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.
The John Quincy Adams proudly bearing the number “1” bids goodbye to Mount Clare Station on eve of departure for Carillon Park.
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!