The Greatest Hero: The Story of Casey Jones

The Greatest Hero
Author’s Note: (All of the statistical information is factual, as well as Jones’ quotes)
It had been a good day, on April 29th, of 1900. Jonathan “Casey” Jones climbed aboard his locomotive. It was a very familiar feeling for him; climbing into the cab of his Illinois Central steam engine.
Moving onto the footplate in front of the engine, he ran his fingers gently along the gold-plated number engraved in the front of the huge boiler.  
“…It’s always something to look forward to, starting you up…” he whispered, wiping down the headlamp with a piece of cloth.
He had dubbed his locomotive the Cannonball Express,  after the rail line he was assigned to. He loved this engine more than anything in the world.
“Hey! Casey, Are you gonna go pick up those passenger cars...Or are you gonna make love with the locomotive?” laughed the Trainman in the engine next door. “You should get going! The night run is in an hour, and the cars aren’t even there yet!”
********************************
It was late, and Casey sighed. He hadn’t been late in a long time. After checking the coupling between his coal tender, and the first of the passenger cars, he looked back towards the end of the train. He was searching for the conductor, who would be signalling him to pull out of the station. There was the addrenaline-pumping shriek of the conductor’s whistle, followed by a bright green flag fluttering in the breeze.
Casey nodded, and smiled. All the anxiety of being late instantly melted away with that green flag, as though it had sucked it out of him. Stepping up into the cab of his train, he checked the pressure guages, and pulled the chord above his head. The train’s whistle was his signature, starting low, and growing louder and louder before dying down again. Releasing the brake, the locomotive hissed and let out a rush of steam. Slowly, the pistons began to beat like an enormous mechanical heart: shoof…shoof…sh-shoof, sh-shoof…The rhythm picked up speed as the engine finally got the heavy cars to follow behind it, and the Cannonball Express pulled out of the station.
Casey looked off to his left. He smiled, thinking that, even with the fog that sheltered and preserved the awe-inspiring stars, and the animals that were just now curling up in their homes, drifting off to sleep—the night was still beautiful.
He couldn’t contain the laugh building up inside him. Pushing the throttle forwards, the Cannonball Express began to beat its pistons faster and faster. Soon, the steady sh-shoof turned into a flowing SHA-sha-sha-sha SHA-sha-sha-sha. It became a metronome to Casey’s off-key arrangement of “I’ve Been Working On The Railroad.” He laughed, and tried to encourage the fireman, Simeon Webb, to join in. The man laughed a little, and respectfully declined.
The Cannonball Express made its final stop at Poplar Street Station in Memphis, Tennessee. Pulling the engine off to a siding, Casey stepped down from the ladder. Almost immediately, a man approached him. He recognized him as the station’s manager.
“Casey, I need you to take a train. Sam Tate’s called in sick with ‘cramps.’ I need you to take engine 382 on its run.”
Casey laughed again; a big, hardy laugh, that showed no disappointment or fatigue. He immediately accepted the challenge with a smile and a wink.
“I’ll get her there, on the advertised.” It was trainman slang for “on time,” and it was one of Casey’s favorites.
Casey was glad it was damp out. Locomotives like this one operated best in these conditions. The only possible danger in his eyes was the fog (even if it was beautiful). And mix that with the fact that the train was already late, and Casey realized he’d need to really push it to make up time. Being set back 95 minutes is a significant chunk of time in the mind of such a great engineer like him.
****************************
Roaring through areas known for previous, fatal accidents from only a year before, Engine #382 thundered down the line at speeds breeching 129 kilometers per hour, with Casey Jones grinning wickedly as he leaned out of the cab window. The wind nearly took his trainman’s cap right off, and he removed it to be safe.
Deep, hardy laughs bellowed out into the early morning air. He’d made up fifty-five of the ninety-five minute delay by the time he had reached Grenada for his second stop to refill the train’s water tank. From there, he made up another fifteen minutes in the stretch from Grenada to Winona, Mississippi. Fireman Webb began to chuckle himself as he found Jones’ laugh contagious. Before long, the both of them were practically rolling on the floor with addrenaline-induced hilarity.
Feeling alive as ever, Casey opened up the throttle, practically flying through the next leg of—which didn’t have any speed restrictions on curves. Reaching Durant, Mississippi (155 miles into the trip) Casey was laughing as though tickled by the rhythmic pounding of the engine’s pistons, and the whistle atop the locomotive’s black boiler.
The train was originally scheduled to make the station at 4:05 AM, and now was only five minutes behind. Casey had no doubt that he would fully make up for the initial delay, and probably even get the train there early!
There was only twenty-five miles left of track before the end of the run. Casey pushed the train to its limits, cheering out the window and letting the whistle scream good-morning-greetings to everyone around.
“Sim!” He yelled, beaming at the man beside him, who had been feverishly shovelling coal onto the fire. “The old girl’s got her dancing slippers on tonight!” And he winked a twinkling eye to him.
********************************
Then came a series of bad luck ahead on the line. At a passing junction, two trains had come face to face. One, a double-header freight train, #83, moving south and the other a long freight train, #72, heading north. Although they were supposed to both fit on the siding to let Jones by, the longer freight train had a terrible accident, which normally could have been fixed if it were given more time. One of the brake lines ruptured, locking locomotive #72’s wheels in place. The last four cars of the train still lay on the mainline, where Jones was expected to come barrelling through at any moment.
Immediately, the crew of both trains ran down the line, carrying red lanterns and flags and whistles and whatever they could use to signal to Casey that there was danger. Because the train was coming through a turn, fireman Webb was the first to see the dim, red brake lights on the end of the train.
“Casey!! There’s something on the main line!!” He cried.
Travelling at over 75 miles per hour, Casey knew what had to be done;
“JUMP, SIM, JUMP!!” he ordered, his voice revealing his seriousness. He wasn’t laughing or joking anymore.
Simeon leapt off of the engine, about three hundred feet from the red light on the back of that train.
As he hit the ground, he lost conciousness. But the last thing he heard was the shrill, solemn cry of the whistle and the frantic screech of the locked wheels as the brake was applied, warning anyone left on the freight train to get out.
After the devastating wreck, locomotive engineer Jonathan Luther Jones was dead. Miraculously, because of his heroic efforts and quick-thinking, his life was the only one lost.
The locomotive had shattered the caboose, and plowed through a freight car filled with hay, another loaded with corn, and made it halfway through a third car stacked with lumber before jumping the rails and landing on its side in the embankment next to the track, finally coming to rest.
His watch was recorded stopped at the time of the accident: 3:52 AM, on April 30th, 1900. When Casey’s body was removed from the locomotive, his hands were reported still clutching both the brake, and the whistle chord…


EPILOGUE:
Jonathan Luther Jones was named a railroading hero for his courage during the events of April 30th, 1900. Not a single life was lost other than his own, from either train involved in the horrific accident. Some reports say that Jones was killed by a wood splinter, or a steel bolt puncturing vital areas of his body. And because there are no authentic photographs of the wreck in existence, Nobody can be sure. However, the report of his dying from the sheer impact of the collision is the most probable. The fireman, Simeon “Sim” Webb, told the story to newspapers and citizens alike, portraying Jones respectfully as a railroading martyr. Because of Casey’s selfless actions, quick thinking, and immense bravery, his legend is widely known by most train and railroad enthusiasts around the world, and is the most famous railroading incident in all of history. His face and name have appeared on postage stamps and toys; in books and in songs. He was even referenced in Walt Disney’s Dumbo, as the name of the circus train. Even today, Jones’ house in Jackson, Tennessee is preserved as a museum, and an honorary landmark, and is visited by fans daily.