All in a Nights Work

      It was a cold dismal evening in February, 1937. Snow was beginning to fall withy the promise of a major storm. The last eastbound milk train had passed the Oak Ridge station. A Westbound freight train pulled out of the nearby passing siding. The headlight of decapod Number 2451 made a cone of brilliance through the darkness. The crew stopped at the station to get the necessary train order for their nights work.

      The telegraph sounder was clicking away in the agent’s dimly lighted office. The lengthily order listed the designation and number of each car to be exchanged at Beaver Lake, Sparta Junction and Hainesburg Junction. The message had to be interrupted when the dispatcher had other business. The mood in the building was grim. The conductor impatiently paced back and forth between the office and the waiting room.

 

       Outside the big engine groaned, hissed, panted and blew off steam. The wig-wag at the crossing was swinging. A breakman would wave an occasional automobile passed. The snow was building up rapidly and the wind was beginning to blow. The crew visioned a rough night ahead, coupling cars and throwing switches.

 

       The sound of the telegraph instruments in the little office finally ended. The No. 19 train order, in triplicate, was handed to the licensed conductor. With two toots of the whistle the steamer pulled out into the night. The agent reported that extra 2451 had cleared the block. The kerosene lamp was blown out and the station door was locked. I walked home with my father to a late supper.

 

The Blasting Snafu

       Suddenly, on a summer’s day in 1932, the Jersey City dispatcher found the telegraph lines west of Newfoundland out of service. Just as mysteriously the service returned after and hour. Probably the railroad authorities never knew the cause of the interruption. The following account will explain what happened.

 

       The coal yard at Oak Ridge needed a new bin for the storage of coke. The cleaner burning coke had become the preferred fuel for some homeowners. Excavation of the bank for the new building uncovered a hard rock boulder nearly the size of a Volkswagen Bug. The rock was too big to move and had to be broken up in pieces of manageable size.

 

       Al Rosemond, the local ballistics “expert”, was engaged to do the job. Al was a big, jovial, well liked black man who had come some time ago from Alabama. Some said that he made a quick trip to New Jersey because he practiced his trade too freely on some buildings in his home state. Unfortunately the rock was directly under the Susquehanna’s telegraph wires. Special precautions were taken to protect wires from damage. The rock was tied down with heavy wire mesh and hemp blasting mats for the purpose. The several holes drilled in the rock were filled with powder, a blasting cap and some packing. Wires were run to the battery of the coal truck.  At the firing there was a mild fuff with little desired result.

Al then packed in a much bigger charge of powder. This time the entire protective covering went skyward severing all of the telegraph wires in its path. Rocks flew in all directions breaking some windows in the station building. In a short time the wires were spliced on the ground and repaired permanently the next day. Needless to say, the hard rock boulder was reduced to a very manageable size.

 

 

 Save The Child

      With the decline of the iron industry, Charlotteburg became a near ghost town. The entire village of thirty dwellings was sold in 1878for $35,000. The city of Newark continued to buy property for the watershed. The post office was moved to the baggage room in the railroad station. Earl Kipp was postmaster and station agent for three decades.

 

       In 1915 a local woman, probably not having money for a telegram, wrote a penny postcard to Doctor Courson at Oak Ridge asking him to see her very sick child. The postcard was never delivered. It was found in one of the out of the way pigeon holes when the station was demolished in 1938. It is pure conjecture but quite logical to conclude what happened. The Charlotteburg agent telegraphed the Oak Ridge agent who sent a messenger to the doctor. The good doctor drove his horse and buggy to Charlotteburg and cared for the child that day. Before people had telephones the telegraph was used many times in cases of emergency.

 

        Beyond the Call of Duty

      In the spring of 1903 a head on collision at Oak Ridge severed the telegraph lines ending through communications on the railroad. Agent Henery Fredericks rushed to the site of the accident with a discarded telegraph key and sounder. He connected them to the proper wires but without a relay he could only reach nearby stations. The nearby station agents, in turn, relayed news of the disaster to Jersey City and Stroudsburg. The operator shuttled back and forth relaying messages from East to West and from west to East until temporary wires were strung around the accident.

Men and equipment were brought in to clear the tracks. Extra efforts by the workers soon opened the road to traffic. Superintendent Gilpin commended agent Fredericks for his quick and resourceful response to the disaster. A complete story of the accident will be printed in a future issue of the Reflector.

 

 Western Union Telegrams

      Before people had radios they came to the railroad station to get reports of major news events. The station agent was the first to know who was elected president and when World War I was over. Families used the telegraph service to keep in touch with relatives and friends and to do business. The telegraph messages sometimes exposed the private life of the sender and receiver. The telegraph operator was sworn to secrecy about the content of the telegraph messages. At Oak Ridge an available adult or older boy or girl delivered messages to a home nearby receiving a quarter of fifty cents. For delivery of telegrams a mile or more away the local taxi driver got a dollar. Delivery of messages about death or major accident fell to the local preacher.

 

 Maintaining the Telegraph Apparatus

      The telegraph key and sounder were made of brass and quite durable. The relay was a more delicate instrument. It was used to intensify the signal from longer distances. The system required a battery, usually the wet type, and a glass jar with Zink plates. It required periodic changing. Spencer Ross, long time company electrician, maintained the system in the middle miles of the Susquehanna. Spencer traveled by motor car inspecting poles, wires, crossarms and insulators. Falling trees were a particular hazard as well as “sportsmen” who used insulators for target practice.

 

Susquehanna Telegraph Operators

 In 1917 there were positions for telegraph operators at 69 locations from Jersey City to Hanford and to Plains Pa. The hours of work ranged from 7 to 12 hours per day. The operator’s salary ranged from $63.00 to $105.00 per month.  The usual agent operator worked 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, and received $68.00 a month.

Some locations required an operator working day and night so there were many more than 69 telegraph operators employed.

 

 In 1935 the Susquehanna listed 105 telegraphers according to seniority. It included N.Y.S. &W. and W.B. & E. Station agents, signalmen, and towerman. It started with G.F. Marris, hired in October 1894 and ended with J.W. Elliot hired in June, 1935. When an operator retired the bidding process might move several of the men or woman telegraphers to a new location.

Harold Fredericks