Monthly Calendar Report for July, 2009

The famed “Hawksbill Creek Swimming-Hole” shot. It’s August of 1956. (Photo by O. Winston Link.)

—The July 2009 entry of my O. Winston Link “Steam and Steel” calendar is one of his most famous photographs ever, the “Hawksbill Creek Swimming-Hole” picture.
In daylight, the Hawksbill Creek Swimming-Hole in Luray, VA isn’t very photogenic.
Link took photographs here in daylight, but they aren’t this. The sun is behind the train, and to the right.
Worst of all are decrepit mill buildings trackside and overlooking the creek — at least three stories, maybe four. —The buildings loom over everything.
Link cropped out the mill buildings, or at least set up his photograph to not include them.
They would have been a monstrous distraction. The photo works because of no mill buildings.
And so we have another classic Link nightime shot, with 89 bazilyun flashbulbs.

Photo by O. Winston Link.

The swimming-pool picture.

This is much better than backlighted sunlight.
Children splash in the swimmin’ hole, and a giant Y6 articulated (2-8-8-2) rumbles over the bridge.
Link took other swimming pictures, e.g. the swimming-pool picture at left, in Welch, WV.
The swimming-pool picture is okay, but not the Hawksbill Creek Swimming-Hole picture.
As art, the Hawksbill Creek Swimming-Hole picture isn’t that much, but Link was more a master of photo illustration, which it is.


It’s a Hemi. (Photo by David Newhardt.)

—The July 2009 entry of my Motorbooks Musclecars calendar is a 1969 Dodge Charger R/T.
Anything “Hemi” (“HEM-eee”) is probably the most collectible musclecar of all.
This car is probably worth $100,000 or more.
The Hemi came in three iterations, -a) the early ones from 1951 through the 1958 model-year; -b) the second ones — which this car is; and -c) the current iteration now available.
“Hemi” stands for hemispherical combustion-chambers, a special arrangement where the intake and exhaust valves (poppets) were splayed at 90° to the crankshaft.
Usually the intake and exhaust valves in a post-war V8 lined up in a row, parallel to the crankshaft. That way only one rocker-shaft was required to make the valves overhead.
But this involved compromise. If the intakes were aimed at the carburetor, the exhaust valves also aimed at the carburetor; instead of the exhaust manifold. —This was okay if both intake and exhaust exited the top of the cylinder-heads, but standard practice was to exit the exhausts out the opposite sides of the cylinder-heads.
The end result of a single rocker-shaft was intakes aimed at the carburetor, but exhausts aimed the wrong way.
Contorted exhaust routing caused poor engine-breathing.
The Hemi addressed this by having two rocker-shafts; allowing the intake-valves to be aimed at the carburetor, and exhaust-valves to be aimed toward the side-mounted exhaust manifolds. —Another solution was ball-stud rockers; an idea that debuted in the 1955 model-year; both Pontiac and Chevrolet. No rocker-shafts, which meant the valves could be splayed like a Hemi. But the splaying of valves with ball-stud rockers didn’t debut until the Chevy Big-Block in the 1965 model-year.
In a Hemi, the intake and exhaust valves could be turned 90° relative to the crankshaft; intakes aimed straight at the carburetor, and exhausts aimed straight at the exhaust-manifold.
Such an arrangement breathed much better than the standard post-war V8, but there was a penalty: weight.
A cylinder-head casting to accommodate such an arrangement was immense; a large heavy cast-iron casting.
The early Hemi was Chrysler Corporation’s attempt to one-up the competition; the post-war V8s introduced in the 1949 model-year, mainly Oldsmobile and Cadillac.
It was mainly a Chrysler application, although Dodge and Desoto also had Hemis.
The early Hemi wasn’t known as “Hemi;” it was “FireDome,” etc.
The fact it was a hemispherical combustion-chamber wasn’t played up by calling it the “Hemi.” —Although hot-rodders did.
The “FireDome” V8s cost a lot to produce, so although high-speed power output could be prolific, the early Hemi V8s only lasted until the 1958 model-year. The hemispherical combustion-chamber was replaced by standard practice; one rocker-shaft with valves in a row. Power output could be made large, by making the engine large — 440 cubic inches.
This was known as the “B-block,” and had drag-racing success.
Such a motor could be made immensely powerful, but the NASCAR boys were itching for the high-speed power output of a Hemi.
So hemi-heads were grafted onto the B-block, producing Hemi iteration number two.
NASCAR required that such a motor be available to the general public, so it was brought to market in the Dodge Charger and various Plymouths. (There also were Hemi pony-cars; e.g. the Plymouth Barracuda, and the Dodge Challenger.)
By now it was called the “Hemi;” and was at 426 cubic inches, the NASCAR displacement. (NASCAR at that time was limited to seven liters; 427 cubic inches.)
It became nicknamed “the elephant motor,” mainly because it was so powerful.
The main thing was that it developed prodigious amounts of horsepower at high engine speeds; the result of its free-breathing hemispherical combustion-chambers.

He’s got the chalkboard inside the Charger’s rear wing.

Hemi iteration number two was fairly successful as a Chrysler option on Dodges and Plymouths, and even powered the first NASCAR stocker to lap at over 200 mph, Buddy Baker in a winged Charger Daytona in 1970 at the gigantic Talladega racetrack in Alabama.
The calendar Charger has the sunken rear window glass indented between flying butresses. NASCAR Chargers had a raised rear window that matched the flying butresses — a fastback, sort of.
But NASCAR outlawed the Hemi as too powerful and not very stock.
Now we have iteration number three, the so-called “Hemi” V8 now available.
It’s cashing in on the fabulous Hemi reputation.
Don’t know if it’s hemispherical combustion-chambers (two rocker-shafts), but it appears to be.
It’s also aluminum cylinder-head castings, which aren’t so heavy.
But it’s still only two valves per cylinder, with the valve-actuating camshaft nestled down in the engine-block between the cylinder-heads.
Many motorcycle engines are the free-breathing hemispherical combustion-chambers, but four valves per cylinder with more direct overhead camshaft valve actuation.
No matter, during the ‘70s, the Hemi was an extraordinary engine.
An editor at Car & Driver magazine even got one to store in his basement.


Spitfire! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The July 2009 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is one of the most famous warbirds of all time, a Supermarine Spitfire.
The Spitfire is the most venerable WWII warbird to the British, just like the P51 Mustang is to Americans.
The Spit was first flown in March of 1936, and sprang from the design desk of R.J. Mitchell, who had previously submitted an unsuccessful design for a similar fighter, the Type 224. Once given the freedom to design an aircraft outside of the strict Air Ministry specifications, his Type 300 emerged as a clear winner; so much so that a new Air Ministry specification was written to match the new design.
As far as I ever knew (although I’m not sure of it), the Spitfire follows an air-racing seaplane design; and the seaplane had two exposed pontoons.
The Spit is pretty much the same shape, but no pontoons.

Photo by Philip Makanna©.

Hurricane.

It was a phenomenal airplane for its time, although the Battle of Britain was won more by the Hawker Hurricane (pictured at left) — or so I’m told. That and the fact the Germans changed tactics and started bombing civilians instead of factories.
The Spit is powered by a Rolls-Royce Merlin water-cooled V12 engine of 1,478 horsepower, not the Packard-Merlin in the P51 Mustang (1,695 horsepower). —Although the Mk XVI Spit had the Packard-Merlin.
Spitfires saw variations of the Merlin over the years, of increasing horsepower; and even used the larger Rolls-Royce Griffon V12 of 2,250 horsepower. (It used a five-bladed propeller.)
The Merlin V12 is a British design, but apparently more successful than the American Allison V12.
—So successful the Merlin found its way into the P51 Mustang, although the first Mustangs were Allison.
The Merlin was turned over to Packard here in America, and they had the moxie to extract even more power from it.
The Hurricane was also the Merlin V12, but only 1,280 horsepower. The Hurricane and Spitfire were designed at the same time, although the Hurricane was designed to the earlier Air Ministry specification.
But apparently the Hurricane was a match for the German Messerschmitt Bf 109, except in a dive. The Messerschmitt had fuel-injection, so wouldn’t starve for fuel.
The Hurricane even had fabric body covering.
The Spitfire was superior to the Hurricane, but its numbers were not as prolific.
Of interest to me is that exposed tailwheel. Even the tailwheel retracts in a Mustang, although the Mk VII Spit had a retractable tailwheel.


The influence of O. Winston Link. (Photo by Willie Brown.)

—The July 2009 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees calendar is a shot by Norfolk Southern engineer Willie Brown of his 9-year-old son Will fishing in Captana Creek near Powhatan, OH.
It’s a classic O. Winston Link shot — human interest with railroading in the background.
The calendar mentions that father Willie is a railfan, yet his son Will isn’t.
The only way Dad can get Will to join him on railfan jaunts is to promise fishing.
I can understand this.
I’m a railfan, yet my father wasn’t.
My younger brother Bill isn’t, yet his son Tom is.
My friend Chip (Charles Walker, a Transit employee) was a railfan, and tried to pass that along to his son Tim, but it crashed.
Chip would visit to watch my train videos, and bring along son Tim.
Within seconds his son Tim was bored-to-tears, and became antsy.
Late one night many years ago, I came home from work, and there was my brother Bill’s son Tom, only five, entranced by my train videos.
Next morning we’re quietly eating our breakfast, and I said “It’s 9:10. Right about now Amtrak’s eastbound “Niagara Rainbow” is in the Rochester station, about to leave.
KA-BOOM! We exploded out the door and piled into my brother’s car. Up to the infamous “Cut-Out,” a railfan viewing spot.
The place was popular because it was right before a signal-bridge. When a train was coming, the lights came on.
“Outta the car,” I shouted. “The lights are on. It’s in the block!”
The Niagara appeared, and bore down on us. The boys in the cab had the hammer down — black smoke was pouring out of the engines.
This was back when the Niagara was the Turbo.
I hoisted Tom atop my shoulders, just like my father used to do.
I grabbed Tom’s arm, and we began giving the famous up-and-down signal.
The train flashed by; at least 60 mph into the dawning sun.
But the boys saw our signal: “PRAAAAMMP!”
That’s better than what my father and I got.
We’d set up next to the railroad tracks east of Haddonfield, where the crews had to whistle for road-crossings anyway.
Don’t know if they were whistling for me, but I always thought they were.
It was the Pennsylvania-Reading (“REDD-ing,” not “READ-ing”) Seashore Lines (PRSL), and the engines were still steam — usually Pennsylvania Railroad K4 Pacifics (4-6-2), with the gorgeous red keystone number-plate on the front smokebox door.
(PRSL also ran Reading steam, but they were ugly.)
My father and brother understood, I guess, even though they weren’t railfans.
They humored us.
My mother noisily declared railfaning was stupid. —If a train was at the Haddonfield station, I’d drive my mother crazy wanting to see it.
Sometimes I think it was those old steam-engines that did it, or perhaps the GG1 electric locomotive in northern Delaware after our family moved there. —I saw many.
Anyone who’s read this blog, knows I think the Pennsylvania Railroad’s GG1 is the greatest railroad locomotive of all time.
But steam-engines were no longer around for Tom, and I’m not sure he even saw a GG1.
Every time I saw one, it was doing 80-100 mph.
So why is Tom a railfan?
I know I’m also a sucker for the fact 89 bazilyun tons of hurtling steel can be kept on path by tiny flanges following a fixed guideway.
And that railroading can be so efficient; moving gobs of freight with little effort.
There also is the fact a railroad requires so little land compared to a highway.
The only caveat is that grades be kept minimal; less than 1% is optimal. (That’s one foot of climb every 100 feet forward.)
Interstate highways approach 6%, and regular highways go steeper.
For that, one truck-tractor works fine. But that’s only pulling one-or-two trailers. A train can move over 200.
So my whole life has been spent chasing trains. My wife wonders why every vacation seems to involve chasing trains.
It’s taken me all over the country, including out west.
I remember backing our HUGE E250 Ford van up a dirt road up a mountainside, out in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming, along Union Pacific’s famous Sherman Hill line.
I also remember driving that van through a culvert under UP’s Harriman line, and reaching up top to make sure the van cleared.

Photo by the so-called “old guy” with the Pentax Spotmatic camera.

This is in the ‘80s, when she was still burning coal. (Since converted to burn fuel-oil.)

I have a train-video of a restored Union Pacific steam-locomotive climbing the Harriman. I recognized the barbed-wire fence in that video. I stood atop that fence once to photograph the same locomotive, #3985, the largest restored steam-locomotive running, a 4-6-6-4 articulated (picture at left).
I of course have ridden behind it, and many others.
Once I rode behind restored Nickel Plate steam-locomotive #765 up New River Gorge in West Virginia.
A railfan epiphany. That thing was boomin’-and-zoomin’. 75+ mph.
We’d blast upon road-crossings, whistle screaming. Up on the hillside were little kids waving with their mothers.
I cried. Eons ago, that was my father and me.
41+ years married to a railfan. Been to places we’d never have seen.
“Beats chasing women,” my wife always says.


A customized ‘36 Ford roadster.

—The July 2009 entry of my Oxman hot-rod calendar is more a custom than a hot-rod — a hot-rod meant more to look unique, than just go fast.
It’s a 1936 Ford roadster, not that much a hot-rod to me.
But one has to remember two things:
—A) ‘30s Fords were cheap and plentiful.
—B) They could accommodate Old Henry’s Flat-head V8 (many came with it), around which a giant hot-rodding industry sprang up.
Also a factor was that the ‘30s Fords were some of the most attractively styled cars of all time.
The ‘32 and ‘34 Fords are the standards by which all hot-rods are judged. They were eminently attractive as hot-rods; very spare yet stylish.
The first ideal hot-rods were the ‘32s with a souped-up Flat-head V8.
The Chevrolet Small-Block V8, introduced in the 1955 model-year, replaced the Flat-head as the engine-of-choice; but the ‘32 Ford was still the most desirable — just powered by Chevrolet.
The car pictured is more a custom than a hot-rod; especially with it’s styled-on Lasalle grille.
It’s still pretty much a hot-rod in function, but more a custom in appearance.
I guess it could be drag-raced, but it looks more like a kroozer — more for picking up girls than trouncing competitors.

Now for my two most moribund calendars, although the sportscar calendar looks great. It’s just an unappealing car.


Nearly new Fairbanks Morse C-Liners near Duncannon in 1956. (Photo by Martin K. Zak©.)

—The July 2009 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs B&W All-Pennsy Calendar is Fairbanks Morse C-Liners on a freight-train near Duncannon on the Pennsy main.
It’s kind of a dumb picture, but I run it because it demonstrates the predicament Pennsy found itself in because it held off so long from dieselizing.
Pennsy was one of the final holdouts against dieselization. The last holdout was Norfolk & Western, which Pennsy tried to merge with.
Many railroads started dieselizing in the ‘40s, but not coal-roads like Pennsy and Norfolk & Western.
Coal was the fuel steam locomotives burned. To give up on steam locomotion was a slap-in-the-face to a major cargo.
But the handwriting was on the wall.
Steam locomotion needed much heavy maintenance, plus lineside coaling stations and water-towers.
Ditching steam locomotion meant ditching many costly facilities, and an army of maintainers.
Diesel-electrics were better suited to railroad operations; moving heavy trains slowly over mountains.
Steam locomotion was economy champ at high speed. Yet most railroads, especially Pennsy, weren’t configured for fast running.
West of the Appalachians they were, but in Pennsylvania they weren’t.
For dragging heavy trains over mountains, diesel-electric was champ.
So by 1950, Pennsy started to make the great switch.
Trouble was, it needed so many locomotives, the best diesel locomotive supplier at that time, General Motors’ Electromotive Division (EMD), couldn’t possibly fulfill the need.
Pennsy had to buy diesel locomotives from everybody and anybody, including suppliers inferior to EMD.
Worst of all was Baldwin, the locomotive manufacturer located near Philadelphia on Pennsy, that had built so many steam locomotives for Pennsy of Pennsy design.
Baldwin diesels were unreliable and would cripple on the railroad. Crews loathed them. A cripple ties up the railroad — it blocks track.
Other suppliers were Alco and Lima (“LYE-muh,” not “LEE-muh”)-Hamilton; Alco being the American Locomotive Works, the other major supplier of steam locomotives.
Alcos were fairly reliable, but not as reliable as EMD.
Lima-Hamilton was an outgrowth of Lima Locomotive Works, a third major supplier of steam locomotives, who engineered “SuperPower” in the ‘20s and ‘30s, maximization of steam locomotive power output. —Except SuperPower worked best at high speed — a boiler/firebox that could keep up.
Baldwin eventually merged with Lima-Hamilton into Baldwin-Lima-Hamilton, but BLH eventually tanked.
Another diesel locomotive supplier was Fairbanks-Morse, use of an opposed piston diesel-engine it manufactured for submarines.
I should explain Fairbanks-Morse opposed-piston engines.
Two piston-tops face each other in a common cylinder, with a crankshaft up top, and another at bottom. —The twin cranks are geared to each other.
The pistons approach each other, compressing the air-charge within the cylinder to extremely high pressure and temperature.
As the twin pistons top (bottom crank) and bottom (top crank), a diesel-fuel charge is injected, and it self-ignites and explodes in the hot extremely compressed air-charge; forcing the pistons apart; and turning the crankshafts.
No cylinder-heads. The compressed air-charge is between the approaching pistons.
Usually it’s only one piston in the cylinder-bore approaching the cylinder-head to compress the air-charge.
The amount of diesel-fuel injected determines the power output; there’s no throttling the air-charge. “Run-Eight” is usually the full fuel-charge in an EMD locomotive.
Fairbanks-Morse may have been something else.
The trouble(s) with an opposed piston engine are -a) twice the crankshaft maintenance, and -b) a tall engine package.
Also, a marine (submarine) engine in a railroad environment is asking for trouble.
A marine environment is placid. A railroad environment is slamming the poor engine around with heavy vibration.
It could be so rough it twisted things, lunching the crankshaft bearings, and even breaking crankshafts.
Yet Pennsy had to buy such things as a consequence of holding off on dieselization.
Fairbanks-Morse eventually stopped making diesel locomotives.
The plant their locomotives were built at was General Electric in Erie, PA — prompting the name “Erie-builts.”
Fairbanks-Morse didn’t have the factory capacity to manufacture railroad locomotives.
The locos pictured are Fairbanks-Morse’s “Consolidation-line;” C-liners.
The C-liners were Fairbanks-Morse’s second line a diesel locomotives, manufactured from 1950 to 1956.
Not many were built — only 165; 99 in the U.S. — most purchased by Pennsy and New York Central.
Pennsy didn’t get state-of-the-art diesel locomotive operation until it became mostly EMD later. The Baldwins and Fairbanks-Morse and Lima-Hamiltons were junked.
The General Electric plant in Erie went on to manufacture its own diesel railroad locomotives, prompting Alco to tank.
GE had been supplying electrical components; e.g. traction-motors and generators.
They were called “Alco-GE.”


An ultra-rare Monteverdi HAI grand-touring car; 1971.

—The July entry of my Oxman legendary sportscar calendar is a 1971 Monteverdi (“mahn-tuh-VAIR-deee”) HAI grand-touring car; another reaction to the intransigence of Ferrari like DeTomaso (“de-to-MAH-so;” as in “oh”) and Lamborghini (“lamb-or-GEE-nee;” as in “guy”).
Enzo demanded his dealer in Switzerland pay an advance for 100 cars, and his dealer in Switzerland went ballistic.
The result was the Monteverdi HAI, and this was the prototype, that appeared at the Geneva Auto Show in 1970. (Monteverdi had built earlier cars.)
Unfortunately it looks rather turgid, unlike some of the graceful cars that came out of Ferrari.
It’s only noticeable feature is its lowness. You’re sitting on the pavement.
It’s powered by a 450 horsepower Chrysler Hemi engine, good for 4.9 seconds to 60, and a top speed of 180 mph; if you dare.
At that speed I bet that front-end was hunting all over the place. It’s channeling air under the car. It would fly like a shingle. Aerodynamics was not what it is now.
The Monteverdi HAI didn’t do very well; they only produced a few cars. They claim as many as 14, but automotive historians say four.
DeTomaso tanked too; its Mangusta (“Mahn-GOOSE-tuh”) handled poorly (relative to a Ferrari), despite looking great. Like the Monteverdi it also had Detroit power, the Ford 302 Small-Block.
It was mid-engine. The Monteverdi HAI also mid-engine, but the Hemi.
Following the Mangusta was the DeTomaso Pantera (“pan-TAIR-uh”), marketed by Lincoln-Mercury dealers. It too had a mid-engine Ford V8, the 351 Cleveland motor. And it was much cheaper and better than the Mangusta.
The Pantera is still a concept I lust after.
Another product of the tempestuous Italian supercar industry was the Bizzarrini 5300 GT. It had Corvette power.
Only Lamborghini survives. Monteverdi tanked in 1984.