The Monticello Railway Museum presented a slide-show history at its Annual Meeting in November, their wealth of old photos missing only a shot of CB&Q Mikado 4960 as it chugged past hundreds of people, perched atop a parallel levee, during a strictly-enforced photo line on February 19, 1966.

Through the efforts of Illinois Wesleyan University students passing out fliers on board and trying to rally support to save the Q's steam program, despite new president Lou Menk's order to terminate all trips by June of that year, SPUR, Inc. had 110 new members when they got back to school Monday morning. Within weeks SPUR had launched a letter campaign directed at the railroad, aided by then US Senator Everett Dirksen, who interceded on the often-vocal group's behalf, without success.

Although lots of the original members were from the greater St. Louis area because of that excursion, interest in Central Illinois surged after lots of newspaper stories and local TV spots, and the group bought an engine in Indiana and trucked it to a vacant lot in Monticello. 40+ years later and following two name changes, the museum (and its manicured grounds, shiny equipment, two depots, newly-restored steamer, efficient, all-volunteer staff and realistic operations) has become the rightful custodian of railroad history for the many railroads that ran nearby. Ah, but I digress.

The trip was billed as the last-ever, steamed-powered excursion on the CB&Q from St. Louis Union Station, and hundreds of people were snapping pictures of the train's locomotive and plume, which may well have been 300 feet straight up, on a still, hazy day en route to Hannibal. I still have the souvenir card handed out that day and signed by ticket chairman Ray Gehl of the NRHS, who thoughtfully held out a few unsold tickets in case some out-of-towners came in on the Midnight Special from Chicago for the already-sold-out train.

Were it not for those spare tickets, the present museum grounds might still be a popcorn field, the Wabash depot would likely be wood splinters buried in a landfill, Southern 401 might never have gotten the loving treatment it needed to start another new life and thousands of visitors to other Piatt County attractions would look toward an endless row of tall, evenly-spaced wooden poles along the abandoned IT roadbed and wonder what that was all about.

I am not able to resurrect my slides from that day (basement flood, etc.) but would like to have a copy of somebody's slide or print (or video capture from an 8 mm film) to pass along with proper credit to be included in the museum's presentation, because for the museum, after all, it was a birthday trip.

Ted Lemen