The Broadway Doesn’t Stop at Plymouth
In fall 1957 I was a first-year cadet at Culver Military Academy. Our family then lived in Hamilton, OH, where my dad was employed as director of engineering for Baldwin-Lima-Hamilton, the amalgamation of Baldwin Locomotive Works, Lima Locomotive Works and other companies. At the time I had little knowledge of – or appreciation for – Dad’s close personal association with senior officials of most eastern railroads, including the mighty Pennsylvania.
My folks visited me on the weekend of Culver’s annual “Fall Festival,” during which Dad mentioned that Sunday evening he’d be going on to New York for a meeting of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers. He planned to catch the Broadway Limited at Plymouth, Being 15-years-old and having read all the copies of Trains he brought home, I was expert enough in “things railroad.” I knew that PRR’s flagship passenger train was really hot stuff. My excitement rose knowing I’d soon see this railroad icon up close.
On Sunday afternoon we drove to Plymouth, arriving well ahead of Dad’s estimated arrival time of train 28. Since the Broadway Limited was scheduled to run non-stop from Englewood to Fort Wayne, the public timetable showed no station stop at Plymouth, although the county seat of Marshall County was a busy railroad junction in the late 1950s. In addition to the Pennsy’s very busy main line between Chicago and the East, the PRR branch between Logansport and South Bend crossed not only the main line but also Nickel Plate Road’s Argos-to-Michigan City branch.
Plymouth Tower was manned around the clock. I dutifully deposited Dad’s luggage on the platform and proceeded to the tower to check the Broadway Limited’s progress. Eyeing my Culver uniform, the veteran operator, who probably had seen it all, finally responded to my query: “Son, the Broadway doesn’t stop at Plymouth.”
Applying my vast knowledge of Pennsylvania train numbers, I retorted, “Sir, No. 28 will stop here tonight to pick up my father, who’s waiting in the car.” Figuring there was no possibility I could be correct, he calmly pulled the scissor phone toward him and contacted the Fort Wayne Division dispatcher:
DISPATCHER: (shuffling through papers): Well, YEAH, Gene. Got a message 28’s to pick up a Mr. Van Schwartz on the rear car. It was on time out of Englewood. Give me an OS when he leaves.
“OPERATOR: Plymouth, got a rumor that 28’s gonna stop here tonight.
OPERATOR: Been around this road for 34 years, never seen this before.
DISPATCHER: Me neither, Gene. Me neither.
Maybe, just maybe, Gene was going to take this upstart 15-year-old seriously. After all, he was part of the plot to stop the Pennsylvania Railroad’s premier passenger train at the small town of Plymouth. Still skeptical, he reached for the handset of Pennsy’s inductive Train Phone system.
OPERATOR: Plymouth to No. 28. Ya gonna stop here tonight?
ENGINEER ON 28: That’s right, Plymouth. We just hit the diamond at Hamlet and will be there directly. Have this guy ready for us to grab him.
OPERATOR: Been around this road for 34 years, never seen this before.
ENGINEER ON 28: Me neither, Gene. Me neither.
OPERATOR: (to me): Your father must be somebody to pull this off. You get him ready, or I’ll catch hell for the delay.”
I smiled, waved, and headed out the door and down the tower steps. Our family name was not to be sullied by delaying the Broadway Limited.
The orange glow of the setting sun on the western horizon soon was replaced by the orange glow of an eastbound headlight. The air filled with blue smoke from heaving braking as three E units thumped over the crossing diamonds. There is no way this train would stop on the platform! The growl of the passing Es was quickly followed by the subdued interior lights of Pullmans, a double-unit diner and more Pullmans – the scene made even more magical by the clouds of brake-shoe smoke. As the observation car approached, Dad positioned himself to board the train.
In a technical sense, Operator Gene’s worst nightmare – the Broadway Limited stopping at Plymouth, IN – did not happen that night so long ago. The Broadway only slowed down to pick up my father! As the observation car drew near, I spotted a burly Pullman porter on the bottom step of the vestibule, right arm extended. In one deft move, the porter scooped up Dad – luggage and all – and deposited him on the step next to him.
From my vantage point, I could see the rear trainman yank twice on the communicating cord (handset radios were still years away). Six 567 diesels roared an answer as the veteran engineer accelerated the Broadway out of town. The observation car’s name, Mountain View, was clearly visible, and I turned east to watch the marker lights and illuminated Broadway Limited sign quickly disappear from sight. The entire event had taken less than a minute!
I never knew what Operator Gene reported to the train dispatcher regarding the “delay” to No. 28 and, in retrospect, I doubt the event ever made the next morning report in the sacrosanct halls of PRR’s Philadelphia headquarters. As I learned in the years to come, some things are better left unsaid or unreported.
(Note: So when the engineer said,” Have this guy ready for us to grab him,” that was exactly what he meant!)