The Crash at Crush

It was a publicity stunt that will never be attempted again. The "Crash at Crush" was the intentional head-on crash of two Katy locomotives on Sept. 15, 1896, at a point just south of West, in Central Texas. The results were not what the railroad officials had planned.

A locomotive crash staged several months earlier by the Columbus and Hocking Valley Railroad near Cleveland, Ohio, had been a great success, attracting 40,000 spectators. Katy Passenger Agent William George Crush enthusiastically proposed a similar spectacular event in Texas. The spot chosen was in McLennan County in a shallow valley with hills rising on three sides, forming a natural amphitheater. Agent Crush, for whom the event's site was named, helped supervise the preparations for the Texas collision, and the event was well advertised months in advance.

Elaborate Preparations Made

The Katy did not charge admission to the spectacle; they planned to make money selling seats on their trains, at two dollars per round-trip ticket from anywhere in the state, to people wanting transportation to the event.

A special four-mile track was laid for the collision run. Two telegraph offices were constructed for the occasion. Two water wells were drilled at the site, and railroad hauled in five tank cars of water and several tons of ice for the crowd. The water was piped to the top of a hill on the property, and several hundred faucets were placed at convenient intervals.

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A newspaper photo of the 1896 staged crash.

Workmen also constructed a grandstand for officials, three speakers' stands, a platform for reporters and a bandstand. A big lunch stand was set up in a tent borrowed from Ringling Brothers circus, with food service supervised by the Katy's superintendent of eating-house service. A carnival midway sprang up, with medicine shows, game booths, cigar stands and lemonade and soft-drink stands to entertain the spectators as they waited for the show to begin. Overlooking it all was a giant sign, informing all comers that this was "Crush, Texas." The day before the crash, the Katy's master mechanic McElvaney and locomotive engineer Cain staged a speed test of the two old Baldwin engines, No. 1001 and No. 999, to coordinate arrival at the collision point, which was to be at milepost 881, 14 miles north of Waco and three miles south of West. During the actual event, the two train crews were to jump from the trains soon after they started their run.

Safety Precautions Taken

Almost all the spectators were to be located on a hill at least 200 yards away, at a point from which they would have, according to The Dallas Morning News of Sept. 14, 1896, "a perfect view of the destruction." Only photographers and reporters were to be allowed within 100 yards of the track. The News quoted Agent Crush as saying the officials were expecting a crowd of between 20,000 to 25,000. Three hundred special policemen were brought in to keep order.

The Crowd Gathers

On Tuesday morning, the day of the event, the News feverishly reported that the Katy was sending 30 passenger trains out all over Texas to bring in spectators for the 4:00 p.m. collision. The group that eventually gathered was estimated to be between 30,000 and more than 40,000. The News reported that a crowd that big had never before been seen in Texas, except for Tennessee Day at the State Fair several years before. Agent Crush, "on a prancing charger," kept an eye on it all.

The Crash

At 5:00 p.m., one hour late, the two engines, each pulling six cars, slowly met at the point of collision and were photographed. Then the trains backed slowly up the low hills to their starting points. The Sept. 16 issue of the News describes what happened next: "The smoke was pouring from their funnels in a great black streak and the popping of the steam could be distinctly heard for the distance of a mile. People were standing on tiptoe from every point of vantage trying to see every movement of the wheels that were so soon to roll to destruction ... At 10 minutes after 5 Crush raised his hat and a great cheer went up from the throats of all the people.

"The rumble of the two trains, faint and far off at first, but growing nearer and more distinct with each fleeting second, was like the gathering force of a cyclone. Nearer and nearer they came, the whistles of each blowing repeatedly and the torpedoes which had been placed on the track exploding in almost a continuous round like the rattle of musketry. ... They rolled down at a frightful rate of speed to within a quarter of a mile of each other. Nearer and nearer as they approached the fatal meeting place the rumbling increased, the roaring grew louder ...

"Now they were within ten feet of each other, the bright red and green paint on the engines and the gaudy advertisements on the cars showing clear and distinct in the glaring sun.

"A crash, a sound of timbers rent and torn, and then a shower of splinters.

"There was just a swift instance of silence, and then as if controlled by a single impulse both boilers exploded simultaneously and the air was filled with flying missiles of iron and steel varying in size from a postage stamp to half of a driving wheel ...

"On the photographer's stand, situated not more than 100 feet from the track ... were grouped the photographers, the reporters of the News and several railroad officials ... One of the photographers, Mr. Dean of Waco, will lose one of his eyes as a result of a sudden meeting with a small piece of flying steel.

"All that remained of the two engines and twelve cars was a smoking mass of fractured metal and kindling wood, except one car on the rear of each train, which had been left untouched. The engines had both been completely telescoped, and contrary to experience in such cases, instead of rising in the air from the force of the blow, were just flattened out. There was nothing about the cars big enough to save except pieces of wood, which were eagerly seized upon and carried home as souvenirs."

And the Unfortunate Aftermath

Railroad officials estimated that each locomotive reached a speed of about 45 miles an hour just before the crash, producing a collision force equivalent to hitting a stationary, solid object at 90 miles per hour. Other observers believed that the trains were going much faster. Two young men and a woman were killed, and at least six other people were seriously injured by flying debris. The Katy's wrecker trains moved in quickly and removed the larger wreckage. Souvenir hunters swarmed over the site, carrying off most of the rest of the wreckage. The railroad settled all claims with dispatch.

William Crush was fired the evening of the crash, but Katy rehired him the following day, and he worked for the company until he retired. The "Crash at Crush" was immortalized by famed Texas ragtime composer Scott Joplin in his march, "Great Crush Collision," early in the 20th century.

— Written by Mary G. Ramos, expanded from an article written for the 1992-1993 Texas Almanac.