At 2:42 A.M. on Sunday, June 29, 1952, while thunderstorms raged and in a driving rain, my father, Edward Binger, age 54, the engineer on westbound Grand Trunk freight train No. 3723 with 103 cars in town, suddenly could see lights coming toward him around the curve. He had worked on the railroad for 35 years and like many times before, initially thought they were car headlights, as the road ran alongside the railroad tracks on this run from Detroit to Durand. He soon realized this was no car and eastbound Grand Trunk freight train No. 512 was barreling towards him.
With little time to slow the train down from its current speed of 50 miles per hour, he instinctively yelled to his fireman, Robert Kanaar, 25, and his brakeman, Harold Dolehanty, 25, to jump from the train. At his age and weight (250 pounds), he knew jumping was not an option for him. He stayed in the engine and "soaked her", a term railroad workers used to indicate applying the brake full force. The trains collided head-on, creating a deafening roar, spewing a shower of smoke, steam and flames high into the pre-dawn sky. The impact telescoped the boilers of the two engines, sending two freight cars high into the air and eventually descending upon both engineers. Later one of the crew members was quoted as saying, "It sounded like a bomb going off!".
Miraculously escaping death, the crash left my dad seriously injured and buried for more than an hour under the wreckage of the two freight engines. He was pinned beneath the drive wheels, scalding steam searing his flesh. His fireman managed to jump from the train just before the horrible crash, but his brakeman didn’t make the jump in time.
The fireman on the eastbound train, Howard Strickland, 50, saw the lights of the westbound train, informing the engineer, Sylvester Maginity, age 45, who had 24 years experience working on the railroad. He managed to slow the train carrying 62 cars to 20 miles per hour. Maginity and Strickland, as well as brakeman, J.D. Weigel, 34, were barely able to jump before the collision.
The scene was surreal! Both engines and 18 cars were nearly destroyed. The wreckage created an unusual sculpture of twisted metal and splintered wood from box cars that smashed like toothpicks, festooned with wires from a broken utility pole. In fact, onlookers reported that the two locomotives appeared to be "welded together". It is reported that the 18 derailed cars were empties, with some flying 60 into the air upon impact. Photographs show box cars that spiraled upward and then landed on top of the two engines.
Originally, the damage was estimated at more than $100,000, but in the end it was more than $500,000. Huge crowds gathered for days to view the mangled locomotives until the wreckage was cleared. Observing the devastation before them, everyone wondered how any crew member aboard the two trains could have survived.
The crash occurred on the John Foley Farm a mile west of Fenton. The Foleys summoned the police and Reverend John Madden from St. John Catholic Church in Fenton. First on the scene were State Trooper Lawrence J. Hoffmann, Rev. Madden, Fenton Police Chief, Robert Dode, Dr. W.F. Buchanan of Fenton and Martin Foley, son of the farm owner. Rev. Madden spent a considerable amount of time talking to my dad, reassuring him and asking him if he was Catholic or Protestant. He reportedly grabbed a shovel and began digging my dad out, alongside the other men. The men had to dig a tunnel through the mud and rail to pull my dad to safety. Dr Buchanan crawled under the train to give my dad a sedative. Sheriff deputies, Beecher and Fenton Firemen, 30 members of the 125th infantry and the Flint National Guard arrived to help the injured and clear the wreckage.
The two members who remained on the train at the time of the crash, my dad and his brakeman, Dolehanty, suffered the most severe injuries. My dad sustained first, second and third degree burns from the steam emitted by the engine. Dad also had a broken collar bone and ankle, bruises and chest injuries. His size would be a handicap in recovering from his injuries; preventing pneumonia was the primary concern. It would be necessary to get him up on his feet as soon as possible to prevent that. In time, my dad recovered, but never returned to his job on the railroad, and unfortunately, his good health was never restored.
Brakeman Dolehanty also incurred first, second and third degree burns, in addition to fractures of the arm, leg and hip. His fireman, Kanaar, suffered minor groin and arm injuries. The crew on eastbound 512 sustained only minor injuries. Maginity, the engineer, had only cuts, bruises and shock. His brakeman, Weigel, was also treated for shock. Strickland, Maginity’s fireman, suffered only minor bruises and facial burns.
The cause of the crash was ascribed to a failure to carry out orders. V.C. Palmer, Grand Trunk’s Detroit Division Superintendent, said that the eastbound train failed to obey orders to stop at Linden to let the westbound freight train pass. Palmer said Engineer Maginity told him that in the dark, he passed Linden without realizing it. Further, Palmer said the crash occurred where an automatic signal was being installed, and that the trains were to go on automatic signals, eliminating written orders effective July 7, 1952. Had it been in operation at the time of the crash on June 30th, this would have eliminated the need for written orders and the crash might have been prevented. In any event, the eastbound train traveling from Detroit to Durand was traveling on a track that had been cleared for the westbound train, which clearly had the right-of-way.
Despite the horrors of the crash, my father often reflected on his days on the railroad. Although this was the story he told the most, he liked to tell other stories as well. He started on the railroad as a fireman. He was then promoted to engineer. At that time, the locomotives were steam engines and the crew had to shovel coal that would produce the steam.
The Great Depression hit and my father was laid off as were many others. He worked at anything he could find. He was a clamshell operator and help build a bridge between Durand and Vernon.
As the economy picked up, he was called back to the railroad and worked many runs to Detroit, Pontiac, Grand Haven, Lansing and other places. If he was taking the train to Detroit, my sister and I would go out to the first mile east of Durand and wave to him as he passed by. Many times, we would go down to the old roundhouse as he came in from a run. This is where the trains would circle in and around for repairs, etc. He would take us all around the engines, pointing out various features to us.
To me, my dad was as invincible as the locomotives that he commanded. Surviving a high speed, head-on train collision was even more proof of his indestructibility! HE, of flesh and bone, survived. But his engine, the Iron Horse, did not!
* Wallace Circus Wreck * News From Harper Hospital * Raymond Stevenson Collection *
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