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What really happened on the circus train in 1918? Read the story of this tragedy for the entertainment industry of the time.

In the cool, pre-dawn hours on a June night in 1918, a train engineer closed his cab window as he chugged toward Hammond, Indiana. He drifted to sleep, and his train bore down on the idle Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus Train. Soon after, the sleeping engineer's locomotive plowed into the circus train. In the subsequent wreckage and blaze, more than two hundred circus performers were injured and eighty-six were killed, most of whom were interred in a mass grave in the Showmen's Rest section of Chicago's Woodlawn Cemetery. Join local historian Richard Lytle as he recounts, in the fullest retelling to date, the details of this tragedy and its role in the overall evolution and demise of a unique entertainment industry.

George Pullman's legacy lies in the town that bears his name. As one of the first thoroughly planned model industrial communities, it was designed to give the comforts of a permanent home to the employees who built America's most elegant form of overnight railroad travel. But the town was more than just a residential wing of sleeper car manufacturing; its 1894 railroad strike led to the national Labor Day holiday. In the early twentieth century, the Pullman Company became the country's largest employer of African Americans, who then formed the nation's first successful Black labor union. Author Kenneth Schoon revisits Pullman's monumental history and the lessons it continues to provide.

An amazing piece of Brainerd’s proud past

For over eighty years, the Northern Pacific Railroad Shops was the largest employer in the Brainerd area. After the Depression, the NP provided steady jobs for Brainerd railroad workers, whose paychecks contributed to the growth of Brainerd. The NP Shops built freight cars and conducted maintenance and disassembly of the NP’s rolling stock. The workforce of several trades called themselves “shop dogs.” Shop dogs built a workplace culture with its own jokes, stories, ethics, and nicknames – an unintended circumstance could result in a nickname, such as Scoop Swanson or the Soo Line Bull, that stuck to a shop dog for the rest of his life. After shop dogs retired and the NP shops closed, their nicknames and stories live on. Author Bob Roscoe gathers the stories from this vital piece of Brainerd history.

The Little Miami Rail Road did not exist twelve years since--nor any other railway in the Valley of the Ohio--but now it is here, to take you on your journey with all the speed, comfort and convenience of any such road, in any country; and there are three thousand miles of railway in this valley! Year after year hundreds of miles are added to the number, and where it once took weeks to accomplish a journey, it now takes only hours! What a revolution! But the revolution is not in the gain of time only, nor even money. The great change is in society. Thousands meet now where tens could meet twenty years since. Look through these cars, and you see around, men, women and children going to see friends, or transact business, or seeking pleasure, where they would not have dreamed of going a few years since. Some are going only to the next town; some to the Lakes; some to the Atlantic; some to Europe; --and some, perhaps, will wander through old Jerusalem, or by the banks of Jordan, before they will again return. The Railroad and the Steamboat have made man almost ubiquitous on this little earth, and his fondness for novelty and change is gratified beyond the dreams of fancy. Where will this stop? No where, till this earth is inhabited by one family, dwelling together in peace and unity.

For slaves fleeing captivity, the Underground Railroad was the most viable means of escape, and with over three thousand miles of clandestine routes and secret trails, Ohio had the country's most extensive network of safe houses. A great number of these passageways were concentrated throughout the state's east central region, particularly the inland channels of Coshocton, Holmes and Guernsey Counties and the now-famous canal route, a major conduit winding through Tuscarawas and Stark Counties. Similarly, runaways sought refuge in the hills and valleys of Harrison County, as well as in the Quaker stronghold of Columbiana County. Using the letters of Wilbur H. Seibert, along with contemporary photographs of area safe houses, Janice VanHorne-Lane provides an intimate account of east central Ohio's profound contributions to the Underground Railroad and its mission, freedom for all.

Local author Jacob R. Mecklenborg reveals a fresh, thought-provoking, full examination of the Cincinnati subway's demise and what its future might hold.

What of those ghostly catacombs that lie dormant below city streets? Those subway tunnels, never finished, never filled with the screeches of trains and the busy commotion of commuters. Just there. Dead. You've heard of the subway's demise. The tunnels were too narrow. The city was too broke. A grand miscalculation. Well, most of what you've heard is, sorry to say, untrue. The popular story of the subway's demise is myth-laden and as incomplete as the original plan. The full story, long buried in mounds of public records dispersed in libraries, is now exposed.

In nearly a century of heavy rail travel in Ohio, a dozen train accidents stand out as the most horrific. In the bitter cold, just after Christmas 1876, eleven cars plunged seventy-five feet into the frigid water below. The stoves burst into flames, burning to death all who were not killed by the fall. Fires cut short the lives of forty-three people in the head-on Doodlebug collision in Cuyahoga Falls in 1940 and eleven people in a train wreck near Dresden in 1912. Author Jane Ann Turzillo unearths these red-hot stories of ill-fated passengers, heroic trainmen and the wrecking crews who faced death and destruction on Ohio's rails.