Even as Burlington officials were approving construction of the new depot at Sheridan ( Wyoming ), they were suddenly and unexpectedly faced with an immediate need for a new depot and division office building at Galesburg, the bustling hub of Lines East, for on April 27, 1911, the classic Victorian brick depot there ( Galesburg's second Burlington depot, complete with a striking but purely ornamental tower that made it one of the city's tallest structures ) was gutted by fire, leaving nothing standing but a shell of scorched brick walls.

Noted architect Heny Raeder was retained to design the replacement structure. Two stories tall, but topped by a low, tiled-covered hip roof that made it appear tall, the depot measured an impressive 64 feet 3 inches wide and 233 feet long, its footprint encompassing 14,800 square feet. Constructed of brownish red brick manufactured locally by Purington Brick Company ( best known for the brick pavers used on Line East depot platforms ) the structure was erected just north of the Seminary and South Street site of the old depot, and its construction occupied the latter part of 1911 and virtually all of 1912. Completed at a cost of estimated by the railroad at $150,000.00 - plus and by local sources at closer to $225,000.00, the new depot was formally dedicated in early 1913.

By the time the Burlington Northern was created in 1970, the Galesburg Division no longer existed, and all Lines East dispatching had been done from a consolidated facility near Clyde Yard near Cicero, Illinois for two years. A building as large as the 622,000 cubic-foot Galesburg depot was costly to maintain and expensive to heat in the winter, particularly for the minimal use the railroad was getting from it. Consequently as the BN began developing plans for an $80 million expansion and modernization of its facilities in Galesburg - plans that would include razing the power plant that furnished steam to heat the depot - the 1912 building became a liability to the railroad. The city wanted to save the structure and investigated ways this might be accomplished. But in the end, the building's great size was its own downfall. Even if the railroad had given the structure to the city, heating and maintaining it in its current condition would have been prohibitively expensive. And renovating it, installing a new heating system, and bringing the other utilities up to code, would have been just as costly, with all the expense incurred up front before any of the benefits could be realized. Consequently, with little advance warning, the railroad undertook demolition of the historic structure in May 1983, 71 years after the massive depot entered service, and Galesburg lost a major landmark.

On February 8, 1963 CB&Q passenger train local east #8 carries meat behind the passenger consist in three different types of cars; regular refirgerator car, container on flats (new for the CB&Q), and piggyback. Once in a while meat from Lincoln, Nebraska meatpackers misses the connection to Omaha and Q's new solid meat train to Chicago. So, to fulfill its contract, the Q takes the Lincoln meat up to Omaha on the back of one of its passenger trains. If the meat still misses its Omaha connection, then it rides with Q's passenger #8 all the way to Chicago. On the day this pix was taken, there were ten cars of meat plus a waycar (caboose) behind the passenger train out of Lincoln. So far, this rare event happens once ot twice a month. Editors note: The lower keystone on the front of the trailer reads: ETLC EXCELSIOR TRUCK LEASING CO.

Here is another story to go with this photo. Folks who know Chris probably know him for his film work, but he also held a job on the CB&Q railroad in the summer of 1966. I tagged along as Chris worked at Galva, Barstow, and Moline, Illinois as a relief telegraph operator, substituting for the regular operators as they took their vacation time off. We would sit in the station at Galva, Chris would be in communication with the train dispatcher, and would write train orders and hand them up to passing trains using a hoop (actually, a Y-shaped device). The trains didn't stop, and it was Chris's duty to stand close to the tracks and hold the hoop in such a fashion that a crew member could reach out of the passing train and grab the orders. This would happen twice per train, the locomotive crew and the conductor behind would both need to grab orders, so Chris had to throw the first hoop aside after the first set of orders were picked up and get the second hoop into position. This produced a lot of excitement in a short period of time, usually followed by a few hours of utter boredom as nothing happened until the next train passed. One of the interesting things we did to pass the time was to make wagers as to when the next milk can would explode. Local farmers would bring their milk to the station in Galva in those large cans that are now collectible antiques. If the farmer was late and missed the train, the cans would sit out in the sun most of the day. On a really hot day, the top would blow off a can from the pressure of heated milk, and the station and platform would be covered in some of the foulest smelling substance we ever experienced. It certainly wasn't milk when it erupted from the can. Just to survive, we hosed the mess down with water. When Chris was assigned to Galva, we would eat at the local diner. There we met two young women, and struck up an acquaintance. Although we were both 18 at the time, neither of us knew what to do next. Chris was more worldly, since he went to a co-ed high school. But I was in prep school at the time, studying to be a Benedictine Monk. That didn't pan out, but I didn't know it at the time of this photo. In fact, the few weeks spent with Chris on the railroad that summer probably changed the course of my life.