by Gordon Lloyd, Jr./photos as noted from the Lloyd Transportation Library
If you listened to “pop” radio in 1969, you were likely to hear Frank Sinatra belting out one of his signature songs, wherein he simultaneously celebrated and lamented life achievements and shortcomings. It was hard to avoid. Credit would go to song-writer Paul Anka for adopting a French tune and merging it with fresh words, intended to be sung by a “he-man,” like Frank. Although “My Way” never rose to the Number One spot, its popularity has been enduring. The song was covered by many other artists as well, but Sinatra fans knew the song was about their star.
In hindsight, the second verse struck a chord with me, also rooted in 1969 during my only visits to Deer Lodge and Harlowton, Mont., when the Milwaukee Road electrics were alive. I’d say “alive and well,” but by 1969, that assessment may have been a stretch. That second verse, contained the haunting lyrics, “Regrets… I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention.”
August 1969 visitations to Deer Lodge (so named for a natural saline secretion which attracted deer that favored the valley during the colder months) and Harlowton merely lit a slow-burning fuse in me. The weather was, naturally, overcast and dismal on this one-time encounter. Still, I took some photographs and my minor exploration of the Milwaukee Road facilities in each town did not seem to rile the local employees.
ABOVE: Oh, to go back to 1974… time was running out for the Milwaukee’s electric railroad. Fortunately, a few (too few), documented those final days of the historic venture. George Horna was one of those adventurers, recording an operation that is unlikely to ever be repeated. In a pristine scene at Drummond, Montana, George set up to capture two Joes with pantographs extended for energy, along with an SD45 and a GP40 from General Motors powering westbound tonnage on May 8, 1974. —Photo by George Horna (LTL)
The stops were chance, at best. En route from San Francisco to Chicago on a family vacation, the examinations were pre-planned as part of the route and somewhat tolerated by the inhabitants of the 1961 Oldsmobile Fiesta 88 station wagon. But available time severely restricted any attempts to permit virtually anything but static locomotive photography. Unfortunately, what little effort was made to investigate and survey the main line right-of-way did not generate any memorable scenes of boxcabs or Little Joes struggling to perform their intended roles. My Dad did his best to make the most of hot and humid conditions in an un-air conditioned car with mostly unwilling passengers, but the results of a brief encounter with a fascinating breed of locomotive were certainly exciting (dare I say electrifying?) but less than satisfying.
In service as a single-unit switcher, boxcab E57B switched the yard in Deer Lodge, while electric steeple cab E82 reclined, awaiting its next assignment. Mechanical forces attended to Little Joes in the roundhouse, while shop goat X3800 shifted locomotives that dwarfed it. She was a homely single-truck locomotive intended only to reposition much larger locomotives in and around the roundhouse, limited in its travels by the fixed length of the thick extension cord that provided it with electrical energy. Some form of photography was achieved on each class of remaining locomotive, but the enticement of “what could have been” left us desirous of what was unavailable.
ABOVE: Deer Lodge had shop facilities but no substation. On September 12, 1972, what appears to be a work train extra movement was caught passing the tranquil Deer Lodge station and yard office. The locomotive consist led by E34A appears to have ample horsepower and tractive effort for the short train of various “company” equipment. —Kodachrome by Keith E. Ardinger (LTL)
As a sidebar, my Dad, brother Bill and I were permitted to briefly poke around the Deer Lodge roundhouse. My recollection of the aroma of grease and oil are in concert with so many locomotive maintenance facilities I have visited over the many years. To some, unpleasant and offensive, I found the scent tantalizing and infinitely memorable. But, along with the fragrant sensation, stenciled on the interior of one of the huge roundhouse doors was the memorable instruction: “DO NOT OPEN DOOR WITH JOE.” Beneath the admonition, someone had scribed in chalk this addendum: “Two Joes are good openers.” No doubt, the warning directive was placed there following an incident (as are most railroad general rules), involving moving the large door with a locomotive. The rebuttal, a classic retort by a comedic railroader. Who couldn’t love ALL of this?
The next day in Harlowton, the sun emerged long enough for almost-sunny slides of Little Joe E72. Sadly, that’s all there was, folks. The exposure was both brief and finite. It was like dangling catnip in front of a cat, or closer to that 1969 certainty, giving the family dog in our Oldsmobile station wagon a piece of a hamburger – more was wanted. Somewhere in a dark crevasse of my mind I made a mental note that this intriguing slice of railroading was worthy of additional study, and that a return visit would be a good use of an undefined future effort – a lofty goal for a 15-year-old who did not even have a drivers license at the time.
ABOVE: My long-time friend, the late Dick Adams, had a difficult decision to make on September 1, 1972. He was offered a cab ride with the crew of E77/E76, a pair of single-ended Little Joes. Acceptance of the kind offer precluded online photography, of course, which was the primary purpose of his trip. Soul-searching ensued, with the final decision to decline the offer. The treasured result were these two images taken at Vendome, southeast of Butte. —Photo by Richard O. Adams (LTL)
Although we lived in the San Francisco Bay area, for me, the 1969 visit to the Montana electrification came before the physically-closer operation in “nearby” Washington state. And, while Dad had travelled to Tacoma on several occasions, my first visit there occurred belatedly, after the electric operations were concluded in 1971 (though the Milwaukee kept the Coast Division overhead energized until 1972). Unemployed boxcabs littered the Tacoma facility, wheels rusting, their once-nourishing pantographs latched, perhaps forever, in a submissive position.
In 1971, musings emanated in the railfan press that the Milwaukee was erecting new overhead in the Butte area and that consideration was, again, being given to electrifying “the gap” that existed between the two electric divisions flanked by Avery and Othello. Rumors were overcome by reality and electric operation on the Coast Division ended, not unexpectedly, with the final train in, you guessed it, 1971…