Wreck of the Old 97

What a story!  It's like the Titanic in miniature.  The "company" says, we have a penalty clause in the contract that gets us fined for every minute we're late getting into Spencer, North Carolina, and we're an hour behind already.  So put the pedal to the metal and get us back on schedule.

I remember a TV commercial showing a terrible traffic accident with a caption, "He was in such a hurry to get to work that he killed three people."  Well, guess what...

In September, 1903, 33 year old Joseph A. ("Steve") Broady was the engineer, and ol' 97 was on the stretch between Lynchburg, Virginia to Danville.  (I don't know why they call it "Old 97" because it was brand spanking new.)  Coming into Danville there was a 3-mile down hill run and the brakes failed.  He reversed the engine and locked the brakes up.  A flange on one of the wheels broke, stuck in a railroad tie, and flipped the train off the trestle.  It was just a U.S. Mail train, not a passenger train, so only a few people were killed.  (That's good news - unless you were a family member of the dead!)

In the mural you see birds on the right side of the picture.  Apparently there were about 100 yellow canaries in the baggage car that were set free by the wreck.  It must have been eerie seeing those sweet birds flying around and sitting amidst all of the wreckage.


There was a song written about this one that has been sung by just about every country singer you can imagine.  I Googled "Wreck of the Old 97" and came up with some of the lyrics.  John sat down and sang them like I sing tunes of the 60's.  (Well, he sang on key, and I sing off key, but you get the idea.)  I don't know how he knows all of these songs, but he does love his music.  There are actually 11 verses to the whole song - one for every person killed in the accident.

Well they gave him his orders at Monroe Virginia

sayin' Steve you're way behind time,
This is not 38 this is old 97
you must put her into Spencer on time.

Then he turned around and said to his black greasy fireman,
shovel on a little more coal
And when we cross that White Oak Mountain
watch old 97 roll.

But it's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
With a line on a three mile grade.
It was on that grade that he lost his air brakes,
see what a jump he made.

He was goin' down the grade makin' 90 miles an hour,
his whistle broke into a scream.
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle
'a scalded to death by the steam.

Then the telegram come to Washington station,
and this is how it read:
Oh that brave engineer that run old 97,
he's a layin' in old Danville dead.

So now all you ladies you better take a warnin'
from this time on and learn,
Never speak harsh words to your true lovin' husband,

He may leave you and never return.