The Conductor and
the Puddlejumper "We'll give them a good ride," the man in the black conductor's suit would always say as he helped us up the big steps of the funny looking railcar. It was an annual ritual, catching the Puddlejumper at Spring Lake station, going to Trenton to visit Grandma. Dad would drive us to the station, buy the tickets from the agent, and cross us over to the southbound side. Then, entrusting our young souls to the Pennsylvania Railroad, he'd tell the conductor: "The boys are going to Trenton. Keep an eye on them?" The conductor, who we came to recognize, was a white-haired, impressive man who did justice to his uniform and to his trust. He'd see that we found a seat and had our luggage safely stowed, would give us a wink when he walked by, and made sure we were handed off at Trenton to waiting relatives. Pulling into the station without any engine in front, doodlebug # 4666 always presented an odd appearance. To add to the scene, it always pulled a second car -- an empty passenger car, baggage car, or sometimes even a caboose -- because of some obscure government regulation, we had heard. It had the strength of resolve, however, as it showed its detractors one night when it opened up the blocked New York and Long Branch line by pushing onto a siding a full Jersey Central train whose newfangled diesel had broken down!
A bunch of high school girls always got on in the morning at Freehold, heading for a parochial school in Trenton. They were the reason the Red Bank to Trenton service still ran. Efforts by the Pennsy to replace the doodlebug with bus service were fought off for years. The girls would giggle, do homework, share a snack or a confidence with the conductor. Freehold was a stop where the Puddlejumper would wait -- other than an occasional freight train there was no other traffic on the line -- while the conductor or trainman slipped into the station to return with coffee or food for any interested passengers. At Christmas the car was decorated by the girls. It was family. This perhaps was what doodlebugs were all about. We never knew the conductor's name until one day the Asbury Park Press announced that that very evening he was making his last run before his retirement. Seeing the article just in time, Dad grabbed us up and we headed for the station, to be among the many nameless friends who shook his hand and wished him well. Somewhat embarrassed, as he had been at stops all along the line that night, the conductor consulted his watch and saw that the Puddlejumper was now running late. Shaking yet one more hand, he gave a friendly wave, and with two tugs on the cord rode out of our life, a picture of the dependability and civility that had marked the finest era of railroad passenger service.
Only a few years later, on May 29, 1962, the Puddlejumper itself retired from that run, ending regular use of the branch line that had once carried the famous and wealthy from Philadelphia to the north Jersey shore. Its last trip was not unlike the conductor's. Leaving Trenton amid whistle salutes from the bigger trains it had shared the busy tracks with, the diminutive vehicle moved for the last time past Monmouth Junction and through the small towns, beginning to run late as people came out to greet it at every stop. It turned out to be one of life's little dramas -- a band appeared at one station. A wreath was placed on the front of the car. A crossing guard, after protecting the crossing for the last time, threw aside his sign to climb aboard for the last ride, joining other dignitaries and a growing crowd of the everyday people the car had served so well. Along the way, policemen saluted. People waved and some reportedly bowed their heads. Arriving only twelve minutes late at Red Bank, riders now vied to be the last one off the now full car. Shortly, a relief crew appeared. As one observer remembered, amid the flashing of bulbs and the clicking of shutters, Pennsylvania Railroad No. 4666 once again responded to the highball and left Red Bank to disappear into the evening haze. A year later, it was retired from service on the Pennsy, the last of its kind in regular use.
Now, learning that it had survived these nearly thirty years, and seeing its reality emerge from the haze of memory, one could only wonder what memories the old car itself held. Poised with foot on that high step to climb aboard once again, I heard the sound come forth: "Keep an eye on the boys...." "We'll give them a good ride!" Note: A version of this article appeared in Railpace Magazine in September 1991; the author wrote about several surviving doodlebugs in the July 1991 issue of Milepost, the journal of the Friends of the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania. The Pennsylvania Railroad Car. No. 4666 had enjoyed several additional decades, first in storage, then operating in tourist service on the New Hope and Ivyland RR in New Hope, PA, followed by service on the Black River and Western RR in Ringoes, NJ. It currently is privately owned, and when last seen in September 2001 on a siding in Ringoes, was in process of extensive repairs. Sadly worn from its years, its spirit seemed unbowed in the quiet, dignified way that reflected its seventy years of service. Back to
Top |
Upon
reaching Sea Girt on its morning run to Trenton, it would leave the New
York and Long Branch tracks and turn west onto what we later learned was
the Freehold and Jamesburg Agricultural railway, owned by the Pennsy.
Passing through central Jersey's fields and small towns, the branches
swiping at the windows, we looked out on an America that is no more. The
people sometimes looked back at us, especially when the car went down the
middle of main street in Jamesburg at that seemingly loose car that
appeared twice each day, Mondays to Fridays only, mind you, once in each
direction. Quite a picture it was! (Seen above in 1961 leaving Manasquan
Station -- Jack Raymus photo.)
Life
inside the car was an unchanging ritual, yet never dull. A few regulars
would get on or off at the small town stops and head for their usual seat.
The engine would roar as it mustered strength to move forward. A friendly
exchange between conductor and passenger as the ticket was punched, and
then just the gentle rock of the car as it burbled along. As it got closer
to Trenton, it seemed to shrink in size, and often had to wait before
entering the main line for the bigger trains to pass by.
According
to the paper, he had spent his career on the Pennsy and by virtue of
seniority had claimed this run. Because it left Red Bank at 6:28 AM, and
did not return until 7:10 PM, with a long layover in Trenton (as seen at
right in 1963), it called for additional pay. The man was worth it. On
that little car he brought dignity to the meaning of the "Standard
Railroad of the World," even in the Pennsy's declining years. Later
we found out his name was Howard Reynolds, and others who had ridden with
him confirmed his friendly but dignified character.