Monthly Calendar-Report for March 2014

Rare 500-series engine on the eastbound Pennsylvanian. (Photo by Tom Hughes.)

— The March 2014 entry of my own calendar is another photograph by Tom Hughes, my railfan nephew from northern Delaware.
Tom is the only child of my younger brother Bill, who is not a railfan.
Pictured is Amtrak’s eastbound Pennsylvanian.

Amtrak’s eastbound Broadway Limited threads Gallitzin, PA. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

Years ago the Pennsylvania Railroad, which this railroad was — now it’s Norfolk Southern — had many passenger-trains every day.
Many were through to Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, St. Louis, etc. Even Amtrak continued Pennsy’s Broadway Limited to-and-from Chicago for a while.
I snagged a photo of it back in 2003, which I’d run in my calendar, but it’s vertical, and verticals don’t work with Shutterfly.
But Amtrak discontinued the Broadway.
Only one passenger-train remains on this railroad, Amtrak’s Pennsylvanian, both eastbound and westbound (two trains).

Amtrak’s westbound Pennsylvanian blasts Summerhill, PA on the old Pennsy main. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

And that train is state-sponsored; that is, it wouldn’t run except the State of PA is sponsoring it.
And it isn’t through. It’s only Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, although it may go up to New York City from Philadelphia.
East of Harrisburg it’s on Amtrak’s electrified Keystone Corridor, the old Pennsy Philadelphia-to-Harrisburg line.

Eastbound Pennsylvanian on Amtrak’s electrified Keystone Corridor. (Photo by BobbaLew with Tom Hughes.)

I managed to snag it with an electric locomotive, an Amtrak AEM-7, through Gap. PA. Gap is on Amtrak’s Keystone Corridor.
It’s a gap in the low ridge that has to be crossed to get to Harrisburg.
I was there with my nephew Tom. He was able to follow the train on his smartphone. He had it leaving Lancaster, so we wouldn’t have to wait long.
Trains can’t boom through Gap; too many tight curves.
The locomotive in Tom’s picture is rare. Usually Amtrak passenger-trains are pulled by General-Electric’s Genesis units, what’s pulling the Broadway.
513 is essentially General-Electric’s freight-diesel configured for passenger-duty.
Rare as they may be, I’ve seen 500-series engines many times on Amtrak’s Pennsylvanian.
The picture is off the 24th St. overpass in Altoona over Slope Interlocking.
Slope is the beginning of the vast Altoona yard complex to the east, and The Hill over Allegheny Mountain to the west.
Both Tom and I shot this train, but I had my gigantic telephoto lens on my camera. A more normal lens would have been far better, which was what Tom had.



Norfolk Southern Heritage-unit #8102 leads around Horseshoe Curve. (Photo by Lance Myers.)

—The March 2014 entry in my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is Pennsy Heritage-Unit #8102 on Horseshoe Curve.
Norfolk Southern painted 20 of its new locomotives in paint-schemes of predecessor railroads, one of which is Pennsylvania Railroad.
The locomotive is Tuscan-Red (“TUSS-kin;” not “Tucson, Ariz.”) with five gold pinstripes. It’s the paint-scheme applied to many Pennsy passenger locomotives. Tuscan-Red was Pennsy’s passenger color. The five gold pinstripes were called “cat-whiskers,” since they looked like that on Pennsy’s GG-1 electric locomotive. —They merged to a point on the front of the locomotive. 8102 does that too.
Horseshoe Curve is Pennsy’s greatest engineering triumph. It made it possible to cross Allegheny Mountain without insanely steep grades. Previous to Pennsy, Allegheny Mountain had been a barrier to east-west trade.
Pennsy was so proud of Horseshoe Curve, they used to announce the Curve an all Pennsy passenger-trains. And of course you could see the other end of your train.
The Curve became a historical-site; I consider it the greatest of all railfan spots.
The viewing-area is smack in the Curve’s apex.
The trains are right in your face!
And there are many of them; the line is still quite busy.
The Curve is no longer what it was under Pennsy.
Coal-ash from steam locomotives would keep the foliage down; now it’s blocking the view.
A few years ago the old Pennsy signal-bridge was replaced by newer Norfolk Southern signals.

8102 leads a train of empty crude-oil tankcars down The Hill. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

My brother-and-I managed to also snag 8102 on a train of empty crude-oil tankcars down The Hill.
Both he and I shot pretty much the same picture, but his was slightly better.
That picture is the August entry of my own calendar.



Too bad it’s a Model-A. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—The March 2014 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a really great-looking hotrod.
I can accept the flames, and usually I can’t.
It looks like a hotrod should, an immensely strong motor in a roadster body with stock one-piece windshield.
But it’s a Model-A, not a ’32 Ford, which would be okay except it has the Model-A radiator surround.

Note Model-A radiator-surround. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

A ’32 Ford roadster hotrod. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

I always think the ’32 Ford radiator-surround is classic, that it looks better than the Model-A.
A friend, since deceased, was building a Model-A roadster hotrod. It looked great, but mainly because he used the ’32 Ford radiator-surround.
The Model-A roadster looks as good as a ’32 Ford, except for its radiator-surround.
This car would be perfect if it used the ’32 Ford radiator-surround.
My friend never got his hotrod on-the-road. It needed to be wired.
He only had a few weeks, and was entirely clueless.
Friends would come out and try things, and end up blowing things or making things not work.
His car had the 6-volt/12-volt problem. The generator on his motor was 12-volt, yet everything on-the-car was 6-volt. Headlights and taillights would blow.
His car had a hot-rodded ’56 Pontiac V8. He figured it weighed probably 200 pounds more than what had been in there originally.
The frame was ’46 Ford substantially modified to fit the Model-A roadster-body.
His car still had the stock ’46 Ford shocks up front. But they were bottomed by that heavy Pontiac motor.
His car also had the stock ’46 Ford “Banjo” differential — called that because it looked like a banjo.
No way could it have endured the output of his motor.
The car pictured also has a heavy boat-anchor up front; except the ’57 Chrysler Hemi (“HEM-eee;” not “he-me”) was an incredibly powerful boat-anchor.
Plus the engine has a 6-71 blower on top. With that and those massive cast-iron hemi cylinder-heads, we’ve added 300-400 pounds more than what was there originally.
One hopes adequate front-suspension (shocks and springing) was installed to offset the added weight.
What it needs is the ’32 Ford radiator-shell.
My friend had the right attitude, one I agree with. “A hotrod is no fun if ya can’t drive it. The bitch has to run!”



Newish Pennsy F7s in Oil City, PA. (Mitchell Dakelman Collection©.)

The March 2014 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a brace of Pennsy F7 diesel-units in 1952.
The engines were built in 1950, and in essence were the final nail in the coffin of Pennsy steam.
Pennsy had F3s, but no FTs. The FT was the first EMD diesel freight-unit of the cab model, followed by the F2 and then the F3. The FT and F2 were both 1,350 horsepower, but the F3 was 1,500 horsepower — as was the F7.
“EMD” was General-Motors’ Electromotive Division for years, but GM sold it to Caterpillar with the recent GM bankruptcy.
The FT was introduced in 1939, and was configuring a submarine diesel for railroad service. The FT was produced in coupled sets of A- and cabless B-units, totaling 2,700 horsepower, coupled by a semi-permanent drawbar.
The railroads coupled two of these sets together to make four units totaling 5,400 horsepower.
The FT’s submarine diesel was slightly modified for railroad service; it used a 45-degree V separation instead of 40 degrees, and had a slightly shorter stroke.
Railroads were soon ditching semi-permanent coupling of diesel-units in favor of regular coupling of units and MU-ing (units in multiple = one engineer controlling multiple units; although FTs could be MU-ed).
Which why we see three units here, two cab-units surrounding a single cabless. —Although EMD also sold its F-units in sets of three semi-permanently coupled units.
Pennsy, a heavy coal-shipper, tried to stick with coal-fired steam-locomotion well after many railroads dieselized.
But the economic pressure to dieselize was immense. Not only could diesels operate without the lineside coal towers and water-towers you see in this picture. They also were better delivering their power.
Steam delivered its power through thrusting siderods. With thrusts those driving-wheels were prone to slip.
Most diesels are diesel-electric. The diesel-engine cranks a generator that powers electric traction-motors in the driving-wheel axles. Driving-torque was continuous, not thrusting. It was why some railroads tried electrification with wires.
Electrification was better than steam-locomotion. Diesel-electrics were electrification without wires, although marginal at first.
Marginal as it may have been, diesel-electrics were better for operating a railroad than steam.

Nickel-Plate 765, the BEST restored steam-locomotive of all, was in Altoona for employee-appreciation trips. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

Steam is of course more dramatic. I remember how railfans complained when railroads dieselized.
Steam-electrics were tried. Coal would be burned to boil steam that cranked an electric generator via a turbine. Sometimes the burning coal cranked the turbine directly. But usually the turbine couldn’t endure the flying ash.
So even heavy coal-shippers, like Pennsy and Norfolk & Western, eventually dieselized. With dieselization those coal and water-towers could be taken down.
All that was needed was a fuel-rack, and unlike coal, which was more difficult to transport, diesel-fuel was liquid.
With the F7, Pennsy was signaling the end of steam.
If it’s 1952, and those locomotives were built in 1950, they aren’t very new.
But they’re still as-delivered. The streamlined front coupler-pocket is still there, and the locomotive-number is still in the keystone up front.
Oil City is in the oil-patch in northwestern PA. The capture of crude-oil from oil-wells began in northwestern PA.



A 1970 440-6Pak RoadRunner. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—The March 2014 entry in my Motorbooks Musclecar calendar is a 1970 440-6Pak Plymouth RoadRunner.
The RoadRunner was Plymouth getting back to musclecar roots, although I wouldn’t call the standard RoadRunner a musclecar.
It doesn’t have a gigantic hot-rodded engine, over 400 cubic-inches. To me a musclecar needs that giant motor.
The stock RoadRunner was only 383 cubic inches, which is still pretty large. But not gigantic. Musclecar roots were basic transportation with hotrod motor and four-speed floorshift.
Pontiac debuted the idea with its G-T-O, but musclecar prices were getting extreme. The average Joe could no longer afford a musclecar.
But he could afford a RoadRunner.
A fabulous street-racer to make the owner of a souped-up Tri-Chevy trade his car.
The Tri-Chevys are 1955 through ’57, and introduced Chevrolet’s fabulous SmallBlock V8.
RoadRunners were a smashing success.
And this RoadRunner is a 440-6Pak, which means it ain’t the 383. 440 cubic-inches and three two-barrel carburetors. A 440 makes it a musclecar.
Trembling bodywork and shake the pavement!

This is a 1969.

Note different grill. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

Also, this RoadRunner is still of the first generation, 1968 through 1970.
That first generation is the best-looking of the RoadRunners. The second generation, 1971 through 1975 (the end), looks bloated.
The 1970 RoadRunner is still the attractive, lean body of the first RoadRunners, but the grill was redesigned.
The calendar-car is also the famous purple paint — “In-Violet Metallic” (“Grape?”) — which looked fine, but usually degraded. Areas of the purple paint turned blotchy.
It was worse-looking than how silver auto-paint often faded.
My family had a silver ’57 Chevy Bel Air stationwagon which looked fine when I was around, but began to look awful after I left.
That Chevy was purchased while I was in college, and lasted until well after I graduated, moved to Rochester (NY), and got married.
My family still lived in northern DE at that time. (I’m the oldest child.)
Chrysler fielded numerous cars in this color. Seems every one I saw turned blotchy.
I never really liked the RoadRunner; it was too big!
But it looked great, and the concept was great too.
A 1970 RoadRunner almost looks better than ’68-’69.


M-1 Mountain (4-8-2) leads freight off Rockville Bridge. (Photo by Fred Kern.)

—The March 2014 entry of my All-Pennsy color calendar is a Pennsy freight-train, pulled by a Mountain steam-engine (4-8-2), pulling off Pennsy’s Rockville Bridge toward Enola (“aye-NOLE-uh;” as in “hay”) Yard down the Susquehanna (“suss-kwee-HA-nuh”) river across from Harrisburg.
Enola is the yard Pennsy built because Harrisburg was congested.
Freight often got shuttled from Harrisburg to Enola Yard.
Enola had become Pennsy’s dispatching center for freight west. Lines from the east funneled into it.
But Pennsy had a Mikado (2-8-2) for shuttling freight to Harrisburg, or else back.

Mikado (2-8-2) leaves Enola with transfer for Harrisburg. (Photo by Don Wood©.)

The fact this train is pulled by an M1 Mountain (4-8-2) tells me it may be from Buffalo or Erie.
Freight-trains to the north were often pulled by Mountains.
Rockville Bridge was Pennsy’s original crossing of the Susquehanna.
The bridge pictured, a massive stone-arch constructed between April 1900 and finished in April 1902, is installation number-three.
The first bridge, I think, was wood, and only two tracks.
The Susquehanna was a barrier between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh.
I think the second bridge was iron, but still only two tracks.
By then Pennsy was moving a HUGE amount of freight, and Rockville was a bottleneck.
The stone-arch is still the current bridge, but can accommodate four tracks. It remained four tracks a long time, but some were removed. Parts of the bridge are two tracks, and parts are three.
It’s 48 stone arches of 70-foot span, 3,820 feet long total bridge-length.
It doesn’t need to be high. The Susquehanna isn’t deep enough for sea-going navigation. Rockville doesn’t need to clear ships.

The old Reading bridge in Harrisburg. (Photo by Bruce Kerr.)

With the opening of Enola Yard, Rockville was no longer as important as it was.
Enola is on the wrong shore of the Susquehanna from Harrisburg, but there are numerous railroad-bridges across the river to Enola other than Rockville.
Reading Railroad (“REDD-ing;” not “REED-ing”) had one (above). The bridge is now part of Norfolk Southern, which Pennsy became after Conrail was split up and sold in 1999.
But Rockville soldiers on. It would take a direct hit from a thermonuclear warhead to remove it.



There will always be an England! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—HUP-HUP!
The March 2014 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar to me is laughable.
The guy in rear cockpit, the machine-gunner, is standing at attention and saluting in front of a waving Union-Jack.
Stiff upper-lip, I tell ya.
Especially when the Messerschmitts blast this turkey outta the air. —And you die in flames.
The airplane is a Fairey “Swordfish.”
Every time I see this picture, and I’m gonna have to look at it an entire month, I think of Gilbert & Sullivan.
This airplane, and its saluting machine-gunner, are worthy of a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta.
Gilbert & Sullivan had a field-day with the British military, making fun of its fustianism.
“I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General” from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance.
I can visualize some bespectacled desk-jockey speccing the Fairey Swordfish, oblivious that Hitler’s Luftwaffe would be all-over-it, and blast it out of the sky.
As if a stiff upper-lip is gonna overcome the Luftwaffe.
The airplane crashes in flames, killing its pilot and machine-gunner. But that desk-jockey is still gallantly sipping his spot-of-tea.

Spitfire. (Photo by Adrian Pingstone.)

Hawker Hurricane. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

Firefly. (Photo by Max Haynes.)

Thankfully the Brits fielded airplanes much more worthy of WWII air-combat than the Fairey Swordfish. Like the Supermarine Spitfire, and even the Hawker Hurricane.
Fairey even produced a much more worthy design in the Fairey Firefly.
Apparently the Fairey Swordfish isn’t even a WWII warbird; that is, it’s not on my WWII warbirds site.
Although it was used at the beginning of WWII, and achieved a number of exploits, namely the sinking of one and damaging two battleships of the Italian Navy, and the famous crippling of the German battleship “Bismarck.”
Wikipedia has it, so I’ll let them weigh in:
“The Fairey Swordfish was a torpedo bomber biplane designed by the Fairey Aviation Company and used by the Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Navy during WWII.
Originating in the 1930s, the Swordfish was an outdated design by the start of the war in 1939, but remained in front-line service until VE Day, outliving several types intended to replace it. It was initially operated primarily as a fleet attack aircraft; during its later years it was used as an anti-submarine and training craft.
Its primary weapon was the aerial torpedo, but the low speed of the biplane and the need for a long straight approach made it difficult to deliver against well-defended targets.
Swordfish torpedo doctrine called for an approach at 5,000 feet followed by a dive to torpedo release altitude of 18 feet.
Maximum range of the early Mark XII torpedo was 1,500 yards at 40 knots and 3,500 yards at 27 knots.
The torpedo travelled 200 yards forward from release to water impact, and required another 300 yards to stabilize at preset depth and arm itself.
Ideal release distance was 1,000 yards from target if the Swordfish survived to that distance.
The problems with the aircraft were starkly demonstrated in February, 1942 when during the Channel Dash, an attack on German battleships by six Swordfish led by Lieutenant-Commander Eugene Esmonde, resulted in the loss of all aircraft with no damage to the ships.”
Sadly, the Swordfish looks like WWI aviation “improved.”
It’s still a biplane (“BYE-plain;” not “BIP-lane” — I say that only because yrs trly mispronounced it “BIP-lane” for years), and its landing-gear doesn’t retract.
I see this airplane is carrying a torpedo; obviously aimed at sinking enemy ships. It is a torpedo-bomber after all.
But to torpedo a ship, you have to get to it.
I have a hunch the Luftwaffe would take down that Swordfish before it did.
Naval defense could do the same from the targeted ship.
In which case the torpedo falls silently into the ocean with its airplane.
Never to be used in anger.
I’m left wondering if a stiff upper-lip took out any enemy ships; but apparently it did.
Part of the reason it disabled the “Bismarck,” was because it was too slow to defend against.