Features appear in each issue of Pennsylvania Heritage showcasing a variety of subjects from various periods and geographic locations in Pennsylvania.

On a blustery, chilly day in autumn of 1939, a dapper-looking man in his mid-forties climbed onto a railway station platform in Fort Wayne, Indiana, to watch the approach of a train. Amid billowing steam, shrouds of smoke, and rumbling loud enough to unnerve him, he watched an enormous locomotive scream past his vantage point. The sleek, sculpted machine, effortlessly pulling a passenger train, resembled a speeding bullet on wheels.

“On a straight stretch of track without any curves for miles, I waited for the [engine] to pass through at full speed,” he later wrote. “I stood on the platform and saw it corning from a distance at 120 miles per hour. It flashed by like a steel thunderbolt, the ground shaking under me, in a blast of air that almost sucked me into its whirlwind. Approximately a million pounds of locomotive were crashing through near me. I felt shaken and overwhelmed by an unforgettable feeling of power, by a sense of pride at the sight of what I had helped create in a quick sketch six inches wide on a scrap of paper. For the first time, perhaps, I realized that I had, after all, contributed something to a great nation that had taken me in and that I loved so deeply.”

The nattily-attired man on the platform that day was Ray­mond Loewy (1893-1986), who had arrived in New York City not long after the end of World War I, wearing the uniform of a French army captain. He disembarked his ship with only forty dollars but with a firm belief that he would find a promising career in America. By the time he strode across the station platform in Fort Wayne, he had become successful as an industrial designer. He was, perhaps, the best known of a handful of designers – Norman Bel Geddes, Henry Dreyfuss, Walter Teague, and Harold Van Doren – who would change the face of American products and their marketing.

The locomotive Loewy watched that day was his design, the streamlined S-1 steam engine, built by the Pennsylvania Railroad Company (PRR) to haul its most popular passenger train, the Broadway Limited, from Chicago to New York. The locomotive was the largest ever built, measuring 140 feet long and weighing more than five hundred tons. When it debuted in 1939, it was capable of hauling a multi-car train at speeds up to 140 miles-per-hour. Although other companies and designers had produced artfully designed locomotives, Loewy’s S-1 is the engine most commonly associated with the term “streamlined.”

Loewy came to the design of locomotives nearly by happen-­stance. In the early thirties, he was still in the midst of building his design business. To drum up new business, Loewy traveled the nation, calling on manufacturers. “My life was a dreary chain of calls on bored listeners,” Loewy wrote in his 1951 autobiogra­phy, Never Leave Well Enough Alone. He circuited Midwestern manufacturing towns such as Cicero, Toledo, and Cleveland, Ohio, and found that most American manufacturers were quite content to leave well enough alone. After all, why should Midwestern businessmen trust a man who claimed their product could be improved? He was French. And he sported a mustache and wore cologne.

Railroads in the thirties were beginning to upgrade their locomotives and rolling stock. Loewy, who had been drawing futuristic trains since boyhood, decided to pitch his services to the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. Armed with two letters of introduction, Loewy met with Martin W. Clement, president of the railroad from 1935 until 1949, at which time he was elected chairman. “As a way of getting rid of the young Frenchy,[Clement decided] I would design a trash can for Pennsylvania Station in New York,” Loewy wrote.”The president sat like Mussolini behind his desk in a huge black and brown office matching his dark suit and necktie.”

“Have you ever designed railroad equipment?” Clement asked.

“No, but I have been dreaming of it for the past twenty years,” Loewy replied. Clement asked Loewy what he would like to design, and received the answer, “locomotives.” Clement called in an executive and told him to arrange for Loewy to redesign the trash cans in the company’s famous New York terminal, Penn Station. Loewy spent three days in Penn Station observing how the cans were used. His redesign went into effect. He later asked Clement how he liked the receptacles. “Young man, in this railroad, we never discuss problems that have been solved.”

Loewy’s next Pennsylvania Railroad Company commission was a locomotive, the GG-1. The electric locomotive’s main design had been completed, but when Loewy was shown the prototype he declared it “ugly, disconnected and full of rivets.” He suggested butt welding the train’s outer shell and lowering it onto the chassis, much like automotive manufacturing. He also added cosmetic touches, such as five painted speed lines along the upper length of the shell to suggest motion. As engineers and rail workers assembled the prototype for the GG-1, Loewy climbed a ladder and sketched where the lines should go. He would later claim these lines, called “cat whiskers’ by railroaders were a safety precaution to help track workers see the giant electric locomotive, which made little noise compared to its steam-powered counterparts. In reality, these lines didn’t much help with visibility, but they accentuated the downsweeping form of the engine. The PRR built more than fifty of these locomotives.

Although Loewy’s redesign of the GG-1 proved successful, the company’s investment in steam-powered engines remained top heavy. In 1939, railroads no longer dominated the transportation industry as bus lines began taking passengers across country. The automobile made Americans much more mobile – and independent – than they had been a decade earlier and the development of highways made traveling easier. To buck these trends, railroad companies sought to bring riders back to their trains by marketing plush, attractively designed passenger cars pulled by machines that looked fast just standing still – rolling visual fantasies executed in steel. The 5-1 certainly typified such a description; all who worked on or around it knew it as The Big Engine.

The 5-1 locomotive was conceived as a triumphant answer to streamlined diesel locomotives that had been making inroads with railroad companies and their passengers since 1933. The diesel railroad locomotive offered many more advantages than steam­-powered engines. They ran cleaner, they did not require constant maintenance, and they did not need an elaborate infrastructure of coal stations and water towers to keep them going.

Steam, diesel, and electricity powered the thundering behemoths. Electric trains were the most efficient and relatively easy to maintain.Their drawback was infrastructure – the job of stringing electric lines across the country’s railroad tracks was too immense to even contemplate. Electric locomotives were used only for smaller rail lines in areas where steam power was deemed inconvenient. For example, the Long Island Railroad was electrified in 1905 and shortly after New York City banned the use of steam locomotives within its city limits. By 1933, the PRR ran electric trains from New York to Philadelphia and Washing­ton, D.C.

Diesel power was almost immediately adapted for railroad use after the original diesel engine was patented in 1892. The power generated by the oil-burning engine did not drive the locomotive. Instead, it generated electricity to drive axle-mounted electric motors. The first diesel engines were massive and heavy, but as engine designs became more efficient it became clear diesel locomotives were a workable alternative to steam power. In 1930, the General Electric Corporation developed a lightweight engine that generated enough power to drive a small train, the Burlington Zephyr. It ran nonstop from Denver to Chicago, a trip of 1,015 miles, in thirteen hours!

For railroads, the initial investment in a diesel engine was substantial, more than double the cost of a steam engine, but the expenditure was offset by reduced fuel and maintenance costs. By World War II, for instance, diesel fuel costs were half of that required for steam. Steam engines also were designed by railroads to fit the requirements of a particular route. When the engine’s useful life was over, steamers were cut apart for scrap. Diesel engines, which used a standardized design, could be used in any situation and could be resold to smaller rail lines to recoup some of the investment cost.

The shape of a diesel engine – essentially a rectangular box – ­allowed engine designers to place the cab and driver’s compartment of the engine in front, making it easier to create attractive, cutting-edge engine designs. Such streamlined diesels as the Burlington Railroad’s Zephyr, designed by the E.G. Budd Manufacturing Company, of Philadelphia, and the Union Pacific Railroad’s The City of Salina, built by the Pullman Car and Manufacturing Company, demonstrated to competing railroads that the more attractive a locomotive looks, the more passengers it will attract.

Several American railroads used their own engineers and draftsmen to design locomotives, much like American automobile companies still do. As the need for dazzling designs became more urgent, rail lines turned to outside help. In 1927, the New York Central Railroad hired German-born artist Otto Kuhler (1894-1976), who had settled in Pittsburgh three years earlier, to design its J-1 Hudson steam locomotive. He created a series of paintings for the design, but the engine was never built. The American Locomotive Company subsequently hired Kuhler as a designer. Norman Bel Geddes who, in 1932, published Horizons, the first book to popularize streamline design, showcased several streamlined designs for trains, but no rail line ever built them.

The Pennsylvania Railroad, the largest freight and passenger line in the world at the time, was heavily invested in steam engines, as was the compa­ny’s main competitor, the New York Central. In the early 1930s, most steam engines looked much the same as they did in 1900 – huge and hulking. The PRR wanted to reinvent itself for the modern world by redefining the image of the steam locomotive. Company officials believed they could achieve this by streamlin­ing their engines.

Streamlined trains were nothing new. In 1865, a Roxbury, Massachusetts, minister named Samuel Calthrop patented a design for a “windsplitting” train. The first truly streamlined train was The City of Salina. Its design was conceived not by a contracted designer but by the company’s engineers. Delivered in 1933, the engine attracted hordes of visitors at the 1933-1934 Century of Progress International Exposition in Chicago.

Many of the early “modern” designs used the down-slanted and rounded front profile of the Burlington Railroad’s Zephyr. This look, called a “shroud” design, was used on the first streamlined steam locomotives, the New York Central’s Com­modore Vanderbilt (1934) and the Milwaukee Road’s Hiawatha (1935), designed by Kuhler. Industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss, who emerged from Norman Bel Geddes’ theater design firm to launch his own company and design the look of the Bell telephone and essentially create the science of ergonomics, also designed a shrouded steam engine, the New York Central Railroad Company’s Mercury, which sported driving wheels painted white and illuminated at night by hidden spotlights Despite its reputation as a forward-thinking company, the Pennsy embraced streamlining rather late. The railroad used its huge engine building shops in Altoona, Blair County, and Lima, Ohio, as well as the Baldwin Locomotive Works outside of Philadelphia. The company’s engine designs were executed by in-house engineers, individuals capable of designing a mechanically superior locomotive. Most of these engineers saw no reason to change the basic look of a steam locomotive, a shape that had not changed since the 1860s. The Pennsylvania Railroad did not employ anyone capable of finding poetry and uncovering the sleek suggestion of motion within the tons of iron and steel needed to create a locomotive.

For that the Pennsy needed none other than Raymond Loewy.

Raymond Fernand Loewy was born in Paris in 1893, not more than a few hundred yards from the structure that would define the possibilities of the modern machine age – the Eiffel Tower. His father Maximilian was a business journalist. His mother Marie drummed into her children that “it was better to be envied than pitied.” In fin-de-siede Paris, with the Industrial Revolution about to enter the age of automated production and standardized manufacturing, young Loewy filled his days by drawing. He drew railroad trains, automobiles, airplanes, and machines. At the age of fifteen, he designed a model airplane he called the Ayrel. The Ayrel won the 1908 James Gordon Bennett Cup in a design contest, and the following year he patented the design and formed a company – which he sold while still in his teens – to market his creation. He promoted the design by making presentations at trade fairs, which honed his salesmanship and buoyed his confidence. His parents sent him to engineering school, but at twenty-one, World War I interrupted his schooling. In his autobiography, Loewy regales the reader with wartime tales of redesigning his uniform and remodeling his space in a trench by “liberating” wallpaper, carpet, and chairs from buildings leveled by bombardments. He called the place Studio Rue de la Paix (“Studio on Peace Street”).

Conscripted as a private, Loewy was promoted to captain and won the Croix de Guerre for crawling into enemy lines to repair downed communication lines. He was eventually assigned to the engineering corps, installing equipment in French airplanes and other machines. At the end of the war, Loewy returned to France but found nothing suitable for him. His parents had died in the influenza epidemic of 1918 that killed more than twenty million people throughout the world. His brother Maximilian, a doctor at New York’s Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research (founded by John D. Rockefeller in 1908 and known as Rockefeller University since 1965), encouraged him to come to the United States. Loewy set sail on the SS France.

During the voyage, the crew organized a silent auction to which Loewy contributed a sketch of a girl walking along the ship’s promenade deck. One of the most popular items in the auction, his piece was purchased by Sir Henry Armstrong, the British Consul in New York. Armstrong was so impressed with the young Frenchman that he offered to write Loewy a letter of introduction. Raymond Loewy’s first job was as a window dresser for Macy’s Department Store.

At the time, the fashion for window displays was to cram in as much merchandise as possible. Loewy created a window with an evening gown, complemented by a mink at its feet, and accessories nonchalantly strewn about. A single spotlight illuminated the gown. “It was dramatic, simple and potent. It sang,” he wrote. The song, however, was lost on the management of R. H. Macy and Company. “The executives were speaking in hushed tones, as if the founder’s daughter had been found raped in the window,” he recalled. Loewy resigned before he could be fired, vowing never to work for anybody but himself. Foreshadowing his later sales calls on manufac­turers, Loewy made the rounds to department stores as an advertising illustrator. His first client, John Wanamaker’s Department Store, admired his illustrations and a career was born. He created advertisements for the Pierce-Arrow Motor Car Company, Conde Nast Publications, and the Butterick Publishing Company. He later became fashion illustrator for Harper’s Bazaar. Horace Saks hired Loewy to design the elevator operators’ uniforms for the new “dream store” he and partner Bernard Gimbel were opening in 1924 on Fifth Avenue. The opportunities afforded by America awed the designer. “My French friends can’t believe even in a small village one can send Junior for an ounce of mercurochrome. . . . an automobile jack and a pint of chop suey,” he wrote.

By 1926, Loewy, earning about forty thousand dollars a year, was looking beyond fashion illustration. In 1928, Sigmund Gestetner, who manufactured office machines primarily for the European market, asked him to redesign his duplicating machine. Loewy removed protruding legs and incorporated a paper cabinet as part of the machine stand. He described his redesign of the Gestetner Duplica­tor as “amputation” and “plastic surgery.” Although Gestetner’s was a small, obscure company, Raymond Loewy – ever the salesman – used the commission to promote his industrial design career.

It was not long before Loewy attracted major clients, signing a contract with Hupp Motor Company for eighty thousand dollars. In 1933, he opened an office in Manhattan and hired two designers and a secretary. After two years of meetings and for a fee of twenty-five hundred dollars, he landed the account in 1934 to design Sears, Roebuck and Company’s Coldspot refrigerator, which he had described as “an ill-proportioned vertical shoebox.” Loewy’s refrigerator, advertised as “new in design – modern -­ streamlined – arrestingly beautiful,” became a business model for industrial design, garnering acclaim by business magazines and professional periodicals. Customers agreed, purchasing more than two hundred thousand redesigned units than the previous year’s model!

By 1945, Loewy’s clients numbered seventy-five. One of his largest accounts was the Frigidaire Corporation in Dayton, Ohio. One evening the company’s chief executive took Loewy on a ride to see one of the plants in action. Loewy was transfixed by the activity. Watching employees entering and exiting the factory was “like seeing the flow of rich, red blood of young vibrant Americans,” remembered Loewy. He never forgot the executive’s words as they watched the activity. “They are all well because they have a job. They have a job because your design clicked. Eighteen thousand men employed, eighty thousand dependents and sixty thousand support staff. Many people are directly affected by what Loewy puts to paper.”

What Loewy put on paper for the Pennsy’s S-1 in 1939 accentuated the immense cylindrical boiler that dominated the front of steam engines. Diesel design accentuated the front cab using a snake-like form, while steam engines used a bullet-or torpedo-shape. Loewy’s chief rival, Henry Dreyfuss, employed a torpedo-inspired design for his Twentieth Century Limited engine for the New York Central Railroad. The perfectly cylindrical boiler rounded into a perfectly cylindrical headlight, which was bisected by a large fin that gave the engine
the profile of a Trojan helmet.

Raymond Loewy had his own ideas on how to give style and speed to rolling power. Improving on a streamlined redesign he had executed for an existing K- 4 locomotive, Loewy created a low-slung, torpedo-shaped boiler that flared slightly at the sides. Instead of using a perfect cylinder, the boiler was gracefully rounded and flared into a center-mounted headlight, under which Loewy mounted a stainless steel handrail. The driving wheels were covered with skirting painted with three gold “speed lines.” He visually balanced the huge boiler by adding a rounded platform that jutted out beyond the nose and covered the forward wheel truck. The platform was painted with three additional speed lines. Loewy had tested a clay model of the prototype in the wind tunnel of New York University’s Guggenheim Aerodynamic Laboratory and improved on a smoke deflector design he had tried with his previous K-4 streamline design, which lifted the engine’s smoke up and over the cab of the engine. For both the S-1 and the K-4 redesigns, Loewy spent hundreds of hours riding in the cabs of Pennsy locomotives, attired in a full-length coat, gloves, cap, and goggles.

The S-1 locomotive was the first “duplex” steam engine, built with four cylinders mounted on a rigid frame. To commuters and long-distance travelers familiar with large locomotives, the S-1 loomed like a great white shark in a school of tuna. The engine and its tender measured 140 feet in length and weighed 1,060,000 pounds. It carried more than twenty-one tons of coal and 24,230 gallons of water. Its sixty-five-hundred-horsepower engine was capable of pulling a fourteen-car, twelve-hundred-ton passenger train at more than one hundred miles per hour. The three top
locomotive builders in the country – the American Locomotive Company, in Dunkirk, New York, the Baldwin Locomotive Works in Philadelphia, and the Lima Locomotive Works in Lima, Ohio -­ were asked to submit plans for the locomotive. The prototype for the locomotive was built in the PRR’s test shops in Altoona.

“They chose a special crew of men – hand-picked – that they called the “blue-ribbon gang,” recalled a retired railroader who worked on the S-1. “They weren’t just run of the mill.” Pew components of the S-1 could be called run of the mill. Nearly every part used in the new locomotive was tooled and manufactured in the PRR’s Altoona shops. The frame – the largest ever cast – measured 77 feet, 9 1/2 inches. The frame was machined to exact specifications and each hole drilled had to be as “bright as a gun barrel” according to one laborer. “They wanted everything polished and we spent hours and hours on that,” a lathe operator remembered. “We groused about the polishing because we could make a lot more money doing piece work than shining those parts all day.”

The S-1 made its debut at the 1939 New York’s World’s Fair, the theme of which was “Building the World of Tomorrow.” Loewy had been hired to oversee one of the three main themes of the fair – transportation. He was consulting designer for the main exhibit in the Chrysler Motors building as well as the entire exhibit in the Railroad Building. The railroad exhibit’s eight-story dome housed an animated diorama. In an outdoor theater, Railroads on Parade featured music, actors, and dancers – and engines and rolling stock that actually moved across the stage. At the finale of the daily show, Dreyfuss’s Twentieth Century Limited rolled onto the stage from the right and Loewy’s streamlined K-4 engine came in from the left. The S-1 was displayed nearby.

The S-1 ran every hour on the hour on an intricate treadmill designed by Keller Barry, a machinist at the Pennsy’s Altoona shops. The engine could reach speeds of sixty miles per hour on the treadmill. The engine’s labors at the World’s Fair were its only appearance in New York. To reach the fair, the engine was towed at low rates of speed into Long Island. Since the S-1 was too large to negotiate the tracks leading into New York City, PRR officials delivered the engine to the fair site by taking the engine on a tortuous route that crossed several city bridges and required the temporary removal of the electric third rail on Long Island’s commuter tracks. After the World’s Fair, Loewy, who had been asked to write a book on the aesthetics of locomotives after his K-4 streamline makeover in 1937, was hailed as the greatest train designer of his day. A copy of The Locomotive: Its Esthetics, inscribed by the author to Clement, was acquired by the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission from the Pennsylvania Railroad Company in 1965.

The S-l’s fate after the World’s Fair never reached the heights predicted for it by rail executives and the enthusiastic crowds at the fair. The engine pulled the Broadway Limited, a luxurious passenger train that featured cars designed by Loewy and Paul Cret, dean of the architecture school at the University of Pennsylvania. The engine left the World’s Fair site in 1941 and began its hauling career. “It sounded just like a jet airplane,” recalled a retired brakeman who rode on several trains pulled by the S-1. “There was a roar at first, and then it just sounded like a big whooshing sound in the distance. Later on, I went into the cab and it had so many gauges it looked like an airplane.”

Dismayed Pennsy officials soon learned the engine could not be used east of Pittsburgh, where the railroad’s most lucrative routes were. The leviathan machine was simply too large to negotiate the company’s mountain tracks and the Horseshoe Curve, near Altoona, which provides a safe route for freight and passenger trains over the Allegheny Mountains. Instead, the S-1 was used to pull trains along the relatively flat tracks from Chicago to Crest­line, Ohio. Shortly after being put into service, most of the engine’s distinctive skirting had been removed to make maintenance easier. By the mid-1940s, it became clear even to stubborn PRR executives that diesel engines were the future of railroading. Although the railroad’s unswerving faith in steam power would last until the last steam engine was taken out of service in 1957, the S-l’s era lasted just ten years. In January 1949, it was taken out of service and ignominiously cut apart for scrap metal.

Loewy would design more locomotives for the Pennsylvania Railroad. His most successful steam design was the T-1 passenger engine in 1942. The railroad built fifty of these large duplex engines, which were nearly as large as the S-1. This design sculpted the engine’s immense boiler into a “shark’s nose” prow that was gently rounded to hold the solitary headlamp. Like the S-1, Loewy used a jutting platform to visually balance the boiler. Instead of speed lines, however, Loewy used three holes to give the T-1 platform some visual pizzazz.

Loewy used the shark’s nose style for later designs of PRR diesel locomotives, and competing railroads adapted the look for their locomotives. Other design experts contend the three holes used in the T-l’s front wheel truck inspired the use of the same motif in Buick automobiles. Loewy continued to design for the railroad, executing or overseeing designs for dinner menus, toothpicks, match-books, signal towers, coffee cups, bronze plaques for retiring executives, a bridge spanning the Potomac River, and a ferryboat for a PRR subsidiary.

The ultimate legacy of the S-1 derives much more from its memorable design, which epitomized stream­lining, and for its designer, than for any railroading achievement. Loewy’s legacy, which stretched from the birth of industrial design in the 1920s until he had long outlived his contemporaries and seen his own accomplishments eclipsed, is more complicated. Always striving for publicity and for the next client, Loewy emerged as the stereo­type of the feisty, temperamental, and credit-seeking designer. At the zenith of his success, he employed hundreds of designers in offices in London, Paris, New York, and South Bend, Indiana. He frequently remarked that he had designed “everything from lipstick to locomotives.”

The longevity of Loewy’s career overshadowed many of his earlier achievements. “His taste homed in on the expectations and w,stated ideas of the average American, and when it hit home it was absolutely right,” opined designer Paul Junod. “What sustained Loewy was his knowledge that when he got it right it was right. The S-1 .. . was the way a locomotive should look. The Commodore Vanderbilt might look good too, but the S-1 looked right.” When Loewy’s papers were put up for sale after his death, a group of American designers banded together to purchase them for the Library of Congress. In that collection is a drawing Loewy made as a teenager in France in 1911. The drawing – of a train, naturally-bears the vibrant signature that graced every design turned out by his offices, whether or not Loewy personally designed the piece. During his stint at the drawing board or the boardroom table, Raymond Loewy created more than just airplanes, railroad locomotives, and automobiles. He helped shape twentieth-century America.


The Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania

Visitors to the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania in Strasburg, Lancaster County, marvel at the sheer magnitude of the collections featured in its 100,000 square foot exhibition space and outdoor restoration yard. In addition extensive exhibits of railroad objects and artifacts, the museum boasts more than one hundred locomotives and cars!

Among the museum’s holdings is a fantastic collection of rolling stock assembled by the Pennsylvania Railroad Company (PRR) for the 1939 New York World’s Fair. The Pennsy had prepared for the event by gathering and refurbishing equipment from the early years of railroading. After the fair ended, the PRR continued to add to its collection, which it stored in a roundhouse in Northumber­land. The 1950s witnessed wholesale scrapping of much of what remained of Pennsy steam power, but at least one example of each of the major classes was spared the scrapper’s torch. By the early 1960s, Pennsylvania Railroad officials had realized that decreasing revenue prohibited the continuing preservation of the collection and they began searching for ways to ensure its permanency.

The Commonwealth resolved in 1963 to erect “a state railroad museum” and two years later selected a site adjacent to the Strasburg Railroad, the country’s old­est continuously operated short-line railroad, which offers excursions (www.strasburgrailroad.com). Five years later, in an effort to remain viable, the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central Railroad merged to form the Penn Central Corporation. Although the new entity had intended to transfer the bulk of the PRR collection to the National Museum of Transportation in St. Louis, Missouri, public opposition thwarted the move.

Since opening in 1975, the Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania – the first building in North America designed and built specifically as a railroading museum – ­has become recognized for not merely interpreting the Keystone State’s railroad history, but celebrated for chronicling the stories of the Commonwealth’s railroad people.

For more information about the museum and special events, write: Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania, P.O. Box 15, Strasburg, PA 17579; telephone (717) 687-8628; or visit www.rrmuseumpa.org.


For Further Reading

Alexander, Edwin P. On the Main Line: The Pennsylvania Railroad in the 19th Century. New York: Clarkson N. Potter, Inc., 1971.

Bayley, Stephen, ed. In Good Shape: Style in Industrial Design, 1900 to 1960. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1979

Jacobs, Timothy. The History of the Pennsylvania Railroad. New York: Bonanza Books, 1988.

Loewy, Raymond. Industrial Design. New York: Overlook Press, 1979.

____. The Locomotive: Its Esthetics. New York: The Studio Publications, 1937.

____. Never Leave Well Enough Alone. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002.

Staufer, Alvin F., with William D. Edson and E. Thomas Harley, Pennsy Power III, 1847-1968. Medina, Ohio: Alvin F. Staufer, 1993.


John Wall, of Altoona, Blair County, is director of media relations at Juniata College in Huntingdon, Huntingdon County. He is working on a biography of Raymond Loewy.