Reminiscences of a Rambling Railroader

By Grattan Price

A rare glimpse of military railroad service in Europe during WWII, with the 709th Railway Grand Division. The author describes growing up in Virginia and his military service as Master Mechanic of the 709th during their tour of duty in France, Belgium and Germany. Told in a captivating manner, he details his experiences in WWII and his emotions during routine and dangerous wartime events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grattan Price, Jr
• Release date: Dec 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301794621

Grattan Price

Charles Grattan Price, Jr. was a Captain in the Transportation Corps' Military Railway Service, where he served as Superintendent of the Holabird Railway Shops in Baltimore, and as Master Mechanic of the 709th Railway Grand Division in France, Belgium, Holland and Germany during WWII. Following the war, he worked as a consultant to railroads evaluating conversion to diesels. His career included being a partner of an insurance company. He authored "The Crooked and Weedy", a history of the Chesapeake Western prior to his death in June, 1996.

Book preview

Reminiscences of a Rambling Railroader

By Charles Grattan Price, Jr.

Copyright 1992 Charles Grattan Price, Jr.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Foreword

CHAPTER I Early Times

CHAPTER II Damocles of the Shenandoah

CHAPTER III Sandhouse

CHAPTER IV Day of Infamy

CHAPTER V Slightly Out of Uniform

CHAPTER VI Who Dat?

CHAPTER VII Do Something, Price!

CHAPTER VIII Double Trouble

CHAPTER IX Legal Eagle

CHAPTER X A Gritty Problem

CHAPTER XI Holabird to Bucyrus

CHAPTER XII Bucky-Russ to Camp Shanks

CHAPTER XIII Camp Shanks to Omaha Beach

CHAPTER XIV Omaha Beach to Compiégne

CHAPTER XV Shepherding Hospital Trains

CHAPTER XVI Pile-Up at Precy-sur-Oise

CHAPTER XVII Buzz-Bomb Alley

CHAPTER XVIII Murder at Muizen

CHAPTER XIX Roller-Coaster Run

CHAPTER XX Malines to Brussels

CHAPTER XXI Happy New Year - From the Luftwaffe

CHAPTER XXII Fog and Frantic Signals

CHAPTER XXIII The War in Europe is Kaput

CHAPTER XXIV Brussels to Marseille to Home

Epilogue

Dedication

KATHLEEN NUTTER PRICE

August 6, 1916 -March 22, 1992

I fell in love with this beautiful lady when we first met in April 1939. We were married March 15, 1940 and enjoyed more than 52 years together, until she lost a valiant, eight-year battle with cancer. Even in her misery she never lost her innate kindness, gentleness and consideration for others. She was brave beyond belief.

We shared happy times, sad times and tragic times - our road through life was pretty bumpy. I do not believe I would have made it without her support and love. She was my best friend.

To her memory this book is lovingly dedicated.

Charles Grattan Price, Jr.

Harrisonburg, Virginia

June1992

Cover Photo: Delivery of U.S.A. No. 6994, the Army’s first new locomotive for World War II at Washington Terminal, March 12, 1942, to Gen. E.B. Gregory, Quartermaster General. The Engineman was Lieut. C.G. Price, Jr., the Fireman was Lieut. C.W. Lewey. Run made from Baltimore to Ft. Belvoir via B&O, WT, and RF&P Railroads.

Cover design by Rita Toews.

Foreword

Around the time our nation was preparing to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of Pearl Harbor Day, December 7, 1991, I briefly described how I had spent that day 50 years earlier to some of my children and grandchildren. They insisted I should put it on paper.

I did, and they clamored for more anecdotes, and this collection of events I have remembered is the result of their requests.

It is written for them - hoping they will comprehend that each man during his lifetime has one Great Adventure.

For members of my generation and for myself, World War II was our Great Adventure. Inexorably, our lives were changed forever in what we participated; I respectfully salute the memory of those brave men and women who didn't make it back to these wonderful United States of America. Their sacrifice saved civilization as we know it.

Again, this is for my dear children and grandchildren - I hope they will find it interesting and enjoyable, and will remember Gramps.

If others may sometimes read it, I hope that they, too, will find it likeable. If not, then all I can do is to quote Rhett's reply to Scarlett: Frankly...I don't give a damn!

Charles Grattan Price, Jr.

Harrisonburg, Virginia

March1992

Chapter I - Early Times

When did it start? I really don't know, but my parents said it was apparent from the time I was old enough to notice things around me that trains were, even then, Number One on my hit list. They related that, when kindly older folks would ask, Sonny, what do you want to be when you grow up? the reply was invariably A choo-choo engineer! Even at age two, I wasn't kidding, either.

About the age of ten, I was entranced to discover that all those melodious whistles heard throughout the day (and parts of the night) did not come from one source. There were three railroads serving Harrisonburg! My favorite was the Southern Railway's evening train arriving from far-off Washington, D.C. I could listen for, and hear, its haunting, lonesome whistle far down the valley, about 9:30 PM; then, hear its bell's rhythmic tolling as it approached Harrisonburg's many street crossings. When the bell stopped, I knew that it was safely at the Union Station and I could then drop off to sleep. All was well.

Via roller skates and my trusty bicycle, I made it priority business to get to know the Southern, the Baltimore & Ohio, and the little Chesapeake Western. At that point, I didn't realize the Chesapeake Western was little - all three looked enormous to me.

Each road's locomotives were different; I soon became able to identify most of the whistle signals I heard - not just by railroad, but by locomotive number. The undisputed kings were the immaculate green, gold and silver 1200 and 1300 class P1s and P2s pulling the Southern's passenger trains to and from Washington.

Next in my importance rating came the 2000 class B18s of the Baltimore & Ohio, running to Lexington. I got to be buddies with many of the B&O engineers, firemen and trainmen; they quite frequently invited me to ride the cab with them and I was in heaven! Should an invitation not be forthcoming quickly, there was no problem - I invited myself. There has been a very special affinity between little kids and kindly railroad men. I hope there always will be.

Finally, there came the insignificant little Cuss'n Wait - or as even more popularly derided the Crooked & Weedy. There I struck pay dirt as the old gold miners did! On the Chesapeake Western, the railroaders not only let me ride aboard their cabs and cabooses, they let me practice railroading. Instead of riding around the Harrisonburg yards, I could ride all the way to Bridgewater, Mount Solon or even Elkton - passenger or freight, it didn't matter.

There came a truly momentous occurrence. One afternoon while roller-skating, an acquaintance stopped me to advise there had been a wreck on the Chesapeake Western at the Central Chemical Corporation plant on Pleasant Hill.

With roller skates smoking, I arrived at the scene a very few minutes later. There engine 107 sat, listing to starboard, pilot and driving wheels down in the mud. In my ignorance, it represented a dire calamity.

One of the section men called to help with re-railing said that they were dispatching another engine to help pull its disabled sister back onto the rails. I suspect my eyes were as big as saucers.

Another man (known to me as an acquaintance of my father) called me over to introduce me to a gentleman with whom he was talking, saying: Grattan, meet Mr. Don Thomas, the man who runs this railroad. Thus was born one of the really great friendships of my life.

We talked quite at length as he realized I was someone who had a deep interest in railroading, as well as a somewhat better than average knowledge of its working. Darkness was fast coming and he said, Come on, Grat, it's time for supper - my home is just above yours and I'll give you a ride home.

When we got to my home, Mr. Thomas got out and went to the door to speak with my dad; they were fellow-Rotarians. He asked Dad if it would be permissible for him to pick me up on his way back to the derailment, so that I could see the re-railing process unfold. Dad readily consented; I had been in a torment of fear that he would mention homework.

Fortunately, the 107 had derailed on the siding so that it cleared the main track; the relief engine was already coupled ahead and was ready for the first pull whenever the section men had placed and spiked-in the re-railing frogs.

After several pulls and several failures, the 107 finally settled back on the rails and we went home. I was so hyped-up by all this excitement it was hours before sleep finally came. All through this episode I had been fearful that Mr. Thomas might connect me with an incident that had riled him quite a bit. If he did, he was considerate enough not to mention it. At that time, the City of Harrisonburg was opening and paving Ott Street between East Market and Franklin; they were using an ancient steam roller which the work crew had left sitting overnight in front of Mr. Thomas' home on Ott Street (at the head of Newman Avenue). The fire was banked, boiler full of water and all was peaceful - until some of my school friends in the neighborhood discovered the roller.

From the start, I accept full blame - it was my idea. My buddies were just somewhat dubious participants. First of all, we blew the shrill whistle to our hearts' content. Then, I realized that the roller's controls were basically the same as those on steam locomotives whose operations I'd watched so many times aboard the B&O's switch engines.

Shucks, I said, I can run this baby! After a few trial-and-error maneuvers, I did have her going back and forth very satisfactorily. I even checked the water column's glass to see if there was enough water in the boiler. About this time, the steam pressure began dropping because the fire was nearly burned out.

So, we shut down operations, tied the whistle cord down wide open and quit work for the day. We went to our respective homes - little angels of pure innocence.

About suppertime, all hell broke loose. Apparently after Mr. Thomas called the police, someone must have recognized me and turned me in. Our phone rang again after several calls and I overheard Dad saying, Why no, Don [Thomas], I haven't heard Grattan mention any such happening.

He came to my room where I was at work studying very diligently, and related the story of what had happened. Bless his dear, loving heart, he never asked me if I was involved, and I didn't volunteer any information either.

On another occasion, I inadvertently put a few more gray hairs in my parents' heads. I had heard that our local National Guard unit was leaving Union Station at 7:00 PM for Staunton on a B&O special train. They were en route to Virginia Beach for the annual Summer Encampment Training. I, along with a goodly crowd of others, was there to see them off.

Lieutenant Frank C. Switzer, a fellow railroad buff, was there and said, just as departure was imminent, You want to ride the cab with me to Staunton? He, of course, was on duty and could do pretty much what he pleased as a Guard Officer.

I said YES! and dashed off to find someone who could relay a message to my parents so that they wouldn't worry as to my whereabouts. I recognized a friend who said he would make the call, then I ran to the cab and climbed aboard.

This was my first road ride and it was immensely exciting. I was seated on the fireman's seatbox (he was busy and didn't need it!) and watched us chase the headlight's cone of brightness down the B&O's ancient rails. This was no high-speed main line; but even so, we clattered and rolled along at a pretty good speed - maybe 40 MPH.

Each time the fireman tossed in a shovelful of coal the cab and the overhanging smoke trail would be brightly lighted by the glare from the white-hot firebox. The blare of the whistle sounded frequently, challenging the numerous highway and road crossings. It was awe-inspiring to a young kid to be aboard a behemoth machine rumbling across a number of scary-high bridges at night. Steam locomotives are almost human; if this old Ten-Wheeler had a soul I am positive it was recalling days when it headed the B&O's crack limiteds at high speed, out on the main line. Tonight, it was just a hand-me-down.

All too soon Staunton was reached and we pulled our train through the interchange track and up onto the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway's main line. Then we shoved it back to couple to the rear of a C&O special to the east, comprised of cars loaded with National Guard personnel from Staunton, Clifton Forge and Covington.

Once the coupling was made and tested, our engine cut off and drifted back to clear the interchange track switch. Before we could move through and back onto the B&O, the fireman shouted to our engineer, Dick Welch, Watch out, he's backing into us! The C&O engineer, facing a heavy grade