Nomad of Mid-America
Window into the Forgotten Past
Lenox Tower, the Mitchell, IL, convergence of the Chicago and Alton, the Big Four, and the Wabash, all three spliced by a connection with the Alton and Southern. For trains entering St. Louis from the north and east, Lenox Tower was a landmark denoting the entrance to the metropolitan area and its convoluted spaghetti of trackage criss-crossing throughout. Lenox was in itself a complex web--a plant comprised of dozens of switches thrown only through the permission of hundreds of bars interlocked through tiny blocks which, if all lined up in perfect configuration, would enable a permissive aspect to illuminate a route for an oncoming train. The tower's second story floorboards withstood the nearly constant trampling of tower operators, scampering about all the while tugging pistol-grip handles in turn sending a unique electrical command to line a switch or illuminate a signal to safely control the crossing of diamonds, the divergence through the puzzle switch, or the highball of such crack passenger trains as the Abraham Lincoln, Wabash Cannon Ball, or in later years, the Texas Eagle, all threading the needle through a multitude of less prominent freights. Built for the Big Four, coming under control of mighty parent New York Central, finally being passed around like an unwanted stepchild to Union Pacific, Lenox Tower changed hands often since its construction in 1924, but it remained mostly unchanged in both purpose and in operation throughout its years. But time and technology were destined to catch up eventually.
The calendar on the wall reads October 2018, the last calendar month to ever grace the bulletin boards of Lenox. For Halloween Day will bring with it death, as the pipelines threading away from the tower like a spider's legs will be severed, and the friendly faces of local tower operators pulling pistol-grip levers to line train movements will be replaced by three initials punching keystrokes onto a generic computer screen inside a dark dungeon hundreds of miles away in Omaha. We're inside a relic living out its last working days, nearly 100 years of St. Louis' railroad history housed inside its walls and out, irreplaceable for the stories it could tell and the emblematic operational practices that it demands that will die along with it. For now, its cluttered yet lively walls hide the inevitable, and the tower operator has southbound Amtrak Lincoln Service train #303 safely lined through the plant on Springfield Sub Main 1 destined for St. Louis.
The tower building stood for another two and a half years following its closure at the end of October 2018. On May 17, 2021, it met its ultimate death at the cold steel claws of an excavator. And yet another stalwart of railroading past has fallen, replaced by the efficiency and sterility of the digital age.
Taken with permission, rather obviously, on an unforgettable afternoon spent in the innerworkings of one of America's last manned interlocking towers.
Window into the Forgotten Past
Lenox Tower, the Mitchell, IL, convergence of the Chicago and Alton, the Big Four, and the Wabash, all three spliced by a connection with the Alton and Southern. For trains entering St. Louis from the north and east, Lenox Tower was a landmark denoting the entrance to the metropolitan area and its convoluted spaghetti of trackage criss-crossing throughout. Lenox was in itself a complex web--a plant comprised of dozens of switches thrown only through the permission of hundreds of bars interlocked through tiny blocks which, if all lined up in perfect configuration, would enable a permissive aspect to illuminate a route for an oncoming train. The tower's second story floorboards withstood the nearly constant trampling of tower operators, scampering about all the while tugging pistol-grip handles in turn sending a unique electrical command to line a switch or illuminate a signal to safely control the crossing of diamonds, the divergence through the puzzle switch, or the highball of such crack passenger trains as the Abraham Lincoln, Wabash Cannon Ball, or in later years, the Texas Eagle, all threading the needle through a multitude of less prominent freights. Built for the Big Four, coming under control of mighty parent New York Central, finally being passed around like an unwanted stepchild to Union Pacific, Lenox Tower changed hands often since its construction in 1924, but it remained mostly unchanged in both purpose and in operation throughout its years. But time and technology were destined to catch up eventually.
The calendar on the wall reads October 2018, the last calendar month to ever grace the bulletin boards of Lenox. For Halloween Day will bring with it death, as the pipelines threading away from the tower like a spider's legs will be severed, and the friendly faces of local tower operators pulling pistol-grip levers to line train movements will be replaced by three initials punching keystrokes onto a generic computer screen inside a dark dungeon hundreds of miles away in Omaha. We're inside a relic living out its last working days, nearly 100 years of St. Louis' railroad history housed inside its walls and out, irreplaceable for the stories it could tell and the emblematic operational practices that it demands that will die along with it. For now, its cluttered yet lively walls hide the inevitable, and the tower operator has southbound Amtrak Lincoln Service train #303 safely lined through the plant on Springfield Sub Main 1 destined for St. Louis.
The tower building stood for another two and a half years following its closure at the end of October 2018. On May 17, 2021, it met its ultimate death at the cold steel claws of an excavator. And yet another stalwart of railroading past has fallen, replaced by the efficiency and sterility of the digital age.
Taken with permission, rather obviously, on an unforgettable afternoon spent in the innerworkings of one of America's last manned interlocking towers.