first cab ride, The

Anybody who hangs around trains, stations, and rail yards - with or without a camera - sooner or later gets the itch for a ride in a locomotive cab. If the spectator is at all lucky, he is rewarded, sooner or later, with an invitation from some member of the train crew to climb the steps into the cab. From there, and only from there, can one get a real appreciation of what it takes to operate a train and make the railroad come alive.

My virgin cab ride experience occured when I least expected it. My junior high school railfan friend Den Young and I had been hanging around the C&O depot in Holland, Michigan, on a sultry summer day in 1953 in hopes of capturing a train or two on film. Things had turned out to be pretty slow on the Chicago-Grand Rapids main line that day, and we had started debating how we might spend the rest of the afternoon when the glare of a headlight to the north caught our attention. Expecting a Chicago-bound freight, we started lining up our camera angles to capture the oncoming train.

As the headlight approached ever so slowly, it became obvious that this was not to be a hotshot merchandise freight. Rather, it was a switch engine trundling toward the station pulling a cut of some six or eight freight bars.

The train stopped and a crewman jumped down to align the switch that would permit the train to leave the main line and enter the siding that led to the complex of trackage that served several miles of Holland's industrial trackage.

The train groaned and squealed its way along the curving section of track that ran behind the passenger station and lead to a very small yard adjacent to the freight station on Seventh Street. We paced the train on foot as it inched its way to an eventual stop near the freight station office. A burly crewman climbed down from the cab and darted into the office, leaving a rather bored looking engineer perched in the cab with his elbow resting on the window sill and his chin snuggled into the palm of his hand.

The train was about as ordinary as anything that could then be seen along the C&O's Pere Marquette District lines. The engine was blue-and-yellow C&O EMD NW2 No. 5212, pulling an assortment of freight cars followed by a red-and-white wood-sheathed caboose still lettered "PERE MARQuETTE." Den and I stood near the train for quite a few minutes waiting to see what might happen next. Our attention was dominated by the repetitious, whining "yuh-yuh-- yuh--yuh-yuh" sound of the idling 12-cylinder diesel engine. The only other sound was the occasional clattering of the air compressor that served as a punctuation to the diesel's monotonous throb.

Finally, the trainman emerged from the office and saw us standing attentively near his train holding our cameras and looking interestedly at the diesel engine. "You boys like to come up in the cab and ride with us for a little while?" he asked. Since we had never been asked such a question before, we were unsure as to how we should respond. Our reaction was one of astonished excitement, and we responded in the strongest possible affirmative.

Up the cab steps we climbed behind the trainman and followed him into the confines of the NW2's cab. Our eyes moved quickly to take in the sights of this new world - a world of black upholstered seats and numerous handles and gauges surrounded by large windows that admitted a generous amount of sunlight.

"I'm Clarence Gross and that sleepy looking guy over there is Mr. Roy Walters," the trainman announced. We introduced ourselves and we all shook hands. Mr. Gross explained that as the switching was being done, he would be working on the ground. We were invited to stay in the cab and watch the action. We would, however, have to take turns occupying the fireman's seat.

For the next half hour or so, we rode along as the engine drilled freight cars backward and forward on the tracks near the freight house. The dull throb of the idling engine was replaced by a variety of new sounds - the loud roar of the accelerating diesel, the dull "thunk-thunkthunk" of the bell ringer in a far-off recess somewhere under our feet, and the rush of escaping air each time the brake was applied. Our nostrils were treated to the acrid odor of diesel exhaust, and our kinesthetic senses were repeatedly stimulated by the jolts and vibrations of the moving and stopping locomotive. For us, the excitement of the experience had to have been comparable to that of a compulsive thrill-seeker on his first roller coaster ride!

In what seemed liked no time at all, the switching operations were completed. Den and I grabbed our cameras and moved toward the cab door. Just in time, we thought to invite our hosts to come down to the ground with us to have their picture taken. Our cab ride was ended, but-the memories with which we would recount that wonderful experience had not yet begun their repeated playbacks. They still frequently surface and continue to enhance our railroad recollections.

Over the next forty seven years, there were to be numerous train trips and cab rides of all sorts. But as with so many kinds of experiences in life, the first time was to have been the most memorable!

Copyright Chesapeake and Ohio Historical Society, Inc. May 2000
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