Dear Pilot,
Who knew seeing our ice cream parlour would be so aspirational for your Goddesses? If I remember right, your cars had beautiful interiors. I’m sure your volunteers can get them looking brand new again, inside and out. Vesta shouldn’t worry about her age; I’m sure a little reupholstery and a good shine would have all your cars looking like the day they were delivered.
I like to think me and my train were holding up well when we retired. People still wanted to take pictures, at least.
It was a funny thing actually. I had two last runs, revenue and a special. The funny thing though was that a few years earlier in ‘57, they announced I’d be retired and I don’t think anyone had any designs to make any sort of fanfare of it. One newspaper even supposed I might be scrapped and sent to “a roundhouse in the sky”. (I’d hope not; I’d have to lose my cars to fit in it.) They reconsidered though and put me on a local between Lincoln and St. Joseph instead.
I suppose a lot must have changed in three years. When they decided I was really, truly going to be retired in ‘60, they had all these ideas about putting me up somewhere. In the 50’s, they started displaying retired steam engines in parks and next to train stations. There was this one the Sante Fe put up in a park in Atchison (2903 says he thinks it was No. 811) who had apparently become a bit of an attraction and St. Joseph particularly wanted me for that. Our railroad also thought I might look nice outside of the headquarters. There was even talk of the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. (but they had to settle for my original engine).
I’m happy to have ended up at the MSI though. A park wouldn’t have had room for anyone but me and my cars. I’d have missed out on such wonderful company.
Once they decided that’s what was to be done with me, they announced my last revenue service: February 20th, 1960. That run was fairly uneventful, snowy as well. Mr. Ottens, my engineer for my first revenue service, came out to see me one last time though. He was there waiting right as I pulled into Lincoln. It was quite nice of him, really. He said it was hard to quit the railroad after so long and I certainly knew what he meant.
I had to go to the shops in Aurora to be refurbished before I could come to the MSI. Mr. Able, the assistant general passenger agent back then, arranged for the trip to be a special run so people could take one last ride with me. (It was also a way to sell tickets on a trip I’d have otherwise been deadheading. Burlington to the last.)
It was March 20th, Lincoln to Galesburg with stops in Omaha, Creston, Fairfield, Ottumwa, and Burlington. We left at 8:00 AM.
I didn’t know it when we set out, but two of our passengers had rode with us on our first revenue service and another had been on our Dawn-to-Dusk run. I had 50 passengers starting out and more boarded as we made each of our stops. Since 500 had been removed from our consist, we didn’t have enough seats for all of them as more people got on. They had set up chairs in 505 to accommodate them, but it was less comfortable. I remember her being quite vocal on the subject, wishing she still had her seats and buffet grille. 570 and I were both a bit short with her about it, which I regretted later. It’s only natural to want your last run to be ideal, but we didn’t want to ruin it by focusing on how we wished things were. The feelings were complicated for all of us that day.
As we crossed the state line, we stopped before the bridge in Plattsmouth so the passengers could get out and take pictures. No snow busting this time, but I remember a particularly lovely photo of my cars just as we’re rolling onto the bridge; 570 in the foreground and 505 behind her, bright white snow all around (I was behind a sign, but I think a picture of the end of my train for the end of our run is rather poignant). We made another short stop on the bridge itself so they could take more pictures and then we carried on into Iowa.
My engineer that day, Mr. White, was blowing my horn through all the towns we passed through. It was so similar to the horn abuse on my Dawn-to-Dusk run that I wondered if I might not lose speed. Not that I would have particularly minded. I at once wanted to go as fast as I could because I knew I’d never get the chance again, but I also wanted my last run to last as long as possible. I would obviously never wish for a malfunction, but if I had to stop and stay on the rails a little longer, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen. My horn worked fine with no loss of power but we did get up to the speed limit a time or two, which is as good a bargain as I could have asked.
We arrived a bit early in Ottumwa so people waiting for other trains at their station had a spare minute to inspect me one last time, while my own passengers got out to stretch their legs. They came back to tell me that there was a steam engine displayed on the other side of the station, No. 3001, who sent along her congratulations and admiration for my service. I found out later that she was one of the first Æolus’ sisters. She’d been set up on the other side of the station the past Labor Day. I wish I could have spoken to her directly or at least returned her well-wishes, but there wasn’t time to send someone back around to the other side of the station by then.
When we arrived in Burlington, they wanted to take more photos on the Mississippi River bridge. They had us do a staged run on it where we crossed over it, let everyone off, and then backed up so they could take photos and film of us approaching. It made the last shots of us in motion look especially dynamic.
The final stop of the run was Galesburg. There was one last crowd waiting for us. 5:30 P.M. on the dot and that was the end of our revenue service. We were to stay there for the night before heading to Aurora the next day, but as for our passengers, the California Zephyr and Kansas City Zephyr were there to take them the rest of their way. They were so tall, just like Silver Bullet. It was comforting to hand my passengers off to other Zephyrs. I could trust any Burlington engine with them, of course, but to have it have be Zephyrs was more meaningful. I knew they wouldn’t just be carrying our passengers to their destinations, but carrying on our service as well.
When I first came to the MSI, I didn’t think of my last run as a happy memory. Even – or maybe especially – when we are to be preserved, I don’t think any of us are ready to quit. I realized that I was very well cared for in my last day of service. Most engines don’t get such a ceremonious end to their working lives. It was all done because even if it was time for us to retire, they wanted us to know we weren’t going to be forgotten.
Despite how conclusive snow feels, everything does become new again once it melts, doesn’t it? It marks the start of a new year and all the things that start in it. I took my last run in snow and found I still had service waiting for me once it cleared.
It only makes sense that the second generation of Zephyrs should have emerged from snow too.
Your friend,
Pioneer