The Circus Train

My Grandfather And His Dray Wagon circa 1895 to Early 1900s

   
     Trains were the lifeblood of towns situated along the railroad tracks during the early 1900s.  By the time Daddy was a teenager, the rail lines extended throughout much of the Midwest, often positioned close to major roads that connected towns large and small.
     Benville, a small village of only a few hundred town residents (the same population as today) was the source of supplies and social activities for a wide radius of farms and farm families surrounding it.  The steam trains,
large, loud, and smokey, brought new residents, visitors, food, farm equipment and liquor to the community.  Our grandfather, who died several years before I was born, had a small farm within the town limits not far from the train station, on the other side of the tracks, so to speak.  But in those days, the phrase "the other side of the tracks" did not have the negative connotation it does today.
     As children, we absolutely loved to hear Daddy tell stories about when he was a boy almost fifty years earlier.  We hung on his every word.  We must have heard some of those stories dozens of times, but we never tired of them.  He used his training as an actor well.  He knew just how to tweak the telling each time, to always add some new detail we hadn't heard before.
     Daddy thought that living near the railway station was an advantage, particularly since his father was a drayman with a successful delivery business.  He had a wagon and team of horses with which he delivered shipments arriving on the trains to the merchants up and down Main Street.  He was paid for that service and had a profitable business, but our grandfather was somewhat controversial.
     Little Benville was a "wet" town unlike all the neighboring villages which were "dry".  "Wet" meant that the four thriving saloons in Benville, dominating Main Street, were allowed by town ordinance to sell hard liquor by the glass to customers in the saloons.  Dry towns allowed only sale of beer, wine, and packaged hard liquor.  In the evenings, when the chores were done, thirsty farmers flocked to the saloons in Benville for a gay time with friends and neighbors.  Saturday nights were particularly busy and the Benville jail did a good business, too.
     Grandpa Norris provided his dray service to all the Benville merchants with four exceptions.  He refused to haul liquor from the railway to any of the saloons.  Why?  I don't know for certain.  He belonged to the Methodist Church, one of the four active churches attempting to hold Benville sin at bay.  The Methodists were a boring group of people who did not play cards or drink "booze", at least they didn't admit to those activities.  So perhaps his reasons were religious.
     The trains were an important factor in Norris family life.  Given the family business as well as growing up in close proximity to the train tracks, Daddy, as well as most town boys, had a good understanding of train mechanics and procedures.  They personally knew the station master and trainmen who were town's people.  The trains were a daily occurrence and there was always activity in that part of town.
     Railroading was different then.  It was the age of dirty, loud steam locomotives that spewed out coal dust and plumes of white steam.  Routes and switches were obviously not computer-controlled from hundreds of miles away as they are today.  There were no diesel locomotives, Westinghouse brakes, automatic track switches or other paraphernalia, most of which appeared a few years later.  Station masters had detailed train schedules, a telegraph to communicate with the outside world, and local control of the tracks.
     Benville had a double set of tracks.  When a train was due to arrive from out-of -own, a trainman from the station went out to the tracks with a long-handled tool to manually throw the track switch to shift the coming train onto the correct set of tracks.  The opened switch was locked into the new position until the train had passed.  After the train had moved through town, the trainman readjusted the switch as needed, locked it with the tool and went back to the station.  It was a cardinal rule that switches were to be locked at all times and the trainmen or station master were to be in control of the tools.
     Daddy and the Methodist preacher's son were hanging around the tracks one hot summer day, watching as the trainman went about his work.  For whatever reason, the trainman on that day walked away from the switch leaving the switch tool behind in the switch.  Perhaps the trainman knew another train was coming through soon, and he took a "short cut".  Whatever the reason, he broke the cardinal rule and two observant, mischievous youngsters were on the spot, observing everything.
     We children knew this story so well because it was one Daddy told often.  When Daddy, Uncle Chuck (the middle brother), and Uncle Frank were together, they recounted it many times with much laughter over what happened next.  When the trainman disappeared from view, the two boys went over to the switch to have a look.  They pulled and pried the switch with the tool.  They managed to partially open the switch, but it took a lot of muscle and know-how to throw the switch completely, more than either of them had individually or working together.  The switch was stuck half way between the two positions such that any set of train wheels hitting that spot would not have been guided to either set of tracks.  Worried then about being caught, the boys quickly ran off, taking the chance that the trainman would reset the switch correctly before the next train arrived.
     But the trainman didn't come back in time.  A fast moving train with no intention of stopping in  Benville hit the half-open switch at full speed.  The engine and several cars cleared the switch, but then the rails shifted and separated.  The wheels of the following cars jumped the track and derailed, leaving a number of cars laying on their sides or tilted precariously.
     The commotion that followed resulted not as much from the derailment itself as from the actual contents of the train.  Benville, in its relatively short existence, had never experienced anything like it.  The train was on a special run, carrying the Ringling Brother's Circus, billed as The Greatest Show on Earth, to larger towns and cities ahead on the rail line.  On the train were not only the circus employees, big tents, and bedding, but all of the animals and their food as well.
     A number of the big animals that could not be caged escaped from the derailed cars and began wandering around Benville.  It is doubtful that many of the residents had ever seen such animals except in magazines or school books.  One lady got the fright of her life when she looked out into her backyard to find an elephant tangled up in her clothesline with her drying wash.  A number of other large animals including big cats escaped and had to be captured by the experienced circus employees, but no Benville towns people were eaten or bitten.  Overall, no passengers, animals, or townsfolk experienced any serious injuries as a result of the mischief that day.
     The problem of what to do about the derailed train and its contents had to be solved quickly.   The big cats were strictly carnivores, eating only meat.  In a time before electric freezers and refrigerators, a large amount of raw meat was packed in ice on one of the derailed cars.  The ice began to melt quickly in the hot summer weather.
     The top priorities were keeping the animals fed and getting the circus back on its way to the next performance.  The telegraph lines were probably humming that day as another train was summoned.  It arrived quickly, the circus train was reassembled, and it was sent on its way, albeit a day or two late.
     And the consequences for the two naughty boys who had laid low during all the commotion?  Daddy and our uncles never talked about that part of the story.  It is certain that the trainman, if he kept his job, never left a switch open again.  The little town of Benville had stories to tell for years to come, many of which probably grew bigger and bigger with each telling.