Part 1

The Grasshopper and The Corliss _MILESTONES_ in the Mighty Age of Steam

South Station is a modest little building, representing in its style of construction a typical railroad station in the days when the railroad first came to the Miami Valley. However, its function is not to provide a waiting place for passengers but to serve as the home of one of the oldest locomotives still in existence. The miniature power house across the way is much more modern in its construction. The Corliss engine which has been re-erected in this building was in operation at NCR for almost fifty years.

When James Watt gave the world the condensing steam engine in 1788 he ushered in an era in man’s progress which brought with it the Industrial Revolution and fundamental changes in our way of life. Steam has made possible the development of our vast industries, our modern transportation on land and on sea, and an immeasurable expansion of the horizons of our daily life.

Two of the most far-reaching uses of the principle of production of power through steam have been in transportation and in the generation of electricity. In both instances the first steps toward the ultimate achievement were crude and none too convincing, but they did lead to further development and outstanding accomplishment.

After the discovery of the power of steam, man toyed with the idea of a steam engine that could move itself. The implications of such an invention were far reaching. The first steps were taken in England in the early part of the nineteenth century and a locomotive which successfully hauled a train of vehicles was built there in 1825. The first American locomotive was the Tom Thumb built by Peter Cooper.

In a competition sponsored by the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Phineas Davis, a watchmaker of York, Pennsylvania, built a locomotive which was referred to as the “grasshopper” type because of its appearance and the up-and-down motion of its driving rods. This was really the first successful steam railroad engine in this country.

Turning to the stationary steam engine for the production of direct power and for generating electricity, we find that the greatest advance in this field was the Corliss engine. This engine which incorporated new principles of control and fuel economy was the invention of George H. Corliss, a New England inventor who, as much as any other man, was responsible for the development of the power facilities which have made possible the industrialization of this nation.

The Grasshopper locomotive and the Corliss engine, each in its own way, made a vital contribution to the development of America. Each is included in the Carillon Park exhibits because it represents a significant forward step in man’s constant quest for a better and fuller life.

Steam Comes to the Rails

The steam railroad represents an evolution unique in the story of man’s progress. Its expansion from almost primitive beginnings unfolds one of the epics of transport. Today’s network of steel rails is tribute to the originality and persistency of courageous and far-seeing men.

Nowhere has the railroad undergone such a transformation as in the United States. Although England stood in the van of locomotive construction, American ingenuity perfected the most powerful type. From an average of twelve to fourteen tons, the weight of the first Grasshopper engine, they have expanded to the monsters of more than five hundred tons. In 1840, a little more than a decade after the incorporation of our first railroad, the total mileage in this country was 2,810. Today the operated mileage is 398,000.

The real birth of the railroad, however, was in England. As in the United States, tramways provided the predecessor. They were first employed in the coal districts adjacent to Newcastle, to convey coal from the pits to the River Tyne for shipment abroad.

The weakness in all the early British engines was that they could not produce steam as rapidly as they used it up, nor did they have sufficient power to move quickly, or pull more than their own weight. It remained for George Stephenson to overcome these weaknesses and prove the practicability of the movable steam locomotive. Stephenson, born in 1781, was the son of a fireman at the Wylam Colliery near Newcastle. Stirred by the story of James Watt’s achievements in the domain of steam, George enrolled in a night school to study mechanics.

Steam traction continued to absorb the attention of many British inventors, so Stephenson turned to it. He constructed an engine called “Blucher,” which made a successful trial run July 25, 1814.

George Stephenson was a persistent fellow. To his doggedness of purpose we owe the beginning of the steam railroad. In 1822 he “sold,” as we would say today, the directors of the Stockton & Darlington Railway, which had planned to use horses on its trams, on the idea of using a steam locomotive. He was appointed engineer of the road and given authority to carry out his plans.

The age of railroading in this country began with the chartering in 1827 of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, the first road constructed in the United States to carry passengers and freight. The first rails were laid on July 4, 1828, with Charles Carroll, the only living signer of the Declaration of Independence, turning over the first spadeful of dirt. The first section of thirteen miles from Baltimore to Ellicott’s Mills was opened in May, 1830. The man who jolted the Baltimore & Ohio directors out of their horse fixation was the renowned Peter Cooper.

Cooper built a locomotive which he called Tom Thumb. The name was apt because it was quite a small affair. In its construction he used odds and ends of mechanical parts. The barrels of muskets, for example, provided the tubes for the upright boiler.

The directors of the Baltimore & Ohio decided to have a competition. In January, 1831, they advertised for locomotives to be entered in a series of contests. They offered to give a $4,000 prize for the locomotive that best met the test, and $3,500 for the second best engine.

Four engines entered the competition, one of which was built by Phineas Davis, a watchmaker of York, Pennsylvania. The Davis entry fulfilled all the requirements of the competition and won first prize. Soon after its adoption the Baltimore & Ohio directors named that type of locomotive the Grasshopper. This was due to its grasshopper-like construction. From that parent engine sprang a fleet of Grasshoppers that operated for nearly a century and made railroad history.

Phineas Davis and his partner, Gartner, now began to develop the Grasshopper type. The next venture was the Atlantic which went into service on the B & O in the summer of 1832. Once the Grasshoppers demonstrated their utility, the steam locomotive idea spread rapidly.

The saga of the American Railroad is a stirring narrative of triumph over obstacles. The road of the iron horse is part of the larger highway over which progress has marched. In that drama of achievement the Grasshopper locomotive played its full part. As such, it merits a niche in the Transport Hall of Fame.

Old Locomotive No. 1 Finds a Home

The Grasshopper locomotive now placed in Carillon Park chose to tell its own story of its origin, its experiences, its hopes, its fears and its present feeling. With the assistance of Lawrence W. Sagle of the B & O staff, Old No. 1 here tells its story.

Boy, what a relief to have your future definitely settled! Especially if you have worked hard for 57 years, and then been pushed around for an additional 55 years, fearful all the time that you may be cut up for scrap. You can appreciate how I feel, now that I have a nice cozy home here at Carillon Park in Dayton, Ohio.

What say? Oh, of course. Let me introduce myself. I am old Grasshopper Locomotive No. 1. And the oldest original B & O locomotive in existence. That, alone, is something to be proud of! And do I have a long and colorful history? Let me tell you about some of its highlights.

I was built way back in July, 1835, one of a group of improved grasshopper locomotives then being placed in service on the B & O. We fellows were really good in those days. The old “Atlantic” and “Traveller” had been retired the year before I was built. Just between us, they weren’t much to speak of. We new engines, named for Presidents of the United States and other great statesmen, could run rings around them. I was proud to be named the “John Quincy Adams.” And there was the “George Washington,” for instance. He led the parade of the first trains into Washington, D. C., on August 25, 1835—and I was second in line—to make railroad history. He finally ended his career out around Wheeling, Va., in 1853. He had hauled rail cars down the line as the railroad was pushed eastward to Roseby’s Rock, where the tracks were joined on December 24, 1852. Good old George! I wish he could have lived to see me now, snug as a bug in my new home.

You’ll have to pardon my ramblings. You know how we old fellows like to look back and talk about the “good old days.”

Well, time passed, and then we were more or less pushed into the background by the newer, more powerful locomotives that came along. I’ll never forget the first Winan’s Camel. Gosh, what a fright he gave me! I thought he would topple over and crush me. But I soon got used to those big fellows. And then, in 1850, they took my distinguished name away from me. Imagine how I felt being just plain No. 6, instead of “John Quincy Adams.” But I kept on working as if nothing had happened although I was no longer in main line service. I felt very diminutive compared to the Mud-diggers and Camels. And in 1884, they changed me to No. 1. Well, that was better! I was the oldest locomotive on the B & O. That was something to be proud of, even then.

So things drifted along until there were only four of us left. There was old “Andrew Jackson” (built in February, 1836), “John Hancock” (built in April, 1836) and “Martin Van Buren” (built in November, 1836), all good, stout fellows. All four of us were doing switching duty at the Mt. Clare Shops in Baltimore. And, although we were numbered 1, 2, 3 and 4, when in our stalls at night, we called each other by our old names. John, Andy, Marty and I (they called me “J.Q.”) would talk far into the night about the early days of the railroad and how little those newer, bigger locomotives seemed to know—or care—about such things.

Well, sir, things drifted along until one day in 1892 a group of distinguished men dropped around and looked us over. There was one chatty old fellow with a goatee, who seemed to have some plans for our future. I learned later that he was Major Pangborn, and what he did to me shouldn’t have happened to a Mud-digger! He took us all into the shop, worked on us for days and—of all things!—altered me to resemble the “Traveller” and altered “Andy” to resemble the “Atlantic,” two old boys that couldn’t pull your hat off in a mild windstorm! What a come-down! But old “Marty” got the worst treatment of all. He was altered to resemble that old “crab” locomotive, the “Mazeppa,” with dummy horizontal cylinders and his beautiful grasshopper legs ripped off. Oh, the ignominy of it all! John fared better than the rest of us. He got a new coat of paint and a new name. They painted “Thomas Jefferson” on his cab. That, in a way, was a sad blow to us also. Old Tom had passed on in 1860, but we all remembered him fondly. We were a confused lot of locomotives, I can tell you!

But we were not long in learning what it was all about. They loaded us on some gondola cars—imagine the sensation of riding on a railroad car, pulled by another, bigger locomotive, when, all of your lifetime had been spent in pulling cars yourself—and for several days we travelled over rails we had never seen before. Boy! What mountains and grades we crossed. I doubt if I could have pushed a single car up some of them and I admired greatly the brute strength of the big fellow on the head end of our train and the one that pushed on the rear end.

We finally reached Chicago, and were placed on exhibition at the great World’s Fair. Here the B & O was commended for its wonderful historical display, and people by the thousands came and looked at us and made remarks about how small we were compared to modern locomotives and went away. We had our brief hour of glory, and after the show, they hauled us back to Martinsburg and put us away to rust. Andy—I mean Atlantic—was cleaned up and sent to the St. Louis Fair in 1904, where the B & O was awarded a special gold medal for the most complete transportation display, and then, in 1927, he and John were taken to the Fair of the Iron Horse. Marty and I thought we were going to be in that show. They brought us to Baltimore, but changed their minds about us. We were in really bad shape! And when they sent the two of us to the Wicomico Street scrap yards, my heart jumped right up on top of my crown sheet. Surely, this was the end!

But as the years dragged on, and we still sat on the siding, our upper parts crated over, we displayed that kind of patience that only an old locomotive is capable of as he sits for long tedious hours on the shop track, waiting for the day when he will be fixed up and running again. We did get a thrill of expectancy when we were moved to Bailey’s Museum, but there we sat in a corner and nothing was done to fix us up. I was ashamed when visitors saw me in such a condition. I would wince at the remarks they made about our junky appearance. It was worse for Marty, his beautiful grasshopper legs gone, and with those dummy tin cylinders bolted to his frame to make him look like a “crab” locomotive. I’m afraid that he is now a hopeless mental case.

One day in April, 1947, they hustled me to the Mt. Clare Shops. I was completely bewildered. I didn’t recognize the old shops where I had been built 112 years ago and where I had worked up to 1892. Everything was so much larger, and the great machines and cranes! And those big locomotives! Wow! Anyway, they began to work on me, and I soon realized that I was being changed back to the way I looked in 1892, before Major Pangborn had me changed to resemble (ugh!) the “Traveller.” Then, from the conversations I overheard, I pieced out the story, which is something like this:

Col. E. A. Deeds (there’s a nice man, if ever there was one, and interested in preserving a good old locomotive!), Chairman of the Board of The National Cash Register Company of Dayton, Ohio, was planning to establish a museum in Carillon Park in that city. And one of the things he needed was an old locomotive—and I was available and willing.

So I was reconditioned and painted up until I could hardly believe 55 long years had passed. Then they pushed me out to the old Mt. Clare Station and photographed me. Goodness me, how memories flooded back over the years. The day, for instance, in 1835, when we lined up there before that same station for the first trip into Washington, D. C. I surely did feel proud, standing there having my picture taken.

So, once more I found myself on a gondola, riding in style over the mountains to the West. And finally I reached Dayton on November 6. Then the celebration began. A big crane lifted me, light as you please, out of the car on to a heavy trailer that was used to haul me over to the park. And who do you think was down at the siding to welcome me? None other than Colonel Deeds, himself! And with him were Messrs. E. D. Smith, NCR plant engineer; R. H. Hagerman, NCR traffic manager; Carl Beust, head of NCR Patent Department; T. J. Klauenberg, B & O division superintendent; C. P. Mabie, B & O division freight agent, and M. C. Schwab, B & O freight agent. They were so pleased at my coming to town that they had a big luncheon to celebrate, and my picture was in the papers and everything.

And you should see the beautiful house they built for me at the Park. It looks just like an old railroad station, except I am inside instead of the passengers. It is built on part of the old railroad on the south bank of the old Miami and Erie Canal. It’s a beautiful setting in which to house an old locomotive as important as I am.

So, here I am, proud as a peacock in my new home. Come out and see me sometime. I expect to be here for a long, long time. As long as America is a great, free country—forever, I hope!

The “Cincinnati”

The “Cincinnati,” prototype of the replica in miniature on display in Deeds Barn, was typical of the locomotives that in the 1850’s were beginning to establish a new transportation network across Ohio and the Middle West.

These locomotives and their successors were to doom the canal system which played such an important role in development of the West. Although the Miami and Erie Canal—which linked Dayton to Cincinnati and Toledo—had its peak year in 1851 when the “Cincinnati” first steamed into Dayton, canal operating expenses outran revenue only five years later. In 1877, official operation of the canal ended. In the march of progress, the railroad had won.

The “Cincinnati” was built by the Harkness firm of Cincinnati, and was one of the most advanced locomotives of its day. Its honest functionalism, as evidenced by the businesslike cow-catcher and the monstrous stack designed to trap dangerous wood sparks, makes this type of locomotive, called an “American,” a favorite with railroad fans.

How long the “Cincinnati” remained in service with the C. H. & D. Railroad, and its ultimate fate are not known, but the colorful locomotive and others of its kind made possible significant gains in man’s never-ending quest for better transportation.

The Railroad Reaches Dayton

On January 27, 1851 the first locomotive to enter Dayton traveled over the newly constructed road between Springfield and Dayton. Oddly, enough, the event attracted no great attention.

DAYTON DAILY EMPIRE.

DANIEL G. SETON AND GEORGE W. CLASON.

DAYTON:

Monday Evening, January 27, 1851.

Safely Through.

The first Locomotive from Springfield to Dayton, passed over the railroad connecting the two cities this morning. Mr. Osborne, the Superintendent, and a small party of gentlemen from Springfield came through. The connection at the “deep cut” was completed on Saturday, and the trip this morning was made by way of trial. The entire line was found to be in good running order, and the locomotive came through in fine style. On Wednesday next, we learn, the first train will be run from Springfield down, with the care intended far this section of the road. It is also expected that a large party of our Springfield neighbors will make us a call.—Have the arrangements been made to give than a proper reception? It is time this matter was attended to. The Dayton folks should likewise hold themselves in readiness to return the visit. Let there be a “demonstration” on both sides worthy of the occasion.

However, in September the same year when regular service began to Cincinnati, the arrival of the first train was the occasion of quite a memorable celebration. These illustrations show one of the first trains, newspaper comment, program for the opening, and Dayton’s Union Station of early days.

DAYTON JOURNAL

TUESDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 23, 1851

Railroad Celebration.

The opening of the Cincinnati, Hamilton and Dayton Railroad, better designated perhaps as the “Great Miami Railway,” which took place yesterday, attracted thousands of people to Dayton from the surrounding country. Business was in a great measure suspended, and crowds of spectators on the line of the road were anxiously awaiting the arrival of the trains from Cincinnati long before the hour fixed for their coming. But we are anticipating.