The morning mail recently provided me with a treasure, a copy of a thirty-six-page pamphlet entitled “History of the Wreck of the Old 97”. Its author is a gentleman named G. Howard Gregory, a resident of Appomattox, Virginia, and obviously a fellow history buff. Mr. Gregory had graciously autographed this specific copy. The return address on the envelope in which it arrived identified the sender as Don Colton. That wasn’t a surprise – Don is the perfect combination of extensive knowledge and immaculate thoughtfulness. I’m sure he knew of my history with the subject and immediately acquired the pamphlet for me.
“The Wreck of the Old 97” and I go back a long way. When my brother and I were young, we regularly visited my father’s home in Quincy (not far from Chambersburg) several times a year. The highlight of these visits was the opportunity to play 78 RPM records on Uncle Emory’s hand-cranked Victrola. Easily our favorite of his collection was Vernon Dahlhart’s 1924 classic rendition of “… Old 97”. Let’s run through the lyrics.
They handed him his orders in Monroe, Virginia,
Sayin’, “Steve, you are way behind time.
This is not Thirty-eight, but it’s old Ninety-seven.
You must put ‘er into Spencer on time!
Late in 1902 the Southern Railway placed mail/express train Number 97 into service between Washington D.C. and Atlanta under contract ($140,000 per year) with the U. S. Postal Service. It soon claimed to be “the fastest regularly scheduled train in the world”. The contract stipulated a severe penalty for every minute late arriving in Atlanta. On Sunday, September 27, 1903, Ninety-Seven was already forty seven minutes late when she pulled into Monroe for a change of engine and crew.
The new engine was Locomotive 1102, a Baldwin 4-6-0 Class F-14 steamer, recently put into service. Its 33-year-old engineer, Joseph Andrew “Steve” Broady, was a veteran of many years railroading in the southeast. He was accompanied by experienced fireman Albion “Buddy” Clapp, Student Fireman John Madison Hodge, Conductor John Thomas Blair, and Flagman James Thomas Moody. The assigned Brakeman failed to report for duty (fortunately for him!). Staffing the two postal cars, one express car and one baggage car were twelve USPS employees.
He turned and said to his black greasy fireman,
“Just shovel in a little more coal
and when we cross the White Oak Mountain,
you can watch old Ninety-Seven roll!”
The role fulfilled by a locomotive fireman is much more complicated than the engineer’s sidekick as portrayed on Petticoat Junction. It is his responsibility to maintain the fire in the boiler at the appropriate level to ensure the steam pressure is precisely what is required for the specific conditions being encountered. He must also monitor the track ahead on his side of the engine.
It’s a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
on a line with a three-mile grade.
It was on this grade that he lost his air-brakes,
and you can see what a jump he made.
The Southern Railway approached North Danville from the northwest, then went on to a sharply left-curving trestle over Stillhouse Ravine before crossing the Dan River. Although there were strict instructions to reduce speed to thirty miles per hour approaching the trestle, “Old 97” was far in excess of that limit when the engineer attempted to apply the air-brakes.
He was going down grade making ninety miles an hour
when his whistle broke into a scream.
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle;
he was scalded to death by the steam.
Reports by eyewitnesses estimated the train’s speed to be as high as seventy five miles an hour when she derailed. Engineer Broady and the two firemen were thrown out of the cab and indeed “scalded to death by the steam”. Six postal workers were also killed; six of their compatriots survived.
Now all you ladies, you must take warning
from this time now and learn.
Never speak harsh words to your true loving husbands;
they may leave you and never return.
Ironically, neither Broady nor the two firemen were married. It does appear that a number of the other fatalities did “leave you and never return”. The life of a railroader was quite dangerous in those days. A humorous consequence of the disaster was the escape of dozens of canaries destined for pet stores in Georgia. Danville birdwatchers claim their survivors are a unique species of wild canary, distinct from the native goldfinches.
Shortly after the disaster David Graves George, a Southern Railway telegraph operator, arrived to inspect the wreckage. Deeply impressed, he penned a fifteen-stanza ballad commemorating the event, then adapted it to the tune of “The Ship That Never Returned”, an 1865 composition by Henry Clay Work. In 1923 Henry Witter took five of Mr. George’s stanzas and made an Okeh record of “The Wreck of the Old 97. It was successful enoughthat RCA Victor was inspired to cover it with a version performed by classically trained tenor Vernon Dalhart. Dalhart’s record became the first “Country” run-away hit and an instant classic, recorded by numerous stars – Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Hank Snow, Boxcar Willie, Roy Acuff, and Johnny Cash, to name a few. I like all these versions, but none can compare to my brother’s Joe’s vocal rendition, self-accompanied on Appalachian dulcimer, at an Oyler family reunion years ago. I should encourage him to record all fifteen stanzas. Folk music fans will already know that the Kingston Trio’s big hit, “The MTA Song”, also uses the same tune for its refrain.
Bridgeville’s most famous train wreck, the Wabash disaster on April 28, 1907, will be the subject of a future column. I am grateful to Don Colton for his thoughtfulness in sending me this brochure and providing me with the opportunity to learn a little more about the true story behind my favorite country record.