Summer of 1898-Water Valley, Miss. Engineer J. L. (Casey) Jones and Fireman J. W. McKinnie at the North Yard Limit Board. Casey and "Mac" are breaking in 638 after a shopping. (This is the only known photograph of Casey Jones in an engine.)

Summer of 1900-Water Valley, Miss. Casey's wreck engine, repairs completed, stands on the shop lead in front of Mrs. Block's Boarding House with a group of Casey's friends. In gangway, W. H. Hartwell, Fireman; cab window, Bob Davis, Hostler. On ground, left to right: John Brown, Engineer; Ed Kennedy, Fireman; and Loring Rogers, Engineer.

Casey Jones and the Fast Mail
By Ronald J. Schwartzbauer

In the early, dark hours of the morning of April 30, 1900, the Illinois Central Fast Mail, also known as the Cannonball Express, was nearing the S curve north of Vaughn, Mississippi. The Chicago to New Orleans Express was running late, so the engineer of that train decided not to slow her down. He whistled up long and loud, the little station at Vaughn, to let them know the Cannonball was coming through. Up ahead, a freight train was pulling on to a siding to open the mainline for the oncoming express.

The engineer of the express was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man by the name of John Luther Jones. Along the Illinois Central route, he was known as Casey Jones.

Born in 1863, Jones grew up around Cayce, Kentucky and began railroading with the Mobile and Ohio, eventually working his way up to fireman. Later, he went over to the Illinois Central and by 1890 he was a full-fledged engineer.

In 1886 he married a pretty Jackson, Tennessee gal, Jane Brady. She always called him J.L. An Illinois Central engineer, Bose Lashley, nicknamed him Casey after he found out where he hailed from. The moniker stuck and Casey loved it.

Tonight's trip was not his regular run. Jones had steamed into Memphis the night before out of Canton, Mississippi. He then learned that engineer Sam Tate, who was to take the Cannonball south, was ill. Always willing to help a fellow runner, Jones volunteered to double back. Snatching his orders he climbed quickly into the cab of number 382, a ten wheeler.

A blinding rain was falling that night as he eased his train of heavy Pullman cars out of the Memphis yards. They were running an hour and thirty-five minutes behind and as his train picked up speed, Jones told his fireman, Sim Webb, that "Rain or no rain, keep the steam up and watch those drivers roll." Webb did just that and the southbound Cannonball began to maintain over 60 miles per hour as it rushed through the night.

The first stop on the 188-mile run to Canton was at Sardis, then it was on to Grenada. The rain-drenched miles slipped by. Wheels roared across bridges, thumped over switches, Webb kept 382 hot, Jones kept pushing, and the Illinois Central Fast Mail began to close in, "on the advertised."

Years later in an interview, Webb remembered that, "Casey was in good spirits that night and that 382 was running just fine and using very little fuel." He went on to recollect that, "At times, they were clipping off a mile every 50 seconds."

Winona came and went, and as they cleared Durant, Casey, his gray eyes shining with satisfaction, turned and shouted to his fireman, "Oh Sim, the old girl has her high-heeled slippers on tonight. We'll make Way on time." The town of Way was six miles out of Canton and Casey planned to coast in from there.

It was 3:50 a.m. Two minutes behind schedule. The curve north of Vaughn. The stampeding ten wheeler, crowding the iron hard, its whistle moaning, ran the curve and, as its headlight pierced the darkness ahead ... "Lord," "Lord" ... there, over the tracks, were two red lights. The freight train had not completed its switch. The caboose and two box cars were still on the mainline due to a burst air hose.

Kicking his seat out from under him, Jones worked his engine fast. He braked her, threw the air, and let the sand pour over the rails, then gave her the big hole. He yelled an order for Webb to jump and the fireman swung out of the cab into the night. With his engine's drive wheels doing a mad, desperate dance in reverse and with both hands on the heavy Johnson bar, Casey and number 382 rode together into the Promised Land.

Sim Webb survived his jump from the train that night. He continued railroading until another close call in 1919 caused him to "quit the cab" for good. Sim then lived and worked in Memphis and died in 1957.

Casey was the only one killed in the wreck. His locomotive plowed through the caboose and both box cars, stripping itself of its pipes, running boards and cab, then it rolled over. The six cars of the Fast Mail remained on the track.

Casey was buried at Mount Calvary Cemetery in Jackson, Tennessee, a small wooden cross marking his grave.

Casey Jones - The Union Scab
By Joe Hill

The workers on the S.P. line to strike sent out a call;
But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn't strike at all;
His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum,
And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of plumb.

Casey Jones kept his junk pile running;
Casey Jones was working double time;
Casey Jones got a wooden medal,
For being good and faithful on the S.P. line.

The workers said to Casey, "Won't you help us win this strike?"
But Casey said: "Let me alone, you'd better take a hike."
Then someone put a bunch of railroad ties across the tracks,
And Casey hit the bottom with an awful crack.

Casey Jones hit the river bottom;
Casey Jones broke his blessed spine;
Casey Jones was an Angeleno,
He took a trip to heaven on the S.P. line.

When Casey Jones got up to heaven to the Pearly Gate,
He said, "I'm Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the S.P. Freight."
"You're just the man," said Peter; "our musicians went on strike;
You can get a job a-scabbing any time you like."

Casey Jones got up to heaven;
Casey Jones was doing mighty fine;
Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels,
Just like he did to workers on the S.P. line.

The angels got together, and they said it wasn't fair,
For Casey Jones to go around a-scabbing everywhere.
The Angels Union No. 23, they sure was there,
And they promptly fired Casey down the Golden Stair.

Casey Jones went to Hell a-flying.
"Casey Jones," the Devil said, "Oh fine;
Casey Jones, get busy shoveling sulphur-
That's what you get for scabbing on the S.P. line."

From the IWW Songbook