The Etowah Depot and the town of Etowah began when the Louisville & Nashville railroad planned a new more direct route in 1902, between Cincinnati and Atlanta, thus bypassing the Hiwassee River Gorge and the Great Hiwassee Loop.
There was a need for a terminal for crew changes to service steam engines and to serve as the Atlanta Division Headquarters. 1454 acres were set aside for the depot, shops and the proposed township to support the railroad workforce. The 15 room, yellow pine, Victorian structure was the first permanent building in the planned township of Etowah, Tennessee.
The land was purchased for $10 to $20 per acre by L&N Railroad creating a major rail center in the town of Etowah.
After the 25 acres chosen for the terminal and yard were drained and raised over 3 feet, the first building to be constructed was the L&N Depot at a cost of $13,000. The totally electrified railroad complex and shops, tracks and grounds cost the L&N railroad $200,000 at the close of 1906. In 1916 the Portico room, on the front of the building, was added to provide more office space for the engineering department. By 1927 there were over 2,000 men working in the shops and 250 more working the 14 passenger trains that moved through Etowah daily.
During the early 1920s, the Etowah complex was active and thriving, but in 1928 the L&N began replacing the wooden “rolling stock” with steel freight and passenger cars, which forced the lay-off of 200 shopmen in Etowah. The same year the Atlanta and Knoxville division was combined and the Etowah offices were moved to Knoxville. By 1931, the Etowah shop force had shrunk from 2,100 to 80 workers.
Etowah’s population in 1920 was 2,516 almost identical to Athens at 2,580.
Train cars at the time had wooden sides and a wooden floor with the steel wheels bolted to the floor. The doors and all the moving parts were designed to rock as the train moved. I’ve ridden one in Nevada in the town of Virginia City not far from the Ponderosa where “Hoss n Little Joe” hung out. Etowah was a “Perfect Place” to repair these cars. Plenty of hardwood nearby. The rail line going through Etowah had plenty of traffic so any cars that needed to be refurbished could easily be re-routed or added to another train that was already going by Etowah and the cars in need of repair dropped off. The ones finished could be picked up and added and dropped off at a main Hub. This Etowah route much the same as Highway 411 shaved off 50 miles on the trip if you were traveling from Knoxville To Atlanta instead of going through Chattanooga on the way to Atlanta. A win-win for L&N and Etowah.
The “Rest of The Story” as Paul Harvey would say happened in Nashville. Now you wondering what could happen 250 miles away that would sound the death knell for a town in East Tennessee.
On July 9, 1918, near Nashville, Tennessee, in an area known as Dutchman’s Curve, two trains collided head-on, creating such a frightful noise that many claimed it could be “heard for miles.” It was 7 a.m. on a warm summer morning and both trains on the Nashville, Chattanooga and the St. Louis lines were running late.
The westbound or outbound passenger train to Memphis had just pulled out of Nashville’s Union Station is packed with passengers. The eastbound train was heading inbound to the Nashville station from Memphis. Both veteran engineers had orders. The inbound train had the right of way on the curve’s one-way track. The outbound train would have to wait at the double tracks just outside of the station for the other train to pass. But something went horribly wrong. A green light was given to the outbound train to proceed, meaning someone had seen or heard the incoming train pass. But when the tower operator checked his papers, there was no record of the Nashville-bound train coming through.
In reality, the inbound train was running nearly 35 minutes behind schedule. One of the trains was pulling the newer “steel” passenger cars while the other was pulling the older wooden ones and had more passengers then the train with steel passenger cars.
The operator frantically telegraphed the dispatcher who immediately sent an urgent message back. “Stop him,” was his order. But how? At the time, there was no direct communication with the engineers in either train. Only a warning whistle was used for emergencies. The whistle blared, but the outbound train was too far along for anyone to hear it. By this time, the inbound train was chugging to the curve.
Both trains were moving at top speeds of 60 mph. Then a moment of sheer terror. The engineer of the outbound train caught a glimpse of the other train coming around the bend, directly in his path. He pulled the emergency brake, but there wasn’t enough time. Then that sound that could be heard for miles.
“The ground quaked and the waters of nearby Richland Creek trembled,” one writer later described. “The wooden cars crumbled and hurled sideways, hanging over the embankment. One train telescoped the other.”