The Dummy makes its last run in 1918

For three months a little locomotive nicknamed “The Dummy” chugged between Atlanta and Bloomburg, Texas, burning natural gas for fuel; the only vehicle of its kind to run on natural gas before or since-but the noble experiment failed.

The Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana Railway had come into existence in 1897 to provide freight and passenger connections between the two Texas communities. Twelve months later, The Dummy made its maiden eight-mile journey, and for the next twenty years, completed two round trips daily. For the first few months of its existence, the train had no whistle and the nickname given it then survived.

Almost every merchant in the area had some stock in the enterprise. The idea of the railroad originated with Mr. Rufus S. Allday, who became its executive director and administrator. Banker Ben F. Ellington held the controlling interest.

The short run from Atlanta paralleled the Texas and Pacific tracks before winding east toward Bloomburg. Virgil T. Porter and his brother, Noah, were the engineers on the train for most of its two decades of operation. Virgil would work about six months of the year repairing equipment while Noah was the engineer.

Then they would trade, Virgil becoming the engineer while his brother made necessary repairs.

The hills were steep and the curves tight. The toughest and steepest was known as “Jug Factory Hill” because of the pottery factory halfway up the incline. Sometimes, on rainy days, the train would slip on the tracks and have to back up to the depot to get a fresh start. Several tries might be necessary before topping the hill, but when it succeeded, the whole countryside could hear The Dummy’s proud blast.

The railroad was a thriving business with freight coming into Atlanta was over its tracks. In tum, considerable tonnage was transported to Bloomburg where connections were made with the Kansas City Southern. The bright red passenger coach was usually full.

The Dummy made its first run at eight in the morning, returning to Atlanta at eleven-thirty. The next scheduled departure from Atlanta was a three o’clock in the afternoon and the return was at five-thirty. Besides the passenger coach, the little train was able to haul as many as six carloads of freight.

The chief crops in Cass County were cotton and Irish potatoes. During June, the peak of the potato season, 150 to 200 carloads were brought to the loading platform, and during the fall, as many as 16,000 to 18,000 bales of cotton were carried. Hay and feed were transported to the Texas and Pacific and Kansas City Southern connections.

It took a half cord of wood to fire up the engine for its morning trip. Farmers Irby 8. Price and his brother cleared some land in Tom Wood’s fields near Queen City and sold wood to the railroad for eighty-five cents a cord. This wood would be stacked alongside the tracks for the trainmen. On the afternoon run, “home” to Atlanta, the Dummy would stop at the woodpile and pick up the load. Usually, the passengers volunteered to help in order to save time.

There were other unscheduled stops, too. Farmers would place pyramids of watermelons on the tracks. These melons were not for shipment-they were intended for the crew’s personal use.

About 1912, a natural gas pipeline was paid from Atlanta to Bloomburg. The railway directors decided to experiment with the new fuel to find out if it could be used successfully in the little train’s engine. A flat car and a tank about six feet in diameter were purchased. The tank was mounted on the flat car and coupled to the engine. Regular air hoses were used to connect the gas line to the tank. After about thirty minutes, the tank registered one hundred pounds pressure. A gas line was laid to the track both in Atlanta and Bloomburg.

Everything worked fine for a few months. Then the gas company began having trouble with their lines blowing here and there and cut the train’s line pressure to 50 pounds. Half-rations were not enough for The Dummy. The engine consistently died two miles short of its destination.

Eventually, the train was pulled in, the gas burner removed, and the engine put on coal. An open-air passenger car was built from the flatcar. The ride was nice and cool, but cinders and insects offset the more pleasant features.

The Dummy did not have a water tank or a turntable. After lunch each day, the crew would run the little engine down the track about three blocks from the depot where a creek passed under the railroad track. A steam-driven pump was bolted to a couple of crossties on the bank. The crew would connect a steam pipe from the pump to the side of the boiler, then a hose to the discharge side of the pump. The other end was placed in the water and the steam turned on. It took about thirty minutes to fill the tender.

The engine then traveled three more blocks to a switch which routed it on another section of track. After traveling a circuit on this “for half-mile, the engine was turned around and headed toward Bloomburg.”

The rail line flourished until World War I, when William McAdoo, who headed a government agency controlling the nation’s railroads, decreed that all railroad freight must be shipped by the most direct routes. The little T.A.L. express office had to be moved to the Texas and Pacific station. The lack of business killed the Dummy. The whole community was saddened when it made its last run in 1918.

Virtually nothing remains to remind the present-day investigator of The Dummy’s career. I have, with my father, walked eight miles of the trackbed, but we found no fragments of tracks or crossties. However, where the old roundhouse stood, we uncovered three cast-iron firebox grates-the only known parts of the little train still in existence.