Every pilgrimage has a destination, mine being this phantasmagorical entity from our past: a great Temple of Transportation:
But here is the journey that led me to the Temple:
As a modeler I constantly struggle, as many others do, between prototype and freelance. The end game for the modeler for both approaches is to produce a miniature world with a convincing reality of its own. Ultimately, the test for a scale model is its ability to convince its beholder that it is real. My admiration of George Sellios, often noted in this forum, is precisely in the success with which he has created a 'miniature world' (his exact terms). His Franklin and South Manchester layout is a stunning example of freelance modeling, illustrating exactly how a freelance approach can create reality in miniature. Other modelers have been successful in creating convincing prototype models.
Many of my friends got into model railroads because they always have loved trains. For me the driving force in my model railroading is the modeling first, and the railroad second. Trains are a great modeling medium, but the modeling is the aim. As an element of the American landscape frozen in time, trains can become great models in themselves, as well as actors on the larger stage of a good layout. Always fascinated with cities and urban life, I got into model railroading to recreate the look and feel of a place long lost to us.
When I set out to build a working passenger terminal, it had to have all of the operations that now are distant memories of railroading. In addition to through passenger trains, the Terminal has to handle the switching duties of a passenger operation, including adding and removal of head-end equipment, coaches, sleepers, lounges and food service cars as demanded by the schedule. Moreover, it needs both mail and express terminals to add a dimension to the operation that was integral to the prototype but very seldom modeled in HO scale.
Ultimately settling on a through station plan because it accommodated the layout best, the Terminal has 4 full-length tracks on a double-ended ladder of Peco #8 switches, plus several stub tracks on the North end to accommodate mail and express loading at their respective facilities. After exhaustive research of passenger terminals throughout the West, the concept seemed to work well for both the space and the passenger operation I wanted to support. Illustrated here is the hard-working mail and express side of passenger terminals - the real business end of the operation:
Although mail and express shipments could travel on the same head-end cars, they were separate, often competing businesses with their own terminals. Although the main ladder, on the left side of this picture, handled most of the mail and express switching, major mail and express terminals had a number of dedicated tracks for loading and unloading. More than just handling passenger trains, I wanted my terminal operation to be a focal point for mail and express switching and their specialized fleets of cars.
As I built the terminal I started listening to what my layout was telling me.
Building a layout is a journey. The layout started with a concept, then a plan, followed by construction. The Passenger Terminal, like the rest of the layout, materialized almost exactly as planned. But then certain realities of operation, and the three-dimensional experience of how trains run on and through it seemed to have different ideas about what my layout should be. Though based on Ogden, the terminal just didn't feel like Ogden at all; nor did the orientation of the grade (mostly hidden) and the two levels asserting their own identities feel like Weber and Echo Canyons. These issues started eating away at me, but I kept working on in the hope that the paper concept and the as-built concept would come back together. It never did.
Then I started reading more books on trains, taking trips to get away from it, focusing on other things - all of which allowed me to take a fresh look at what I built. The layout started speaking to me again. This time I chose not to argue with what it was telling me. As I stood on the north end of my newly-laid terminal property to admire and understand what I had built, I saw this:
The necessities of the layout - specifically the curves on the mainline as it entered the Terminal from either end, along with how the future platforms felt visually reminded me of something I had seen before. About that time, while thumbing through Jeff Asay's Union Pacific in the Los Angeles Basin one morning at my local Starbucks, this image on p. 370 hit me like a truck:
What I built looked and felt like San Bernardino! The layout just seemed to feel more like California than Utah, and this development just seemed to seal the deal. Having so many elements of California already set aside for the layout - citrus packing houses, cab forwards, FPE and Santa Fe reefers, oil wells, palm trees - I asked myself, 'why not?'
My station site posed a problem too. Because the mainline went toward the back of the terminal ladder, which was necessary to maximize the curve radii of the main line, forced the station to the front of the layout. I had though that a mission style station would be most fitting. Riverside perhaps? San Bernardino for sure. Serving both ATSF and UP, and having a monumental station, made it seem ideal. But how to fit such a large distinctive station onto the space of the front of the layout was definitely going to be a challenge.
Another series of fortuitous events put the remaining pieces together. First, while at a model train show in Evanston, I found this newly-released kit:
It was the San Bernardino station in exactly the dimensions I needed for my layout. I bought it on the spot and started work on it immediately. Then a friend had pointed out that Walthers made a freight house kit for the freight house that was at San Bernardino in the 1950s, which perfectly fit the site I had mapped for the freight facilities.
The entire property was intact and beautifully restored as a commuter terminal and regional transportation center. Each of its elements seemed perfect for its setting, such as the Harvey House:
The Depot's main waiting room with its stunning architectural details - pilasters with delicate capitals holding a delicate coffered ceiling, inset lighting fixtures, tile wainscot and floor of pavers - all gave the space a distinctly Southern California look and feel:
Seeing this space and its period detail gave me a determination to finish my station's interiors as close to these as possible. Oddly, the materials I had picked out for my station's interiors closely fit the prototype. Imagine this space in the 1950s with throngs of passengers, well-wishers and staff arriving on the trains that stopped here:
Union Pacific: Utahn, Idahoan, City of Los Angeles, City of St. Louis, The Challenger, The Mail
Santa Fe: The Super Chief, Grand Canyon, El Capitan
That is precisely the feeling I want my station to convey. To celebrate this experience, the station is situated to be the lens on the passenger operation, forcing the viewer and operator to see the arriving and departing trains from the perspective of its occupants.
Walking around the station, everything about it seemed to capture exactly what I wanted to model in my passenger operation - a monumental Temple of Transportation in its glory. The details of the space bring it to life.
Other elements gave the station a distinct Southern California feeling, such as the San Gabriel Mountains providing the backdrop:
And the viaduct providing a link between the Depot and the city on the other side:
A view of the station from the sky bridge gives a sense of this station's inland place surrounded by mountains:
Even as a modern railroad hub, San Bernardino still maintains its dignity as a grand station. This period grandeur shows up in the most unexpected places. A visit to the men's room found its glorious past still alive with its spacious waiting room and period fixtures:
But here is the journey that led me to the Temple:
As a modeler I constantly struggle, as many others do, between prototype and freelance. The end game for the modeler for both approaches is to produce a miniature world with a convincing reality of its own. Ultimately, the test for a scale model is its ability to convince its beholder that it is real. My admiration of George Sellios, often noted in this forum, is precisely in the success with which he has created a 'miniature world' (his exact terms). His Franklin and South Manchester layout is a stunning example of freelance modeling, illustrating exactly how a freelance approach can create reality in miniature. Other modelers have been successful in creating convincing prototype models.
Many of my friends got into model railroads because they always have loved trains. For me the driving force in my model railroading is the modeling first, and the railroad second. Trains are a great modeling medium, but the modeling is the aim. As an element of the American landscape frozen in time, trains can become great models in themselves, as well as actors on the larger stage of a good layout. Always fascinated with cities and urban life, I got into model railroading to recreate the look and feel of a place long lost to us.
Building a Working Passenger Terminal
For the better part of this past year the Passenger Terminal has been the major focus of my layout work. A major undertaking - not to mention a huge piece of layout real estate - the Passenger Terminal is an ongoing project in research, construction, testing, tuning and changes. Laying over 150' of track, over a dozen switches, along with hundreds of feet of wiring, the Passenger Terminal is on the verge of coming fully online. Measuring 30" x 30', this terminal is likely the only model of one in the State of Utah. With all of its track in place, no single picture can capture all of it:
When I set out to build a working passenger terminal, it had to have all of the operations that now are distant memories of railroading. In addition to through passenger trains, the Terminal has to handle the switching duties of a passenger operation, including adding and removal of head-end equipment, coaches, sleepers, lounges and food service cars as demanded by the schedule. Moreover, it needs both mail and express terminals to add a dimension to the operation that was integral to the prototype but very seldom modeled in HO scale.
Ultimately settling on a through station plan because it accommodated the layout best, the Terminal has 4 full-length tracks on a double-ended ladder of Peco #8 switches, plus several stub tracks on the North end to accommodate mail and express loading at their respective facilities. After exhaustive research of passenger terminals throughout the West, the concept seemed to work well for both the space and the passenger operation I wanted to support. Illustrated here is the hard-working mail and express side of passenger terminals - the real business end of the operation:
Although mail and express shipments could travel on the same head-end cars, they were separate, often competing businesses with their own terminals. Although the main ladder, on the left side of this picture, handled most of the mail and express switching, major mail and express terminals had a number of dedicated tracks for loading and unloading. More than just handling passenger trains, I wanted my terminal operation to be a focal point for mail and express switching and their specialized fleets of cars.
When a Layout Starts Speaking to You:
Using Ogden Terminal as my guide I built a 4-track ladder (I wanted more, of course, but available space forced scaling it down) with stub loading tracks that separated mail and express loading. But the more I built the ladder and its outlying tracks, the more the Terminal design took on a life of its own. A layout has a way of 'speaking to you' as you build it. One either can impose a concept on the layout, or the layout can guide its own construction . . . and its supporting concept.As I built the terminal I started listening to what my layout was telling me.
Building a layout is a journey. The layout started with a concept, then a plan, followed by construction. The Passenger Terminal, like the rest of the layout, materialized almost exactly as planned. But then certain realities of operation, and the three-dimensional experience of how trains run on and through it seemed to have different ideas about what my layout should be. Though based on Ogden, the terminal just didn't feel like Ogden at all; nor did the orientation of the grade (mostly hidden) and the two levels asserting their own identities feel like Weber and Echo Canyons. These issues started eating away at me, but I kept working on in the hope that the paper concept and the as-built concept would come back together. It never did.
Then I started reading more books on trains, taking trips to get away from it, focusing on other things - all of which allowed me to take a fresh look at what I built. The layout started speaking to me again. This time I chose not to argue with what it was telling me. As I stood on the north end of my newly-laid terminal property to admire and understand what I had built, I saw this:
The necessities of the layout - specifically the curves on the mainline as it entered the Terminal from either end, along with how the future platforms felt visually reminded me of something I had seen before. About that time, while thumbing through Jeff Asay's Union Pacific in the Los Angeles Basin one morning at my local Starbucks, this image on p. 370 hit me like a truck:
What I built looked and felt like San Bernardino! The layout just seemed to feel more like California than Utah, and this development just seemed to seal the deal. Having so many elements of California already set aside for the layout - citrus packing houses, cab forwards, FPE and Santa Fe reefers, oil wells, palm trees - I asked myself, 'why not?'
My station site posed a problem too. Because the mainline went toward the back of the terminal ladder, which was necessary to maximize the curve radii of the main line, forced the station to the front of the layout. I had though that a mission style station would be most fitting. Riverside perhaps? San Bernardino for sure. Serving both ATSF and UP, and having a monumental station, made it seem ideal. But how to fit such a large distinctive station onto the space of the front of the layout was definitely going to be a challenge.
Another series of fortuitous events put the remaining pieces together. First, while at a model train show in Evanston, I found this newly-released kit:
It was the San Bernardino station in exactly the dimensions I needed for my layout. I bought it on the spot and started work on it immediately. Then a friend had pointed out that Walthers made a freight house kit for the freight house that was at San Bernardino in the 1950s, which perfectly fit the site I had mapped for the freight facilities.
My Trip to the Prototype
On October 21 I made the 10-hour road trip to Southern California for work and football. My first stop was San Bernardino. Pulling right up to the Depot, which celebrated its centenary on July 15, 2018, I was struck by both its monumental stoicism and its setting:
The entire property was intact and beautifully restored as a commuter terminal and regional transportation center. Each of its elements seemed perfect for its setting, such as the Harvey House:
Seeing this space and its period detail gave me a determination to finish my station's interiors as close to these as possible. Oddly, the materials I had picked out for my station's interiors closely fit the prototype. Imagine this space in the 1950s with throngs of passengers, well-wishers and staff arriving on the trains that stopped here:
Union Pacific: Utahn, Idahoan, City of Los Angeles, City of St. Louis, The Challenger, The Mail
Santa Fe: The Super Chief, Grand Canyon, El Capitan
That is precisely the feeling I want my station to convey. To celebrate this experience, the station is situated to be the lens on the passenger operation, forcing the viewer and operator to see the arriving and departing trains from the perspective of its occupants.
Walking around the station, everything about it seemed to capture exactly what I wanted to model in my passenger operation - a monumental Temple of Transportation in its glory. The details of the space bring it to life.
And the viaduct providing a link between the Depot and the city on the other side:
Even as a modern railroad hub, San Bernardino still maintains its dignity as a grand station. This period grandeur shows up in the most unexpected places. A visit to the men's room found its glorious past still alive with its spacious waiting room and period fixtures:
The station and its surrounding neighborhoods left an impression on me. Imagining how the station and the area looked, sounded, smelled and felt in the middle 1950s - more than 60 years ago - is a modeler's muse.
A Snowbound Memory
The San Bernardino Depot is the setting for one of my formative memories of railroading - both real and model. In December, 1987, while a struggling first-year graduate student at the University of Utah, I scraped together about $100 to buy a ticket home to visit my family in Riverside for the Christmas holiday break. Not wanting to fly or take the bus, I booked a coach seat on Amtrak's Desert Wind. Catching the train on a cold night at the Rio Grande Station, then the Amtrak station for Salt Lake, I remember the sleepless ride home through the remote darkness of Southern Utah and Nevada as a filling me with ideas for how to model a railroad if I had the wherewithal to do so.
Arriving in Las Vegas early morning, I noticed it was a little cold, but I didn't think about it as anything more than fresh air after spending the night on the train. As we headed to Barstow, the weather had gotten progressively darker and colder. At Barstow it was snowing, getting much heavier as we arrived at Victorville. There we learned that Cajon Pass was completely snowed in and that the train was the only way to get through the pass.
As the train entered the Pass, we were enveloped in a white-out storm that I expected in Utah but not in Southern California. I watched with rapt attention as the Desert Wind wound through the famous curves on its way down Cajon Pass, the snow never letting up, and the highway completely snowed in. Clearing the Pass near Devore, it was still snowing, but not quite as hard as in the Pass.
When the train pulled into San Bernardino Depot, it was snowing at the Depot! Getting off the train, it was a dark, cold, wet snowy day, something I never would have imagined seeing in sunny Southern California. As I walked across the slippery icy platform into the waiting room I couldn't help noticing how I, coming from a cold December in Salt Lake City, was one of the few people in the space actually dressed appropriately for the weather. The highly unusual event, which occurs maybe once every 30 years or so, was headline news throughout the Southland.
So that defined my first experience of San Bernardino Depot and of riding home from college on a train. Visiting on a warm sunny Fall day some 31 years later brought all that back to me. Like the freak snowstorm that greeted me on my first visit to the San Bernardino station, Amtrak's Desert Wind is a distant memory. Just weeks after my rail journey, the Desert Wind was removed from Amtrak's schedule, marking the end of passenger service between Salt Lake City and Southern California.
My pilgrimage turned out to be more than studying the prototype for a station operation that asserted itself on my layout. It personalized that connection to my memories of passenger train travel in profound ways.
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