Listening to the Museum
Stories. In my last blog I highlighted the need for stories. Museums need to tell the dramas of people and their interactions with the exhibits on display.
Part of the genius of Winston Link’s photographs of Norfolk & Western steam trains was that he didn’t merely take “train pictures.” He captured the railroad’s interaction with the environment around it, a way of life that was disappearing as quickly as those steam locomotives.
VMT has plenty of stories. Some of them are already being told vividly and elegantly, such as the exhibit, “African American Heritage on the Norfolk & Western Railroad, 1930-70.” Others lie there like undiscovered treasure. I have already suggested some possibilities. Here are others.
Though the Museum of Transportation focuses on the N&W more than any other railroad, much gold remains to be mined. Consider this. What other rail museum lets you stand next to mammoth locomotives, gaze just steps away at the tracks along which they once stormed, then glance a few blocks down the street where those fire-bellowing creatures were created.
What about the drama of the big little railroad that “ran from nowhere to nowhere,” as someone characterized its lack of access to major metropolises, succeeding because it did almost everything more efficiently than its competitors? Then there is the story of the mouse that ate the cat—how the N&W, once owned in part by the Pennsylvania RR, turned the tables when Norfolk Southern bought half of Conrail, the successor to the Pennsy and other bankrupt northeastern roads.
Even the former freight station that houses VMT tells tales, as the words of a newer staff member describe:
When the museum is calm and I sit in the quiet of the building, I feel that old freight station trying to communicate with me. It speaks audibly in groans and creaks, bumps and bangs. The building seems to be telling a silent story, too. The floor fascinates me. I want to know the story of the holes, the chips, the ruts in the concrete. How about the wooden bricks and the scales? Who or what chipped the floor; what was weighed on the scales? How many times did those baggage carts transport goods from a box car to the loading dock? Light floods through the upper windows today, just as it did 80 years ago. Today it illuminates the artifacts that tell a story about transportation. But in 1918 it illuminated the people and machines that wrote the story.
Then there are the stories that our guests bring to us. That is what I like best about the museum: meeting our guests and listening to their stories. For so many people, coming to the museum is more like a pilgrimage than a tourist stop. They remember the 611 when it passed through their town or behind their home. They remember their daddy or granddaddy who was an engineer, a fireman, or who worked in the shops. They remember the last excursions of the 611 and still experience a shiver of excitement when they recall riding behind the majestic locomotive. The stories people tell about the trains are an absolute delight. I have learned so much from them.
Perhaps the thing that has surprised me most is the passion our guests feel for trains, especially the 611. Actually, passion is not a strong enough word. People have bonded with that engine. It is not an inanimate machine; it is a piece of their lives and an anchor that ties them to their own family history. They love that engine!
So many stories.
Part of the genius of Winston Link’s photographs of Norfolk & Western steam trains was that he didn’t merely take “train pictures.” He captured the railroad’s interaction with the environment around it, a way of life that was disappearing as quickly as those steam locomotives.
VMT has plenty of stories. Some of them are already being told vividly and elegantly, such as the exhibit, “African American Heritage on the Norfolk & Western Railroad, 1930-70.” Others lie there like undiscovered treasure. I have already suggested some possibilities. Here are others.
Though the Museum of Transportation focuses on the N&W more than any other railroad, much gold remains to be mined. Consider this. What other rail museum lets you stand next to mammoth locomotives, gaze just steps away at the tracks along which they once stormed, then glance a few blocks down the street where those fire-bellowing creatures were created.
What about the drama of the big little railroad that “ran from nowhere to nowhere,” as someone characterized its lack of access to major metropolises, succeeding because it did almost everything more efficiently than its competitors? Then there is the story of the mouse that ate the cat—how the N&W, once owned in part by the Pennsylvania RR, turned the tables when Norfolk Southern bought half of Conrail, the successor to the Pennsy and other bankrupt northeastern roads.
Even the former freight station that houses VMT tells tales, as the words of a newer staff member describe:
When the museum is calm and I sit in the quiet of the building, I feel that old freight station trying to communicate with me. It speaks audibly in groans and creaks, bumps and bangs. The building seems to be telling a silent story, too. The floor fascinates me. I want to know the story of the holes, the chips, the ruts in the concrete. How about the wooden bricks and the scales? Who or what chipped the floor; what was weighed on the scales? How many times did those baggage carts transport goods from a box car to the loading dock? Light floods through the upper windows today, just as it did 80 years ago. Today it illuminates the artifacts that tell a story about transportation. But in 1918 it illuminated the people and machines that wrote the story.
Then there are the stories that our guests bring to us. That is what I like best about the museum: meeting our guests and listening to their stories. For so many people, coming to the museum is more like a pilgrimage than a tourist stop. They remember the 611 when it passed through their town or behind their home. They remember their daddy or granddaddy who was an engineer, a fireman, or who worked in the shops. They remember the last excursions of the 611 and still experience a shiver of excitement when they recall riding behind the majestic locomotive. The stories people tell about the trains are an absolute delight. I have learned so much from them.
Perhaps the thing that has surprised me most is the passion our guests feel for trains, especially the 611. Actually, passion is not a strong enough word. People have bonded with that engine. It is not an inanimate machine; it is a piece of their lives and an anchor that ties them to their own family history. They love that engine!
So many stories.
Labels: 611, African American, Norfolk and Western, O. Winston Link
posted by VMT-blogger @ 8:54 PM
3 Comments
3 Comments:
Yes, there are so many stories. Why are we telling them on a blog that few read instead of at the museum itself? Perhaps the museum would be in better shape if it had been telling them there.
I read the blog today, and the comments Susan left about how 611 makes an impression on people really struck me. It's so powerfully true, and yet such a strong understatement. My grandfather was a Pullman conductor on the Powhatan Arrow, and the Cavalier back in the 40’s and 50’s. When my mom was in college at Longwood in Farmville, she used to deadhead home to Norfolk when her dad was on the train. She said that when they pulled out of the station, by the time they were at the town limit, they were almost at speed. I have heard that at one time on the flats between Richmond and Norfolk, the engineers tried to see how fast she would go, but had to throttle back because they were afraid the track wouldn’t hold up; so they were never sure exactly how fast the J-series really was.
All of the time I was a little kid, I was surrounded by stories and memorabilia of the N&W steam era. I remember when the 611 came through Charlottesville, not sure when, but I’m guessing it was the early 80's. My mom and I were driving through town, and caught sight of this cloud of smoke over by the train yard. She knew exactly what it was, and we tore all over town trying to stay with the engine as it made its way through. I remember her saying that they must be using rotten coal because the smoke was so dark. When the engine was in regular service, N&W reserved the high grade coal for the passenger engines, and it burned white. I never got to ride behind it, but that one day, just being able to see it, hear it, and even taste the soot as it went under the overpass, made an indelible impression on me. It seems almost criminal that she sits idle, with little or no possibility of coming back to life. My kids love trains and are just in awe when they see a regular diesel engine. I can only imagine what they’d think if they could actually see 611 under power. With the steam, smoke and the driving rods, I’m sure it would seem to alive and breathing.
The old rumor about the J is that it got up to 120 mph at the proving grounds, but that they ran out of track while they were still accelerating and had to slow down, so they couldn't find out just how fast it could go.
As for stories being told at the museum, the anonymous poster has a point, although I don't think the museum's current condition was positively or negatively affected by the quality of the interpretation at the museum. Nonetheless, I can't wait to see some new exhibits and displays.
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