Ballad of the 382

The Cannonball rushing to an appointment in Vaughn

My constant companion, El Somnambulisto, visited again last night. This time he was accompanied by ghosts, and appropriately so as April 30 is the anniversary of an important event of 121 years ago.

When I was a lad of seven, my family moved for a short time from our hometown of Memphis to nearby Jackson, TN. I guess it’s not a surprise that I don’t remember much of that time. In fact, I only remember one thing about that place. There was a small house close to downtown - a place that had been a modest home but obviously was by then a place of importance since it was now a museum. I don’t recall but a single thing about that museum. It would be difficult to forget what was parked in what otherwise would’ve been the car port (little did I know they didn’t have car ports in 1900.) What was parked there was a train engine. That little white clapboard house had been the home of one, John Luther Jones, better known as Casey.

Casey was a legendary train engineer in his day, known for piloting his trains at very high speed. But he wasn’t a daredevil. What he was was punctual. He was often given assignments that left the station late and yet via his skills he managed to inevitably arrive “as advertised” - i.e. on time. And he was proud of his reputation and dedicated to his profession.

On the evening of April 29, he and his fireman, Sim Webb, had already put in a long day. But another trainman called in sick and Casey and Sim were asked to pilot a passenger train on a midnight run south from Memphis, home base of the Illinois Central Railroad down to Canton, Mississippi. Casey accepted the assignment and they hooked up his famous Engine No 382, otherwise known as “The Cannonball.” As usual, the train departed late. Almost an hour an a half late.

Casey and Sim piloted along at points reaching speeds over 80mph - determined and optimistic of making up the lost time. They were almost within 5 minutes of being back on schedule when they approached the town of Vaughn. The weather was damp and foggy.

As often happens, there often is more than one train on a given stretch of track. Some going even in opposite directions, or in the case of that fateful night, a slower freight train up ahead. What happens in these situations is that the slower train will reach a siding and pull off of the main line until passed. That was what was going on in Vaughn. Knowing that the Cannonball was coming up behind them, the freight train was pulling onto a siding. But three things proved the undoing of this otherwise standard procedure. The slower train was too long to fit onto one siding without shifting a few cars off onto a spur; mechanical difficulties in shortening the train to accommodate the spur unwittingly left some cars on the main line; and Casey, Sim and the 382 were now about to arrive “as advertised.”

The siding was on a bend, on the opposite side of Casey’s position in the cab so Sim saw the stationary caboose’s red light first. He yelled to Casey. Casey told Sim to jump which he did. But Casey did not. He knew that if he did not expend every effort to slow the train as much as he could it would result in the deaths of all the passengers that the 382 was towing. There was only one choice. He stuck to his post. He worked with all his might and skill to spin the wheels in reverse even as he blew his famous whistle to warn the trainmen ahead. And while Casey managed to slow down the 382 quite a bit, it slammed through the caboose and two more cars before being tossed from the rails. As a result of Casey’s efforts, though, there was only one fatality that night. Casey Jones was crushed by his own engine, reportedly with the trains controlling arm still in one hand and the whistle pull in the other. He was immortalized as a result.

The Family Lantern

As a coincidence, this accident happened just down the road from Tchula, MS, the home of my frequent creative collaborator and distant relative, r. a. smith. Though I have never actually been there, Tchula is a family town for a branch of my family. In fact, the second photo here is of a trainman’s lantern that my Mother made sure I would own with the promise that I would NEVER sell it. That lantern belonged to my great grandfather, Arthur Smith. Mr. Smith actually was using that lantern on the fateful night of April 30, 1900. He was working on the other train.