The newcomer is the “Rubicon,” one of three fireless locomotives which were purchased by The National Cash Register Company in the early years of this enterprising century. The Rubicon, however, did not come to the Park from a rusty and forgotten limbo—as, for instance, the Grasshopper locomotive did. The engine is an antique, to be sure, yet its boiler and baffles had scarcely had time to dry when it was refurbished for a place of honor in the museum. Its successor, a Diesel-powered switch engine, had been delivered only a short time before the Rubicon was relieved of service and was ready to be converted into a public curiosity. In fact, the Rubicon—injury added to insult!—on one of its final trips puffed across the NCR yard and pushed its bright blue-and-yellow replacement from the flat car on which it arrived to the roundhouse.
“The Three Little Engines,” so long familiar to Daytonians, were among the first fireless (or steam storage) locomotives in America. The Dayton was built in 1913, the South Park in 1910 and the Rubicon in 1909—all by the Lima Locomotive Works of Lima, Ohio, on a basic design developed and popularized in Germany. NCR’s founder, John H. Patterson, had in fact seen such an engine during his travels in Europe, and decided it was just what he wanted for Dayton, Ohio.
Mr. Patterson was one of the first American industrialists to be concerned with “factory environment.” He believed that a factory would be an esthetic asset to the community, as well as a happy place for workers, if it were kept clean and attractively landscaped. NCR resembled—then, as it does today—a series of office buildings rather than a huge industrial complex.
The neighborhood adjacent to the factory also concerned John H. Patterson; he offered annual prizes to householders who kept the best yards and flower beds. An early NCR machinist who looked up from his lathe and glanced out the spacious window—by way of resting his eyes—saw lovely suburban gardens instead of the grimy clutter that bordered most factories of the era.
Keeping the sandstone buildings clean, and the geraniums healthy, would be easier, Mr. Patterson concluded, if it weren’t for the sooty smoke belched up by switch engines.
The steam-storage locomotive proved to be the answer. It could chuff about for hours, emitting nothing more than a few puffs of steam.
A Steam Tank on Wheels
The Rubicon is actually little more than a 7- by 16-foot steam tank, built somewhat like a thermos bottle and fitted out with cylinders and wheels. The tank was two-thirds filled with water and then charged from a 150-pound steam line from the NCR powerhouse.
As the Rubicon’s engineer opened the throttle, steam passed through a reducing valve and reached the cylinders at a pressure of 60 pounds per square inch. The steam charge, at 370 degrees Fahrenheit, gradually converted some of the water to steam, which—although at a lesser pressure—gave the locomotive additional operating time.
The Rubicon ran three or four hours on a charge, depending on the work load. Normally, three or four daily trips were made to the roundhouse, to exchange a “tired” engine for a freshly-charged one. Eighteen-inch pistons enabled the engines to move their own weight with just a few pounds of steam, so it was rare for them to be stranded away from their “lifeline.” The storage tank was insulated with a two-inch layer of magnesia. It was fitted with baffles to keep the water from sloshing back and forth as the engine started and stopped.