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2.
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tunnel still further for the commuters. Catenary was strung over the approaches to J.C. yard and from the west portal of the tunnel to Secaucus. The transfer run was 4 miles. The new transfer locomotives had to be self-propelled in the yards, which were not wired; consequently, each locomotive had, in addition to its 3000-volt D.C. trolley equipment, a propulsion-type storage battery charged by a 300 h.p. diesel-generator set. Thus the name "three-power"--trolley-battery-diesel. The locomotives, 3501 and 3502, weighed 124 tons--all on drivers--and as Engineer Bill Tutlow observed, could "pull like a sonabitch"--which was well.

The new locomotives worked in an interesting setting. At the river, J.C. yard terminated in a maze of docks and warehouses. Adjacent was the Hoboken passenger terminal, whose main function was handling the commuter business. In the morning, these trains disgorged thousands who continued to Manhattan by ferry and tube train. In the evening, the electric commuter trains left the terminal in consists up to 12 neat new cars, glided smoothly through the interlocking, and took off for the Bergen Hill tunnel a mile away. Additionally there were the off-hour commuter jobs and the through passenger trains. We were warned immediately that if any J.C. yard movements got stalled across the main line, thus threatening to interfere with passenger traffic, someone was in deep trouble.

In the Hackensack meadows, at the west end of our territory, was Secaucus yard. Although "meadows" has a pleasant, rural connotation, Secaucus was scarcely a resort area. It lay low in the dirty, desolate, swampy flatlands, which meant a 0.6 per cent uphill drag to the tunnel. Secaucus was all railroad, from the shanty office of Paddy Murray, the uncompromising old yardmaster, to the Railroad YMCA restaurant affectionately known as "The Dump." The 2-mile run from Secaucus to the tunnel did have one scenic feature, however--the long fill of the PRR line from Manhattan Transfer to Penn Station which was about to be converted from D.C. to A.C. Although the 11,000-volt A.C. overhead was being erected, trains still were hauled by the old 600-volt, third-rail, side-rod L-6 locomotives.

As we passed under this line one day, our fireman inquired how many volts we had in our trolley wire. I told him three thousand.

"How many they gonna have?" he asked.
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"Eleven thousand."

"[[italics]]Eleven[[/italics]] thousand!" He frowned and thought a moment. Then he said, "Boy! Will [[italics]]they[[/italics]] go like hell!"

This conclusion seemed logical to the fireman, who had not received the extensive schooling given the DL&W maintenance people on the new commuter-car program. Fortunately these same men maintained the three-powers and were highly competent as well as co-operative. Perhaps the novelty of the locomotives appealed to them. The engines were like two big challenging toys thrown in with the 141 new motor cars. Flattered by their enthusiasm, we were ripe for a fall. It soon came.

Joe Kron, general foreman of the Hoboken roundhouse, had a hard, square face and the build of a gorilla. He was inexperienced in electrical matters, and in our occasional discussions with him, we learned that when Joe began to scratch his fundament, we were getting too technical. But he knew and loved steam; his ideal was the magnificent 4-8-4's which he groomed meticulously to haul the [[italics]]Lackawanna Limited[[/italics]] from Hoboken to Buffalo, an admiration I thoroughly understood. After regarding the stubby, boxy, swivel-trucked physiognomy of 3501, Joe inquired, "How much you guys think that Kiddie-Kar'll pull off the Long Slip?" Although we were outraged by this affront, henceforth--regardless of their accomplishments--Nos. 3501 and 3502 were the Kiddie-Kars and they will be referred to here as the KK's.

We knew that hundred-car drags off J.C. yard's "Long Slip" were the KK's major challenge, but we were allowed to approach it gradually. At Secaucus, Paddy Murray was a tougher taskmaster. Paddy was a lean, hard-bitten old-timer who seemed determined to load us until the traction motors burned out. Our conductor would excoriate Paddy for putting "the whole goddamn yard" behind us. Paddy would answer with unsurpassed profanity, acknowledging nothing. Meanwhile the drags got heavier. Out of this came a new expression: "ohms and M's."

Drags were rated in M's (thousands of pounds trailing); ohms, of course, are units of electrical resistance. Eric Ericson, a traveling engineer assigned to training KK crews, conceived the euphonious term "the ohms and the M's" for referring to the opposing forces. "How are the ohms and the M's today?" became a familiar greeting as we contended
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Transcription Notes:
4-8-4 is locomotive wheel arrangement code: four smaller wheels in front; four driver wheels on each side, and four smaller wheels behind.