Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 213, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 September 1913 — HIS HORRIBLE MOMENT [ARTICLE]

HIS HORRIBLE MOMENT

SUPERINTENDENT OF RAILROAD SUFFERED IN SHORT SPACE. Fault Really His Own, Though That Did Not Mend Matters With Crowd That Had Come With Him to Be “Shown." “That ‘horrible moment* comes to. every man, If he waits long enough,” said a railroad superintendent over the coffee cups at the Transportation Club recently, according to the Chicago Record-Herald Sunday Magazine. And he went bn to tell about his horrible moment.” It was after a big tunnel accident, in which many lives were lost. To the railroad officials —of whom he was one —it was simply a case of an engineer ' disregarding signals. To the horrified public it was another case of irresponsible directors, and a coroner began the investigation with blood in his eye. All the signals were set, swore the superintendent. There was no excuse for the engineer to run by them. In addition to the signal lights and semaphores, there was a torpedo as further warning. Yet the engineer had run by even the torpedo, the explosion of which in the confines of a narrow tunnel is fairly deafening. A torpedo never misses fire. The rim of the locomotive wheel, with 40 tons’ weight behind it, touches it off. To give the coroner and his jury an object lesson in the art of railroading, the superintendent called out his pony engine, fitted with an observation cab, and invited them to see for themselves. They all climbed into the cab —coroner, jury, reporters, assistant district attorney. As the engine swept along, the superintendent pointed out the signals, which he had ordered set at the time of the accident. "Even if we ran by all of these,” he said, ‘‘we can’t miss the torpedo. There it is, just beyond that green light." The company held its breath and waited as the engine rolled forward. It rolled on the torpedo, rolled over it. Not a sound! The forpedo might have been sawdust, for all the evidence it gave. ‘‘That was my horrible moment,” said the superintendent. “It ought' to have gone off; but it didn't, that was all there was to it. The coroner looked at me, the jury looked at me, the reporters ditto, also the assistant district attorney. The flesh on the back of my neck crawled. *‘lt was my engineer who came to my rescue. That pony engine was the trouble. It was a toy engine. The flanges on the drive-wheels weren’t so long by a half as the flanges on a regulation driver. It cleared the fulminating cap by a full quarter of an inch. The joke was on me. “I did the best thing I could to straighten affairs out. I sent a hurry order to the yards for a regulation locomotive. The , bunch was frosty when I explained the matter to them, and they climbed aboard somewhat skeptical. They didn’t want explanations; they wanted results with the regulation locomotive. I banged a dozen torpedoes for them, just to clean up my record; but to this day the public is sure that that engineer was a scape goat”