Queenswalk: The Berlinville Disaster, Part One

The beaches of Coney Island and vicinity were a powerful draw for the people of New York in the latter part of the 19th century. Before the amusement parks and the honky tonk, the shore was the province of enormous resort hotels catering to the wealthy and upper middle classes. The Manhattan Beach Hotel, the Oriental Hotel and the Brighton Beach Hotel were the largest of these resorts, and many smaller hotels followed.

A trip to the beach meant an escape from the heat and stink of the city, and if you were wealthy, a stay at one of these swanky resorts, where you were waited on hand and foot, while you enjoyed the cooling ocean breezes. Most people did not actually swim, especially women, and they certainly didn’t tan, but it was still enjoyable to get out and spend some leisurely time in a beautiful setting. The beach was such a popular destination that train lines were established to take people from Brooklyn and Manhattan to the beach.

The Brighton Beach line, which would one day become the B and Q trains, ran to the Brighton Beach Hotel, but it wasn’t the only train. The Long Island Railroad wanted in on the lucrative run to the beach as well, and it leased a spur of the private New York and Manhattan Beach Railroad, and ran a train that also stopped at the Brighton Beach Hotel. This service ran from 1882 until 1925. There was also another LIRR train that went out to the beaches of the Rockaways. These trains crossed Brooklyn and Queens, ran through to Long Island City, and on to Manhattan. The two train lines met at Bushwick Junction, before running on one track through to New York City.

As the trains rumbled through Queens, they passed through small neighborhoods that have been almost lost in time and forgotten, as Queens grew and changed. One of these neighborhoods was called “Berlin”, or “Berlinville,” named for the German immigrants who settled there in the late 19th century. Today’s 50th Street was once named Berlin Avenue. Berlinville was part of a larger, now almost forgotten neighborhood called Laurel Hill, which is now called West Maspeth, now a mostly industrial area flanked by Calvary Cemetery and the BQE on the west, and the LIRR tracks to the south.

On Saturday, August 26, 1893, a train carrying six cars of passengers rolled along the tracks near Berlinville. It was past eleven at night, and this Manhattan Beach train was carrying people back to the city after an enjoyable day at the hotels and the beach. It was late, but it was the middle of a hot summer, and the cars were filled with people. As the train reached Berlinville, it stopped for signaling, before going around an elongated “S” curve, on its way to Long Island City.

At this point on the line, the Beach train was on the same track as the Rockaway train. The “S” curve had a long straight section in the middle, along which stood the Haberman Manufacturing Company, a large factory that made Agateware-style crockery. A signaling station tower stood at the lower end of that straight section. You may be picturing a flat topography here, but in reality, this entire section of track was on a hill, with grassy banks on either side of the tracks, small wooded areas, and a steeper hill on one end that rolled down towards Long Island City. The signal tower was placed where the oncoming train could see the signal in plenty of time to stop if the track below was not clear.

The Manhattan Beach train was an extra, run because of the heavy volume from the beach. The wooden cars were closed, with windows, which was a disappointment to the customers, as it was still hot, and they would have preferred the open cars, which were basically seating with a roof, much more open to the cooling breezes of the moving train. The engine reached what was called “block 5,” a section of track which stretched back over a mile to Bushwick Junction, where the Rockaway and Manhattan Beach train lines became one. It was here the engineer could see the signal light letting him know that the track was clear.

The engineer of the train that night was Otis Donaldson, his conductor was J.J. Moll, and he had two brakemen, Thomas Finn and James McCormick. Donaldson saw the red signal indicating stop, as a Rockaway Beach train was on the tracks in front of it. They were at the highest point on the rise. They waited until the Rockaway train had cleared, and the red signal was removed. This was before green signals. It was red for stop, an absence of signal meant clear.

As he engaged the motor, the train had difficulty moving, and the wheels were slipping on the track. To make matters worse, the coupling between the second and third car had come undone, and the last four cars were rolling backwards down the hill. The brakemen, who were in the last cars, quickly applied the handbrakes, stopping the cars. When the train had first started moving, Signalman R. J. Knott in the tower had extinguished the red light, indicating that the track was clear. But as soon as he saw the train was having problems, he flashed the red signal again, as another Rockaway train was due on the tracks soon.

Engineer Donaldson backed the train up and the runaway cars were recoupled to the rest of the train. Brakeman Finn was sent to the back of the train with a lantern to safeguard the tracks, just in case. After the cars were recoupled, Finn got back on, and the train began to move, albeit very slowly, as it had to climb the grade again. Meanwhile, the passengers on the train were getting impatient. It was late, and like the New Yorkers they were, they started grumbling and looking around for the reason for the delay, and someone to complain to.

In the back of the rear car sat Colonel A. E. Buck, the editor of “The Spirit of the Times,” his son Harry, and his friend, Dr. Gideon J. Knapp. The latter, with his brother, also named Harry, were well-known and successful thoroughbred race horse owners. The three men had been talking amiably when the train stopped, and were now looking around for the reason for the delay. Dr. Knapp happened to turn around and look out of the back window of the car towards the tracks behind them. He saw a train light coming closer, and he remarked to the Colonel that “that headlight is coming too close for comfort.”

As he watched, the headlight speeded towards the slowly moving train, getting closer and closer, and Dr. Knapp jumped up and exclaimed, “My God, Colonel, she’s coming right for us. Let’s get out!” Another man also in the rear seats jumped up and waved his arms, shouting, “Jump! Jump! Jump!” Barreling down on them were the lights of Engine Number 10, out of Far Rockaway, running late, and travelling like the demons of hell were chasing it. It had become foggy, and the Rockaway train was trying to make up for lost time. It also had five cars full of passengers, and was bringing hell on earth to the hapless riders on the tracks outside of Berlinville, Queens.

Next week: The crash and its aftermath.

(Above sketch: Aug.28, 1893 New York Herald)