Yesterday, July 20, 2019, marked 50 years since man first walked on the moon. Sheer willpower, dedicated teams consisting of hundreds of thousands of individuals, and cubic dollars made this feat of human engineering possible. I wasn’t there to witness the spectacle 50 years ago, but watching the celebrations and commemorations still brought many emotions to the surface. It also reminded me of another feat of human engineering, one whose 150th anniversary was celebrated just back in May, and whose anniversary celebration I was fortunate enough to witness in person.
Promontory, Utah is one of those places almost every American learns about in school, but precious few actually visit. It occupies a lonely stretch of high desert and range land about 90 driving miles northwest of Salt Lake City. Looking at it on a map, it’s easy to miss; just a few scattered buildings, a parking lot, and a few lines etched out across the ground. It’s an unlikely place to be named the most sacred location in American railroad history. You’ll find grander places in Chicago or New York, or more impressive grades in California and Colorado. Still, Promontory’s position in the history books is unmatched.
When the first transcontinental railroad was completed on May 10, 1869, the trajectory of a nation, a people, and a continent was changed irrevocably. Six long years after ground was officially broken, California was bound to the rest of the recently war-torn country by two narrow and often shoddily-constructed strips of iron and steel. Completion of the line presented what can only amount to a quantum leap in transportation opportunities for westward pioneers. Trips that had taken months in a wagon caravan with no real guarantee of safe arrival could now be completed in a week, a game-changer for pioneers migrating west to newly-opened territories.
The railroad also fundamentally disrupted and destroyed the lives of America’s first peoples. As more settlers migrated westward, they encroached on Native American lands, sparking conflict among those who the land rightfully belonged to, and those who believed it their “manifest destiny” to settle all lands from Atlantic to Pacific. Tensions continued to escalate between the United States and tribes, culminating in the American Indian Wars which did not see real closure until over thirty years after the completion of the transcontinental railroad, stretching into the early 20th century. By that time, the American frontier was officially considered “settled,” and the face of the west had shifted dramatically.
Americans did not become especially sentimental and protective of their physical achievements until relatively recently. Historic preservation of structures and locations was depressingly lacking through the 1960s. In fact, the loss of another prominent railroad landmark, New York City’s dramatic Penn Station, in 1963 is widely credited with galvanizing the historic preservation community and shifting public perception regarding preservation and history. Promontory itself quickly slipped back into obscurity after the 1869 celebration. A sizable portion of the original line, including the site at Promontory, was actually scrapped in 1942 for the war effort.
Only in 1965 did the location receive protection as a National Historic Site, with tracks and facilities hastily returned in time for the 1969 centennial. A decade later, at the close of the 1970s, the National Parks Service commissioned replicas of the Jupiter and No. 119, the original locomotives seen in the iconic completion photos from 1869. The originals had themselves been lost to time and progress, both scrapped by the early 1900s. Though antiquated and considered “quaint” and obsolete by modern standards, they represent the “high tech” of their age, resplendent in brass appurtenances and bright, colorful paints - a far cry from modern railroading and its ruthless quest toward efficiency.
By the height of the space race, railroads no longer held a prominent place in the minds of most Americans. Once considered glamorous modes of transportation, they could no longer compete with faster airline travel, and the more autonomous automobile. As space flight reached its pinnacle achievement a quarter of a million miles from home, the Northeast’s largest railroad was filing for what was at the time the largest bankruptcy in U.S. history. Though freight business began to rebound by the 1980s and into today, passenger trains never really did. Today, for most Americans, railroads are interacted with at grade crossings, and then usually not positively - they always seems to show up when one is running late. Still, for some, there’s a deeper connection that takes hold. I happen to be one of those people.
I was born far too late to see steam in revenue service. By the time Neil and Buzz landed on the moon in 1969, mainline steam locomotives in the U.S. had been gone for nearly a decade. Our country experienced what many call the first great wave of mainline steam preservation excursions in the 1980s - and still I missed it. My first interaction with a steam locomotive happened in 1996, when I was three. Hundreds of people in my little town lined the rails to welcome a bit of the past to the present.
You’d be hard-pressed to find a stranger bunch, camped out for hours along deserted railroad mainlines, or poking around dark and dusty corners of museums filled with giants long since silenced. Everyone has a hobby; for me, this is it. I’ve lived in Montana for eight years, enjoying all the region has to offer, both railroad-related and otherwise. Conveniently, Promontory is only about a six hour drive from my house in Bozeman, so when I saw the opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I pounced. On May 8th, 2019, I set out for what can only be described as the biggest party in American railroading this side of the century mark.
Utah itself is no stranger to railroads; Union Pacific, one of the companies that built the original transcontinental line, has a sizeable presence in the state. There’s a prominent railroad museum in Ogden, and several shortline and heritage lines can be found scattered throughout the region. I knew I wouldn’t be alone in heading to Utah, but the sheer number of people that showed up for the celebration still boggles the mind - by some counts, over 50,000 people showed up in Promontory and Ogden. For perspective, Golden Spike National Historic Site in Promontory receives around 40,000 visitors annually. Union Pacific also decided to get in on the fun, bringing vintage passenger locomotive No. 844 and freshly-restored “Big Boy” No. 4014, the largest steam locomotive ever built, out for the show. It was an exhausting but exhilarating four days, and for me reaffirmed the awe and admiration I first felt for these marvels of engineering 23 years ago. It also proved that history, and appreciation for it, is still alive and well.
So now we circle back to the present, just over two months later. The fact that two prominent events in history occurred 100 years apart was not lost on me yesterday. In many ways, they share similar situations. Neil Amrstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Mike Collins set out for a place that’s about as remote as you can get in this corner of our solar neighborhood. For the men who built the transcontinental railroad in 1869, the desolate deserts and plains of the western U.S., nearly devoid of any life, must have felt equally as distant from the comforts of civilization and country. Both were considered the premier technical achievements of their day, and both celebrations left and indelible mark on the people who experienced them, and the people who came after.
One hundred years before the driving of the Golden Spike at Promontory, the American frontier did not extend beyond the crest of the Appalachian Mountains. One hundred years later, the first humans walked on a celestial body 250,000 miles from Earth. Where will we be 100 years after that feat of human willpower? I’m not sure, but I hope I’m there to see it.
-M