Wish I had time to tell you about the Bridgton’s last sickness. What a time they had! The town owned it, you know. Most of the folks wanted to junk it while a few enterprising souls hung on. In cahoots with some railroad fans its president, Lester Ames, put up a lively scrap to save the little line. Lasted a couple of years, that wrangling. First, the railroad champions would be on top, and then their dark-complexioned adversaries were eye-gouging or had a knee in the railroad’s bowels. It looked bad. Hard telling how long it might have lasted but the coup de grace came suddenly when someone slipped through a deal with an uninnocent junkman. Spikes flew. So did Mr. Atwood.
(Moody Photo)
The moribund Bridgton line in 1941, when fan excursions and passionate junkmen were running wild. Here No. 8 is ready to haul a crowd of railroad-fans down the line.
(Moody Photo)
An Edaville work train climbs Mt. Urann past the probable site of the Ball Field station. See Mr. Atwood’s snowplow hibernating at the far end of the siding.
(Moody Photo)
The Edaville Railroad will never be completed. New spurs and siding beckon from isolated bogs. Here a crew is ballasting a new spur to 31 Bog.