Another Era, Another Train Wreck

As I watched a television interview with two young survivors of the worst train wreck in Amtrak’s history, inevitably it reminded me of the catastrophic train wreck I had been in on the Labor Day weekend of 1943. The wreck of the Congressional Limited, which served the same route between Washington and New York as the Amtrak train that crashed last Sunday, killed at least 78 people and injured more than 100.

For me it had been a very exciting trip. My future mother-in-law had invited me to accompany her on a visit to Fort Eustis, Va., where my fiance, Dick, was ill in the Army hospital. On the way back we would visit his brother and sister-in-law, who were living and working in Washington.

Since I had never been south of Atlantic City, N.J., before and I hadn’t seen Dick for several months, I was full of anticipation and curiosity.

Before the wreck, my most jolting experience on the trip was changing trains in Washington. Zelda, my mother-in-law, and I spotted a train that appeared to be heading for the right destination and rushed to board.

Resisting Zelda was not easy, but a determined conductor prevented us from boarding.

We looked up to see window after window of black faces regarding us impassively. We were heading into the South, and had seen our first Jim Crow car. No whites could ride with blacks. And that was wartime when blacks and whites were fighting and dying together.

When we returned to Washington for our brief visit, we discovered that Roy, my future brother-in-law, had purchased Pullman seats for our return trip to New York.

With the constant shifting of soldiers and their dependents, the trains were extremely crowded, so he thought we’d be better off with comfortable reserved seats. Although his mother scolded him for his extravagance, we later had ample reason to be grateful to him for that decision.

Long-distance phone calls were a luxury then, so I didn’t think I needed to call my parents back in the Bronx. They knew I was in good hands and I hadn’t specified an exact time for my return. I would call when I got back to the city. If it were late, I’d stay overnight in Manhattan at Zelda’s apartment.

There were just two or three Pullman cars at the end of the long train. In front of us were two elaborate dining cars. Between them and the engine were the ordinary coaches.

It was great being with Zelda on the train. She and her late husband had been in the public-relations business for many years, and knew all kinds of important people in politics, journalism, philanthropy and the literary world. Thus, she was able to point out various fellow passengers including Chinese author Lin Yutang, whose works were popular at the time. Roy Howard of the Scripps-Howard newspaper chain was another eminent person I remember in our car.

As we headed north toward Philadelphia, we decided we were hungry. It was shortly before 6 p.m. when we made our way into the dining car and were seated at a table for two, the table closest to our Pullman car. Those dining cars were beautifully appointed--white linen cloths and napkins, substantial cutlery and a small vase of flowers. It all felt marvelously luxurious to me.

I was content to let Zelda take the lead in ordering as I looked around the car. Across the aisle to our right, I remember seeing a family with a small blond child.

The waiter was writing our order on his pad when there was a tremendous jolt. I still have a perfectly clear vision of seeing his eyes widen in shock as he seemed to fly toward the front of the car.

Later I would have visions of others including the family with the child similarly levitated. I never knew what happened to any of them.

Zelda and I found ourselves under the table. We were covered with coal dust--the engines ran on coal then--and we had no idea what had happened. Nor at first did we think of anything except rushing into the restroom just behind us to attempt to clean our faces, hands and arms.

Only when we emerged and heard requests for all able-bodied men to come to the forward part of the train did we realize there had been a terrible wreck.

Like the students I heard interviewed about the Amtrak wreck, we saw nothing of the carnage. Our position in the back of the dining car, the fact that we had fallen under the table so that we were not hit by broken glass, had protected us.

In those days, although we were both able-bodied women, we were not asked to come out to help. Instead we were urged back to our Pullman car, which had miraculously not left the track, to await further instructions.

Now the Pullmans filled up with other uninjured passengers. Word came that the cars that were not damaged would be attached to another engine and pulled away from the scene.

After a while a man came through and asked if anyone wanted to send a telegram to notify family or friends that they were all right. Foolishly I decided that since my family didn’t know what train I was coming on, I would only alarm them if I sent them a telegram. I didn’t realize that they would have heard about the wreck on the radio and be so worried they’d call Dick’s brother to find out if I were on the train. Zelda and I, however, decided to send a wire to Dick at Fort Eustis to tell him that we were uninjured.

As it turned out, he knew nothing about the wreck until many hours later whereas my poor parents were frantic. We had family in Washington and Philadelphia and Mother and Dad had been in touch with everyone trying to find out what had happened to me.

Meanwhile, I was in a curious state. I, at that age normally shy, found myself under the stress of the unusual circumstance talking easily with all sorts of strangers.

I was surprised and fascinated by the attitude of Lin Yutang. We were sharing our seats with him and his wife. They knew Zelda because their children had attended Walden School with the Popkin boys.

Lin would make periodic forays out and report about what he had seen, including horrific details--heads separated from bodies and more. It was hard for me to comprehend his objectivity. I knew he was a philosopher, but I didn’t understand the nature of his philosophy nor the cultural background that might have given him such a detached attitude. The thought of seeing mass death was too frightening for me--I was not quite 19.

Eventually our cars were pulled away from the wreckage and we were transferred to an Erie Railroad train baggage car. We sat on mail bags that were handcuffed to the wrists of State Department couriers who were taking them to New York for transmittal to the Allies in Europe. Or so we deduced because these smiling men told us nothing.

It was 4 a.m. when we reached Zelda’s apartment and I called my parents. My father, the gentlest of men, was barely able to speak to me. “You bad girl,” he sputtered, before he turned the phone over to my mother.

I was smitten with remorse for having missed the one opportunity to send the telegram that would have spared them hours of anguish.

Over the years as I have traveled extensively by train, ship, car and plane. I have rarely thought that I was in danger. Perhaps I have cultivated a certain stoicism. As a result of that early experience, I know that catastrophic accidents always happen but I also know there is little I can do to prevent them. As a mother, and now a grandmother, however, I know where I am most fortunate. If anything should happen to them, my grief would be lifelong.