TIME BEGAN
AT KIPTON
A wreck that occurred there
in 1891 led to the adoption
of dependable railroad time
by PENCE JAMES
Dependable railroad time really began at Kipton, Ohio, on April 18, 1891. But the engineer of a westbound local on the Lake Shore & Michigan Southern who was indirectly responsible for it didn’t know that this was his last run nor that it would make history.
Prior to the adoption of Standard Time, the only "time" that existed in the United States was local or sun time, based on the transit of the sun across the meridian. Many a city and town had its own time, "city hall time," and each railroad adopted the time of its home city or some other big city on its line.
Just how many local times there were is not known, but the extent of confusion is shown by the fact that Wisconsin had 38 different local times, Illinois 27, and Indiana 23. Prior to 1883, the nation’s railroads were operating on as many as 100 different times! In one large Eastern city there were actually six varying time standards governing arrivals and departures of trains. A traveler going from Maine to California would have to change his watch dozens of times.
When it was noon in Chicago it was 12:31 in Pittsburgh, 12:24 in Cleveland, 12:17 in Toledo, 12:13 in Cincinnati, 12:09 in Louisville, 12:07 in Indianapolis, 11:50 in St. Louis, 11:48 in Dubuqe, 11:41 in St. Paul, and 11:27 Omaha.
Standard Time was adopted largely through the efforts of William F. Allen, who was editor and manager of what is now The Official Guide of the Rail-Ways. The date, Sunday, Nov. 18, 1883, became known as "the day of two noons." The eastern part of each of the four times zones had a noon based on sun time. Then, when clocks and watches were set back from one to 30 minutes in accordance with the plan, there was a second noon, the reaching of the new Standard Time 12 o’clock.
It was not until March 19, 1918, however, that the change was made official with the passage by Congress of the Standard Time Act.
Although splitting the country into time belts was a good idea, it didn’t completely solve the problem, because there weren’t enough watches and clocks that run accurately. In the early 1890’s the number of train wrecks was increasing. Many could be traced to time mixups, which was one reason why a large segment of the public rejected railroad time.
"If two trains on a single railroad can’t agree on the time, why should we be governed by their system?" was a natural question.
The ACCOMMODATION train which headed for Kipton that fateful April day in 1891 consisted of an eight-wheeler puffing smoke and two wooden-bodied, open- ended coaches. It was chuffing along from Cleveland station by station. Still miles away but rushing toward it on the same track was eastbound No. 4, the Fast Mail, pride of the Lake Shore. Both trains had orders to meet at Kipton, a village about 35 miles from Cleveland, the local taking siding, of course, while the hot-shot roared straight on through.
At Elyria a cautious telegraph operator warned the local’s conductor: "You’d better make that siding in time Number 4 is highballing like hell."
The skipper, blue-uniformed and self-confident, shrugged. "You tend to your business and I’ll tend to mine." When they arrived at Oberlin, he and the engineer stood side by side on the station platform. The hogger fished out his watch, a large, stem-winding, open-faced ticker attached to a gold chain; and the conductor asked, without consulting his own watch, "How much time have we got?"
"Seven minutes," said the engineer.
"Okay, hogger, let’s go!"
It was only four and a fraction miles to Kipton. Covering that distance in seven minutes should be a cinch. The engineer released his brakes, tooted his whistle, and opened his throttle to medium speed. At forty miles an hour he could reach Kipton with a full minute to spare.
But he didn’t have that minute. In fact, he had four minutes less than he thought. His watch had unaccountably stopped for that period back somewhere along the route and then started again. The Fast Mail was on time, and the result was a tragic "cornfield meet’’ east of Kipton. Number 4 at full speed slammed into the local, which hadn’t quite reached the passing tract. Later, when the wrecking crew came up, they took the dead bodies of both engineers and nine mail clerks from the twisted, steaming wreckage. They also recovered the watch from the pocket of the hogger on the local. It was still running --four minutes slow!
One of the experts who testified at the investigation which followed was Webb C. Ball, a Cleveland watch specialist. Ball’s testimony stressed the need for accurate timepieces. Later he offered the Lake Shore superintendent a plan for establishing dependable work time on the railroad.
The super agreed and authorized him to inspect the timepieces of every operating employee on the road. Peeking into cabooses, the Cleveland man saw conductors using dollar alarm clocks to operate trains. Investigating passenger service, he found many conductors and engineers carrying cheap watches they had received as premiums when buying suits of clothes. Trains on main lines and branches were being run by these "turnips." Ball’s checkup on the dispatchers’ offices revealed wall clocks that hadn’t been cleaned or regulated for many years.
Prior to this inspection, most railroad officials had thought that nothing could be done about mistakes in minutes. They realized that time was a vital factor in railroading but how to control it wasn’t much more than a subject for conversation. In order to give crews a better chance, some roads ran trains in such a way that each had five minutes’ leeway. In other words, a train arriving five minutes late was still on time. This system undoubtedly saved lives and kept some engines from the junk pile, but it was still a long way from modern operation.
Ball told the Lake Shore super that time errors were unnecessary and he predicted that one day railroad watches would be just about as accurate as the stars and that if an engineer’s watch allowed a minute and a half to make a meet it would mean just what it said. He promptly hired expert watch repairers, stationed them along the road, and gave them the title of time inspectors. An order went out that engineers, firemen, conductors, flagmen, and dispatchers had to consult one of those inspectors every two weeks. No watch could vary more than 30 seconds in the two-week period.
When Ball had his time-inspection scheme working smoothly on the LS&MS other roads drafted him to regulate their clocks and watches. One line summoned him immediately after a wreck which had cost 40 lives. Webb Ball took the clock off the wall in operating headquarters of that road and estimated its age at 45 years. During that period, there was no record or recollection of it having ever been cleaned or regulated. Also, when the Cleveland man started checking watches, the engineers and conductors were arguing over what time it was.
On another "streak of rust" a smash-up had happened because an engineer leaving home that morning had said to his wife: "Darling my watch won’t run. Let me use yours." And he was running his train by the borrowed time-piece when it piled up.
The INSPECTORS soon became little Caesars with absolute authority over railroaders’ watches. They still are. If one of them says, "Sorry, but you can’t run any more trains by that watch," then and there it is retired.
Eventually Ball found himself general time inspector for half the railroad mileage in the country. He formulated rules for timepieces. A railroad watch, he said, must have No. 16 size movement. This is a large movement, and all jewelers know that the bigger the watch the more accurate it can be made. Then he decided that if a watch didn’t have 21 jewels it wasn’t up to railroad standards. Jewels are the bearings for the moving parts and it takes 21 for peak efficiency. More than 21 aren’t necessary, less aren’t enough.
There was some grumbling by men who had to buy new and more expensive watches. But when they got onto the idea that the investment might save lives, they started to take great pride in their timepieces – a pride that has since become railroad tradition.
Later, Ball issued new edicts. He demanded watches adjusted to five positions so that even a fireman stooping and turning on his job could be sure his watch was running to within seconds accuracy. Because of the extreme heat and cold experienced in engines the Cleveland man specified that watches be adjusted to various temperatures so they would run accurately whether the railroad man was shivering or sweating.
A railroad watch couldn’t have a cover - it might stick shut. Besides, you can tell time more quickly when the watch or clock is open-faced. Also, on the snap-open cover style, the numeral "3" was under the stem at the place where "12" appears on open-face watches. This could confuse you at a quick glance. Figures had to be plain and black for easy reading.
Sometimes in winding a watch, you accidentally move the hands. This mustn’t happen with a railroad watch, because a little thing like that might cause tragedy and thousands of dollars loss in property damage. So manufacturers had to devise a new mechanism, placing a set lever under the crystal. In order to reach it, the glass to be unscrewed and removed. Ball decided that only American-made watches could be used, because he believed that American manufacturers were best able to meet all his requirements. He approved 37 different kinds of watches.
When railroad men at first became watch-conscious, a number of fancy-looking imports that came into the country stamped "21"jewels were actually 7 to 15 jewel movements. William H. Samelius, director of the Elgin Watch College in Elgin, Illinois, has some of these makes in his collection. They were given such names as "Fireman’s Hope," " Brakeman’s Promise," and Railroad Special." Each was made of brass and polished to resemble gold. After they arrived in this country, additional jewels to make a total of 21 were pasted onto the movements. These watches were usually sold at auction and brought up to $150, but failed to pass railroad inspection and had to be discarded.
When watch inspection had proved its worth, the railroads wrote into the Standard Book of Rules that covered train operation all over North America some orders about standard time and watch inspection, and numbered them Rules 1 and 2. Today hostlers, train-order operators, signal operators, signal maintainers, linemen, track and bridge foremen, yardmen, yardmasters, flagmen, train dispatchers, a few minor officials and, of course, the engineers and conductors, must own approved railroad watches and bring them to an inspector every two weeks for a check.
They get little cards that resemble the ones used by patrons of public libraries to draw books. The dates stamped on these cards, however, don’t refer to anything loaned. They mean that the man with the accurate watch isn’t living on borrowed time. The time inspection service that Webb Ball organized long ago is still functioning. Several other reputable inspection services also check on railroad watches.
Every day standard time is transmitted from an observatory, and official clocks are regulated by these signals. Trainmen may compare their watches with these.
PRIOR to 1961, the use of wrist watches was forbidden in train operation because it was not believed that they could be made sufficiently accurate. But after John W. Barriger, then president of the Pittsburgh & Lake Erie, learned that such watches were used satisfactorily by both the U.S. Air Force and commercial airlines, he brought about their adoption on the P&LE.
Barriger said: "The wrist watch is far more convenient, since railroaders seldom wear vests any more, and trousers are more and more likely to come without watch pockets."
After discussing the matter with experts, Barriger laid down ten requirements for approval of any wrist watch for railroad use:
Other roads gradually followed his example, and today the use of wrist watches by train and engine crews, dispatchers, etc., is a common practice.
Today, with 65 roads approving, many railroaders are using electric wrist watches. Hamilton introduced the first one, battery-powered with a conventional movement, about six years ago. Another type, the Accutron, is manufactured by Bulova. It has a tiny cell that transmits power through a transistorized electric circuit to a tuning fork.
Railroad men have always been proud of their watches. You would be, too, if your job and human lives depended upon its accuracy. Thanks to railroad time-inspection service and timepieces that perform like the sun and the stars, the chances of a tragedy like the one at Kipton that April day in 1891 are about as remote as the possibility of your breaking out with a heat rash in Antarctica.