Monthly Calendar-Report for March 2016

The Pennsy Heritage-unit is in the lead. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

—The March 2016 entry in my own calendar is from my “stealth”-trip last year.
“Stealth” in that I told no one I was going, neither my brother-from-Boston, nor my railfan friend Phil Faudi from Altoona (PA).
Norfolk Southern’s Pennsy Heritage-unit, #8102, leads a heavy coal-drag up Allegheny Mountain into Gallitzin on Track One.
I had along my railroad-radio scanner, and thought I could get by on my own.
Track One is eastbound, and is not the original Pennsy line. It’s actually the New Portage Railroad alignment, and leads to New Portage Tunnel.
New Portage Railroad replaced the original Portage Railroad, which included inclined planes over Allegheny Mountain.
Both portage railroads were part of the State Public-Works System, a state-sponsored combined railroad and canal system, meant to make PA competitive with NY’s Erie Canal.
Railroad was used over Allegheny summit because it couldn’t be canaled. It used horses at first.
Public-Works was so cumbersome and time-consuming, Philadelphia capitalists founded the Pennsylvania Railroad, which made Public-Works moribund.
Public-Works eventually failed, and was sold to Pennsy for a pittance. The canal was abandoned, but part of New Portage Railroad’s grade was incorporated into Pennsy in the 1890s. This was because New Portage Tunnel gave Pennsy another Allegheny tunnel.
New Portage tunnel is also higher than the original Pennsy tunnel, 2,198 feet versus 2,167 feet.
It requires a ramp to get it back down to the original Pennsy alignment. This is known as “the Slide,” but at 2.28% it isn’t too bad. (It’s only eastbound = down.)
New Portage Railroad, and its tunnel, became Pennsy’s Track One, and it’s separate from Tracks Two and Three, which are on the original Pennsy alignment on the other side of Gallitzin.
New Portage Railroad east of the mountain became an alternate Pennsy route east. The original railroad via Tyrone and Spruce Creek was swamped.
I was about to leave this location, where Track One goes under Gallitzin’s Main St. Bridge. I had been there over an hour, and it was cold.
But suddenly I heard this train’s engineer call out the signal at AR Tower. AR Tower is abandoned, far distant but visible.
So I stayed put. I could hear the train coming, climbing slowly, perhaps 5 mph.
Finally it pulled into view, and what ho, the Pennsy Heritage-unit, #8102, was on the point.
8102 is one of 20 new locomotives painted in colors of Norfolk Southern predecessor railroads.
It’s a General-Electric ES44AC, 4,400 horsepower, AC traction-motors. The Heritage-units are used as regular road-power.
They are very popular, railfans chase ‘em all over the system. There even are websites that tell where the Heritage-units are.
After shooting this picture I quickly drove down the mountain to 24th St. Bridge in Altoona over Slope Interlocking.
I beat it, and shot again, but my Gallitzin picture was best.
My Slope picture is too backlit.




This is how it began. (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—The March 2016 entry in my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a 1930 Ford Model-A five-window coupe with a 1948 Flatty.
Souped of course. Bored .30 over, two Stromberg carburetors, individualized exhaust-headers into an uncorkable exhaust— but only three instead of four, a Flatty given — and an “Isky” (Iskenderian) camshaft to increase breathing.
The motor also appears to have cast-aluminum cylinder-heads, probably high-compression, made by Edelbrock.
Old Henry’s V8 of 1932 was thrilling.
It gave sprightly performance even though stock.

“Old Henry.”

I should picture “Old Henry;” I’ve mentioned him enough. He founded Ford Motor Company, and his Model-T put America on wheels. He was irascible and cantankerous.
Old Henry refused to make a six — like sixes were the Devil Incarnate.
Ergo the Ford FlatHead V8, the foundation of hot-rodding.
It was cheap, responded well to souping, and could be worked on by backyard mechanics. An entire industry grew up in southern California to soup up the FlatHead V8.
And to counter all the sixes, Ford made a smaller V8: the V8-60.
It too was soupable; and found its way into midget-racing.
Ford eventually did a six, but not until 1941.
So what we have here is a 1930 Model-A chopped five-window coupe.
The frame-rails are American Stamping — I thought ’32 Ford at first.
It’s also using the ’32 Ford radiator-shell, the best there is.
Both the ’32 Ford and Model-A are Edsel Ford, son of Old Henry, who continually suffered his father’s scorn.
Old Henry thought styling a waste, and Edsel a dandy.
Ford didn’t have a styling-department like General Motors; yet fielded some of the best-looking cars of all time.
And GM was turning out turkeys.
It was mainly Edsel with “Bob” Gregorie.




The second Geep is a cabless B-unit. (Photo by Gene Collora©.)

—The March 2016 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is a freight preparing to leave Hagerstown Yard in 1960.
The train is powered by three EMD GP-9s, the middle of which is a B-unit. B-unit Geeps were cabless. There is a small control-stand inside for hosteling the locomotive around an engine-facility.
But they can’t lead a train on the road.
Cabless B-units wouldn’t have worked but for multiple-units; more than one locomotive operated by the lead locomotive crew.
You can’t do that with steam-locomotives. Each steam-engine needed its own crew.
But diesel-locomotives can be wired together and operated in multiple.
Cabless B-unit road-switchers were fairly popular. But I haven’t seen ‘em lately.
A GP-9 was only 1,750 horsepower. It might take four or more to pull a train back then.
By now road power is up to 4,400 horsepower. One or two diesels might be enough for the train pictured.
Recent trains are also longer. Three units at most is usually enough.
Sometimes you’ll see as many as 6-10 diesels on a train; but only two or three are running.
I consider this picture very well composed. The fact it’s taken low to the ground makes the lead Geep seem imposing.
But I wonder if it’s a potshot. A yard-fixture of some sort is peeking over the central blister.




Grumman TBM Avenger. (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—The March 2016 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a Grumman TBM Avenger, a dive-bomber that carried a torpedo.
“TBM” means it was built by General Motors, but it was Grumman’s design. —Actual Grummans were the “TBF.”
They were big airplanes, but could fly off aircraft-carriers.
It’s single-engine, but the motor is a 1,900 horsepower Wright R-2600-20 “Cyclone” radial.
It’s air-cooled, two rows of seven cylinders each, 14 cylinders total.
The plane would dive at a ship, and drop its torpedo.
With any luck the torpedo would sink the ship.
Last month I said our 41st president, George H.W. Bush, flew Dauntless dive-bombers, and was shot down in one.
WRONG!
He was actually flying Avengers. He was also shot down in one, but was rescued after parachuting.
So somewhere on the Pacific bottom rest the rotting remains of Bush’s Avenger, its corroded R-2600 thoroughly seized.
The Avenger was quite the airplane, it carried a crew of three.
A double machine-gun turret is at the rear of the cockpit canopy.
A single machine-gun worked out of a rear dorsal-turret not visible.
My WWII warbirds site says the plane had a third machine-gun location at a so-called “ventral” location, but I don’t see it, and wasn’t aware of it.
If so, who manned it?
At 10,545 pounds, maximum takeoff weight of 17,895 pounds, that R-2600 is dragging around a lot of airplane.
The wingspan alone is 34 feet two inches. Top speed at 16,500 feet was 276 mph.
The Avenger was not a fighter-plane. 276 mph is not 400 mph.
Stick that R-2600-20 in a smaller, lighter plane and you have a fighter.
But you can’t carry a torpedo on a fighter-plane.
Fighters were no good sinking ships.
I don’t recognize the plane’s markings — I was told they are New Zealand.
New Zealand had Avengers. Which may mean the plane flew off land.
The Avenger had a range of over 2,300 miles, which means it could take off from New Zealand, fly out over the Pacific, drop its torpedo, then fly back to base.




Advancing the railroad’s agenda. (Photo by Greg Ropp.)

—Another picture my brother or I might take.
The March 2016 entry of my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar is a trainload of M-2 Bradley fighting-vehicles from Fort Benning, GA to the port of Charleston.
Sorry, but to me this is more Norfolk Southern patting itself on the back than good photography.
“Norfolk Southern is committed to delivering reliable service to support the transportation needs of the armed forces,” it says.
It’s not that good a picture. The locomotive is not razor-sharp.
The fact the train is all Bradley fighting-vehicles is also distracting. A mixed freight or even double-stacks would look better.
The locomotive is too in-your-face.
The photographer also made it a point to wait until afternoon light to get direct lighting on the locomotive-face.
The picture needs modeling, like the front of the locomotive partially in shadow.
My brother and I got a similar in-your-face photo down near Cresson (“KRESS-in”) PA, but it was fall foliage, not a trainload of Bradleys.

Autumn splendor. (Photo by Jack Hughes.)

I used my brother’s picture in my calendar because all my hand-held shots were blurred.
I guess I hafta start using my tripod. (Too old, I’m 72.)
My brother’s photograph is one of the most fantastic pictures we ever got.
Would that those trees in this calendar-picture were orange, and the train was mixed-freight. Also that locomotive-face was razor-sharp.
And maybe I’d use a picture with the locomotive back about 10 feet — it’s a nice curve. And maybe earlier in the day, so the locomotive-face was modeled some.
Sorry, I’m more a photographer than a drum-beating CONSERVATIVE.
Those Bradleys look a little wider than the flatcars they’re on — an oversize load. Railroads call ‘em “high-and-wide.”
2655 is an EMD SD70M-2, 4,000 horsepower.




1964 Chrysler Imperial. (Photo by Dan Lyons©.)

—What we have here is a classic “Go-to-Hell” Chrysler.
The March 2016 entry in my Tide-mark Classic-Car calendar is a 1964 Imperial hardtop.
I look at this car and wonder how it’s any more attractive than a Plymouth Fury of that vintage.
It’s a barge.
In the late ‘60s I rented a car while my Triumph was in the shop. All I could get was a Plymouth Fury four-door.
I remember it well.
It’s hood was big enough to land a Navy Corsair fighter-plane; it was that big and flat.
From 1961 through ’63 the Imperial looked distinguished. They had standalone headlights. No other Chrysler had ‘em.

Standalone headlights.

What happened?
This thing looks no different up front than any other Chrysler. —HUGE expanses of flat sheetmetal with a plain-Jane front-end.

The rear of a ’64 Imperial.

What photographer Lyons shoulda done was focus the rear of this car. It was much more dramatic in back.
I suppose a driver would think this car grand, intimidating to a mere Chevrolet.
Set the Cruise at 90, then blast up the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Which is what they were good for. People used to see how fast they could cruise the entire PA Turnpike, Philadelphia to Ohio. Power a Chrysler with a Hemi, and you could boom-and-zoom.
Pedal-to-the-metal!

Percy.

A Philadelphia radio-evangelist named Percy Crawford used to always buy “Go-to-Hell” Chryslers. His religious camps were up near the Pocono Mountains in northeastern PA. So he would put the hammer down on the PA Turnpike Northeast Extension.
And if the State Police pulled him over, he preached at ‘em. Tell ‘em the Lord was his copilot, and he the pilot, of course.
By 1959 the Hemi was gone — 1958 was the last year they were available, at 392 cubic-inches.
I think the Hemi began again in 1964, Hemi heads on the B-block for NASCAR.
Such Hemis had to be available for the street, but I doubt this car is a Hemi. It’s probably a 413 B-block.
Perhaps with long cross-ram intake manifolds and two four-barrel carburetors outside the rocker-covers.
Would I want such a car? No! That gigantic Fury turned me off.



Steam helps diesel. (Photo by Tom Harley.)

—The March 2016 entry in my All-Pennsy color calendar is an H-8 Consolidation (2-8-0) — probably a yard-switcher — helping a long freight led by F-units get out of Englewood Yard near Chicago.
It looks frigid; steam is filling the air.
Pennsy didn’t buy into heavy 0-8-0 yard-switchers. They developed ‘em, but as 2-8-0 Consols were downgraded from road-service, they were reassigned as yard-switchers.
They also could run small peddler freights out on the high-iron.
The first freight steam-engines I saw were Consols coming out to Haddonfield (NJ) with local freight.
A Consol might shove a loaded coalcar up onto a business’ trestle to receive coal dumped through its hopper-chutes.
This was back when people heated their houses with coal.
The Consol would shunt loaded boxcars into sidings, or empties to be loaded.
This was before trucking became what it is today.
Those F-units are only 1,500 horsepower, and I see three: two B-units and a single A-unit.
I surmise that because only the lead locomotive has radio antennas.
At that time Pennsy was one of the few railroads with radio communication. Pennsy pretty much led the way with technical advances: like signaling in the cab, etc.
Lineside signals might indicate stopping, but then the block might go “clear in the cab.”
Stopping a train often took a mile or more, so a train might come upon another lineside signal before it could wick up again. With cab-signaling the train could wick up before that next signal.
Three F-units are not much to start a train, particularly where all the wheel-journals are cold.
When this picture was taken, 1951, roller-bearing wheel-journals were just coming into use. Wheel-Journals at that time were packed with grease, etc., stuff less likely to free up on starting.
Between the frigid temperatures, and those low-powered diesels, the diesels would have a hard time starting that train.
Engage aging technology; hook that H-8 yard-switcher in front of those diesels to get the train rolling.
Once rolling the diesels would be enough; the wheel-journals would be warmed.
Diesels were better-suited for railroading than side-rod steam-locomotives. With their electric traction-motors they apply constant torque. A steam-locomotive applies torque pulses.
I rode behind a steam-locomotive at Steamtown in Scranton (PA), and could feel it pulling side-to-side with each piston-thrust.
F-units are what put steam-locomotion out to pasture. The first F-unit was the FT in 1939, followed by the F-2 and F-3, and eventually the F-7. There was also an F-9.
Pennsy was slow to dieselize, they were shipping mountains of coal mined in PA, and were therefore tied to coal-fired steam-locomotion.
But dieselization was incredibly attractive. Steam-locomotives were hard to maintain, as opposed to diesel-locomotives, essentially a big truck.
Steam locomotives also needed lineside watering facilities = water towers.
They often also needed lineside coaling facilities.
Diesels didn’t need much of anything, just fuel, which unlike coal was liquid.

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An MG-A.

—Boy am I glad I didn’t buy one of these. If I had, I might not be here, or paralyzed from the waist down.
The March 2016 entry in my Jerry Powell “Classic-Car” calendar is an MG-A.
I don’t know what year it is; it doesn’t say. It doesn’t even say it’s at MG-A.

An MG-TD

“MG” stands for Morris Garages in Great Britain. MG sold sportscars in this country after WWII, namely the TD and later the TF.
They were fairly popular, mainly because the American manufacturers weren’t offering sportscars.
The MG-A was much more modern than the TD or TF.

“The Beast.” (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I bought “The Beast” instead; a gutsy 1958 fish-mouth Triumph TR-3 that had been drag-raced.
My mother was appalled, and terrified. Her first-born son bought a car that could kill him.
“The Beast” made no sense at all; it wasn’t basic transportation.
I bought it during Summer of 1965, before my senior year at college.
It was open exhaust when I got it, and had drag-slicks on it.
Which made it a handful in rain.
Fortunately it still had the original Pirelli Cinturatos; I changed out the drag-slicks.
I also had Midas put a muffler on it, plumbed into the original open pipe, which I shortened.
That exhaust was at least two inches in diameter, and I hacked off the tail-end bologna-style, making it my so-called “organ-pipe.”
Despite it not being basic transportation, it was great fun.
The sound alone was gorgeous.
Those drag-guys had it rejetted for maximum performance, and exquisitely tuned.
I considered buying an MG-A or Triumph, but found my Triumph instead.
One night my wife-to-be and I went for a ride, top off, on back-country roads.
I entered a curve fairly fast, but it was covered with gravel.
The Beast began a lurid slide off the road, then flipped into the weeds — as TR-3s liked to do; they were nicknamed “coffins.”
We had our seatbelts on, racing belts I’d got from Rochester, right up the river from my college.
So the belts kept us in the car. The windshield was broken off, so we ended up on the hood and trunk.
The car flipped over its right side, so I was thrown partially out under my door.
The TR-3 has cutaway doors like an MG-TD. I ended up under that cutaway, face-down in the weeds.
Had it not been for that cutaway, I might not have made it, or broke my back.
We wiggled out of our seatbelts and walked away.
An MG-A doesn’t have that cutaway.
If I’d bought an MG-A instead of The Beast I might not be here.
A friend killed himself in his TR-3. He was racing a narrow back-country road in northern DE. That was in the mid ‘60s.