arkansas to Shreveport. Chief dispatcher at Pine Bluff Shops called me long distance, and I met the Cotton Belt pilot at the bus stop at Stamps and carried him to the L&A Extra. All received orders passing through Lewisville, including an extra set for the SSW pilot. The orders were to meet two SSW freights at Bradley, but the second freight derailed leaving Shreveport Yard. The L&A train, not being equipped with radio, could not be notified, so I jumped in my car and delivered further orders to him at Bradley. I handled the switch when he highballed and left town.

The Cotton Belt furnished steel pointed styluses with which to copy train orders, but most operators purchased and used their own styluses, ones with a polished agate point. Even then it was difficult not to break through and tear the thin tissues when trying to make thirteen copies.

Work continues at the Arkansas Railroad Museum to improve the appearance and accessibility of the building. Most noticeable is the new paved parking areas on the north and west sides of the building. Thanks to the Jefferson County Road Department for land preparation, the City of Pine Bluff for paving and Pine Bluff Sand & Gravel for materials, the building now has asphalt parking areas. Parking spaces will soon be marked and handicapped parking designated. This will make it much easier for our visitors to enter the museum building.

Motorist traveling the U.S. 65 overpass by the museum can now spot the building easier, thanks to a new sign that has been installed on the south end of the museum. This new sign is identical to the sign installed earlier this year on the north end. Other improvements include additional lighting and electrical system improvements. The main display area has been rearranged and new displays set up for museum visitors. Still to come are the installation of flag poles, new fencing and handicapped restroom facilities.

Railfans and model enthusiasts in the East Texas area are getting ready for the big Christmas Train Show in Tyler. The show is being sponsored by the Tyler Tap Chapter of CBRHS to help raise funds for a railroad museum in the old Cotton Belt Depot at Tyler.

The train show will take place on Saturday and Sunday, November 18 and 19, at the Tyler Howard Johnson at 2843 WNW Loop 323.

Over 4,500 square feet of exhibit space is expected to be filled with railroad memorabilia, model trains and accessories. Door prizes will be awarded hourly.

Vendors wishing to set up a table should contact Gerald Cooper, P. O. Box 413, Whitehouse, TX 75791 (Phone: 903-839-2501). Special room rates will be available.

1895 - First electrification of sections of steam railroads in the United States was completed in Massachusetts, New Jersey and Maryland. Also the first patent for a gasoline-driven automobile was granted to a U.S. inventor named Charles E. Duryea.

1900 - A legend is born on April 30 when railroad engineer Casey Jones died at the throttle of the Cannon Ball express train as he tried unsuccessfully to slow his train before it slammed into another train that had stopped.

1902 - Total railroad route mileage in the U.S. surpasses the 200,000 mile mark. That same year the New York Central Railroad reduced its New York to Chicago run to 20 hours.

1904 - All steel passenger cars are placed into service.

1914 - Test were begun in an effort to use 2-way radio communications for railroad use.

(Celebrating The First 100 Years, 1895-1995 by Pocket List of Railroad Officials via White Flags & Full Steam)

Pine Bluff, AR

April 27, 1928 - July 8, 1995

Cotton Belt 814 - This photo was taken in May 1939 at East St. Louis by Harold K. Vollrath.