Railroad Stories Magazine
Pages 77-79. Vol. XVI, No. 4, March, 1935
One-Man Railroad
By Thomas T. Taber
Chairman, N.Y. Chapter, Railway & Locomotive Historical Society, Inc.
Have you a real steam locomotive in your back yard? Probably not, but John Vaughan has. Two, in fact. One is standard gauge , the other narrow. Also a narrow gauge gasoline engine.
All three of them are not only capable of running, but actually run- on tracks laid in the back yard of Mr. Vaughan’s home in Luzerne County, Pa. How he acquired these locomotives is an interesting story.
Although Johnny Vaughan has never worked on any like except his own, he is an enthusiastic member of the New York Chapter of the Railway & Locomotive Historical Society, fraternizes with railroad men, snaps pictures of engines and trains, and even makes movies of them. One day he happened to see an old four-foot gauge locomotive about to be scrapped.
“May I please have this engine ?” he asked, on the spur of the moment.
“Well, I don’t know,” came the hesitant reply. “That’s a rather unusual request. What do you want it for?”
Vaughan wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with a locomotive, but he loved iron horses too much to see this old-timer go to the scrap-heap after years of faithful service.
“We'll think it over,” Vaughan was told, and a few days later he was informed that the relic was his.
The owner christened it “Little Jack.” His first problem was to transport this ten-ton baby to its new abode. He hired a gang of men and a large truck, and soon Little Jack was being trundled across town to Vaughan’s home, where he was given quarters in an engine house already prepared.
Rails were laid—eventually twelve hundred feet—to provide a place for Little Jack to exercise his driving wheels. The right-of-way is adorned with “ Keep Off the Railroad!” signs.
Being ready for the scrap pile, Little Jack was not a thing of beauty when he landed as an adopted child in the back yard. Under Vaughan’s ministrations, however, the clumsy saddle tank disappeared. Brass bands soon adorned the jacket. The bright work shone, while the rest of Little Jack gleamed vith new paint.
An admirer presented L. J. with a whistle. Others followed suit, until now he proudly carries five whistles, ranging in size from a little air tooter to a full size steam chime. An old air pump was resurrected and attached to Little Jack’s side, so he might have brakes and air to ring the bell and blow one of the numerous whistles. Then a headlight appeared, so the little fellow could find his way around at night.
A gasoline locomotive on a dump pile next caught the eye of John Vaughn. Once more he said “Please,” once more the answer was “Yes,” and again the big truck was pressed into service to take a prize to his home.
The fact that the latest addition was only three-foot gauge did not bother Vaughn. He just laid another rail, and took care that no collisions occurred on his railroad.
The pike had now become a freight and passenger carrier, known as the “Vaughan Central Lines,” and a few friends were given passes over the system. Its rolling stock comprises one passenger coach, a gondola, and a dump car. The latter is used to carry ashes, etc., from the house to the rear of the yard.
Little Jack continued to be the favored son, and received the same
loving care and attention. Gasoline could not supplant steam in the heart of John Vaughn. But if there is a hurry-up job, requiring the calling of a freight crew on short notice, the gasoline baby is pressed into service, with much sputtering, for L. J. requires several hours to get up steam.
Vaughan hates to see the passing of old equipment, especially motive power, on the railroads. He feels that historic material - at least some of it - should be saved for future generations. That is why he joined the historical association and urges other railroad fans and railroad men to do the same.
Being well acquainted on the Lehigh Valley, Vaughn learned that their 4-2-4 inspection engine No. 1 was out of service, and probably was doomed to the scrap pile. (This was in 1934). The No. 1 had been built in Wilkes-Barre, Pa., in 1884. For many years she carried the president and other officials over the Lehigh Valley system on inspection trips.
When first built, she was numbered 300 and carried on handsome metal plates on the cab sides the name “Dorothy,” in honor of the railroad president’s daughter. Later the name was removed and the number changed to 1, but to old-timers she is still affectionately known as “ Dorothy.”
Vaughan requested the Lehigh Valley management to preserve this famous veteran of the steel trail. The officials were sympathetic and interested, but regretted they had no way of doing so.
“All right,” said Vaughan. “ Sell Dorothy to me and I'll keep her myself.”
The “brass hats” gladly cooperated. They sold the locomotive for a nominal sum, and delivered her on a siding a few blocks from his home. Now, transporting a ten-ton narrow gauge mine locomotive across town is one thing, and getting a thirty-eight-ton standard gauge hog through the streets is decidedly another, it was quite a problem.
Finally a large crew of experienced men worked all day lifting the Dorothy up on a big trailer and towing her by a tractor to Vaughan’s home. After removing a gate post, damaging the front lawn, and surmounting other obstacles, they succeeded in placing the Dorothy on the 70-pound rails prepared in advance for her arrival. Two hundred feet had been laid, and six hundred more will follow.
A snug little engine house has been constructed, far enough from Little Jack so there will be no hard feelings between the two.
Lehigh Valley veterans rejoice that after a half century of service the Dorothy has been “ pensioned,” and for many years to come she will, on occasion, proudly puff up and down her private track under the peaceful sweeping trees, giving joy to her owner and his friends. The Dorothy thus portrays a visual link between the past and present and proves the value of preserving historical material.
(Note: When Mr. Vaughan died the Dorothy was sold to Frank S. Mitten and hauled to this summer home in nearby Bear Creek. After he died in 1943 it was donated by his widow to the scrap drive during World War II
