Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Wissahickon and the Camp Hill Train Wreck

The Wissahickon Creek is a 25 mile long stream with headwaters in the area now covered by the Montgomery Mall (near Lansdale). It winds its way through Upper and Lower Gwynedd, Whitpain, and Whitemarsh before flowing into a deep gorge as it enters the city of Philadelphia. I've written about the creek here, here and here.

black and white picture of Mary Johnson Ambler
Mary Johnson Ambler (1805-1868) was a most interesting woman. Her parents lived in Bucks County and were Quakers and Mary followed in their Quaker ways. She was a very small woman, never weighing over 100 pounds.

She married Andrew Ambler, a weaver, in 1829. Three years later, Andrew purchased a Fulling Mill (which made wool cloth) and 82 acres of land in the bucolic town of Wissahickon.

The Amblers had the only well in the area at the time. When her neighbors needed water, Mary would let them take water from her well. Mary wanted local children to learn about God, so she started a Sunday school.

The Amblers raised a family and enjoyed success in their business endeavors. When Andrew died in 1850, Mary took over the mill operations with her married son, Lewis, one of her large family of seven sons and one daughter.

On July 2, 1855, the newly laid North Pennsylvania Railroad opened the Wissahickon railroad station.

The North Pennsylvania Railroad later became the Bethlehem branch of the Reading Railroad and is now SEPTA's R5 line to Lansdale.

an old steam locomotive
The railroad served as a great spur to local commerce, transporting both produce and people, and led to increased prosperity for the Wissahickon Valley.

Then came a fateful day... On July 17, 1856 there was a terrible train wreck.

An excursion train known as the "Picnic Special," had been contracted by St. Michael's Roman Catholic Church of Philadelphia to send their Sunday School children on a picnic in Shaeff's Woods, a shaded grove near the railroad's Wissahickon station.

July 17 was one of the hottest days of the year and the children looked forward to a full day at the park. The train was packed, and was carrying at least 1000 people.

The train's locomotive was called Shakamaxon (a Native American word meaning "place where the Chiefs meet") and was running a half hour late.

At the Wissahickon station another train, the Aramingo (a Native American word meaning "Wolf Walk") heading for Philadelphia was pulling out on the single track line.

The engineer of Shakamaxon was confident he could make up for the time he had lost. He knew the Aramingo was due in the opposite direction on the same single track, but calculated they could use a siding located between them to safely pass each other.

As he neared a blind curve just past Camp Hill Station, the Aramingo was rounding the same curve coming the other direction.

The trains collided at 6:18 AM, between the Camp Hill station and the future site of the town of Fort Washington near Routes 309 and the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

The boilers made direct contact and the impact caused an explosion heard up to five miles away.

In one of the worst tragedies of the Industrial Age thus far, 59 people were killed, most of them children, and most of them burned to death, and a great many people were hurt.

When Mary Ambler heard about the accident she gathered up a bunch of medical supplies and walked two miles to the scene of the accident. When Mary arrived, there were no doctors there and no one was in charge of the rescue operation.

So Mary directed the relief efforts. She had the hurt people carried to her house. They had to tear the shutters off of buildings to order to make stretchers.

When Mary got back to her house, she took sheets and petticoats and tore them into strips to use them as bandages. Mary worked long and hard. She helped many of the hurt people and let them stay at her house until they could go home.

The service she rendered in caring for the injured was so conspicuous that after her death in 1868, the North Pennsylvania Railroad changed the name of the station from Wissahickon to Ambler. Camp Hill was renamed Felwick by the railroad in order to help its patrons "forget about the tragedy."

Later, in 1888, the town of Wissahickon itself was renamed Ambler. Now that is what I call role model.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Winter Beach

Ever since I was a very little boy, I've enjoyed going "down the shore" in the off-season. I'm not big on crowds, traffic, and the stench of sunscreen oil.

The off-season also has its memories. My dad and I would go down there in the late fall to pull the boat out of the water and trailer it to its wintering spot. The last boat ride of the season was always one of the best. The air is clear and you can usually see for miles.

The smell of manila ropes being laid up, the barnacles scraped away and the life jackets hung up in the garden shed (which smelled of dry sea grass). This year, there was no boat to pull out down the shore - but the there were some small chores to do in the summer cottage where the gas heater kept everyone and everything nice and toasty.

...and then Sunday dawned bright and brilliant and the thermometer started to climb.. 44, 48, 50, 52! 55! 56 degrees F! I walked over to the pavilion at the end of the street and took in the winter beach. The winter time is the only time beach buggies and dogs are allowed into the pristine white sands of Long Beach Island, New Jersey.

I only saw one person and three dogs.


The three pilings in the middle distance are all the remain of the boardwalk that used to line the surf at Beach Haven. My dad was a little boy at the time - but he remembers walking on the boardwalk with my grandparents. The boardwalk washed away in 1944. To see old postcards of the boardwalk (go to the bottom here)


A rolling breaker blows spray.



Seagulls line a stone jetty.



They have been busy renovating this house. I took its picture on April, 2008. (You can see that picture here, the second picture down). Its amazing what a little paint and bunch of love will do for a house. The fifth picture from the top on this page shows this, at the time, beach-front house in relationship to the beach pavilion, as it is a little over a block to the left.

The house was build for an important employee of the Baldwin Locomotive Works which was headquartered in Philadelphia, PA and the one-time world's largest builders of steam locomotives. In the postcard - you can see the Baldwin Hotel - built so that employees of the Baldwin works could come to the beach to enjoy their vacation. A train ran from Philadelphia to Beach Haven at the time. The train has been gone since 1933 and the Baldwin Hotel burned down September 24, 1960, just a few weeks before I was born.


Window Details


well equiped gargoyle
I think Tori would enjoy this Gargoyle



Only four blocks wide at this point, it is a short walk across the island to the bay side.


I hope everyone had the Merriest of Christmases -

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Comfort Was His Middle Name

Louis Comfort Tiffany (February 18, 1848 – January 17, 1933) was an American artist and designer who worked in the decorative arts and is best known for his work in stained glass.

I'll admit to having a great fondness for the ethereal glow of sunlight beaming through a stained glass window. These often-times exquisite windows are usually hard to photograph and the camera rarely sees or captures their full glory.

I greatly admire Tiffany's Tree of Life and The New Creation as well as his Wisteria series.

An example of the quiet radiance and splendor of his work has sat in my home office for years giving me great comfort in hard times.

For in my office sits a small reproduction of a member of his Autumn Landscape series - the original of which is displayed in New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art.

This little reproduction reminds me the quiet moments I've shared out in the park with the babbling stream and the unfrightened deer, moments that have both restored and nourished me in times of need. It also reminds me vividly of a day that took place twenty years ago today.

small reproduction of the window showing a deer drinking at a forested stream
This treasured item was given to me near the tail-end of the "Bubba" saga.

Those of you that have read and remember the allegorical story of "Bubba" know that I experienced a very difficult time that started a few days before Christmas twenty three years ago. A time that I've never spoken directly of... neither of the cause of the trouble, nor of what it cost me - materially, physically, mentally, and spiritually. It took me several long and bleak years to overcome the hatred and loathing of certain people and of myself that filled me that awful holiday season.

It was cold sunny winter weekend morning, three years after that, when someone very dear to me - someone that stood by me through thick and thin - knocked quietly on my half shut door and brought to me a little brown box wrapped in glossy red poinsettia paper. They said nothing, but smiled softly at me - their bright eyes saying, "Merry Christmas - love surrounds you today."

I unwrapped the box while they stood there watching my abused and beat up, trembling hands struggle with the ribbon and the scotch tape. The box had been opened and simply tucked back together - when I saw that... and realized the love behind that simple gesture - that thoughtful preparation, I shivered, not from the cold but from the spreading warmth within me. Not knowing what this box would contain, I opened it gently and gasped out loud when I held it up and saw it for the first time.

a closer view of this treasured window
That moment is seared in my memory - and I will never forget the soft smile - the soft look - the pre-opened box - and the glory of the sun streaming through this window and into the very depths of my being.

This year, while I struggle with things at work business-wise, I know I am most fortunate - for each day it is with comfort I look around at my world and remember that through thick and thin - love surrounds me.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

The Legend of the Poinsettia

a beautiful stained glass window with children holding hands
Maria and Pablo lived in a tiny village in Mexico. Because Christmas time at their house did not include many gifts, Maria and Pablo looked forward to the Christmas festivities at the village church with great joy and anticipation.

To honor the birth of Christ, the church displayed a beautiful manger that drew crowds of admirers. Villagers walked miles to admire the manger, bringing lovely, expensive gifts for the Baby Jesus. As Maria and Pablo watched the villagers place their gifts in the soft hay around the manger, they felt sad. They had no money to buy gifts for their family and no money to buy a gift for the Baby Jesus.

One Christmas Eve, Maria and Pablo walked to the church for that evening's services, wishing desperately that they had a gift to bring. Just then, a soft glowing light shone through the darkness, and the shadowy outline of an angel appeared above them.

Maria and Pablo were afraid, but the angel comforted them, instructing them to pick some of the short green weeds that were growing by the road. They should bring the plants to the church, the angel explained, and place them near the manger as their gift to the Baby Jesus. Then just as quickly as she had appeared, the angel was gone, leaving Maria and Pablo on the road looking up into the dark sky. Confused but excited, the children filled their arms with large bunches of the green weeds and hurried to the church.

When the children entered the church, many of the villagers turned to stare. As Maria and Pablo began placing the weeds around the manger, some of the villagers laughed at them. "Why are those children putting weeds by the manger?" they asked each other. Maria and Pablo began to feel embarrassed and ashamed of their gift to the Baby Jesus, but they stood bravely near the manger, placing the plants on the soft hay, as the angel had instructed.

red poinsettia blooms
Suddenly, the dull green leaves on the tops of the plants began to turn a beautiful shade of red, surrounding the Baby with beautiful blooms. The laughing villagers became silent as they watched the green plants transform into the lovely star-shaped crimson flowers we call poinsettias.

As they watched the weeds bloom before their eyes, Maria and Pablo knew they had no reason to be ashamed anymore. They had given the Baby Jesus the only gift they could--and it was the most beautiful gift of all.

Today, poinsettias are a traditional symbol of Christmas, thanks to young Maria and Pablo and their special gifts to the Baby Jesus.

Story by Stephanie Herbek

Picture of the Stained Glass Window in St. Andrew Catholic Church from My Loves, My Life (Punkn/Deanna)