On September 6, 1896, Katy Railroad sold a two-dollar train ticket to buy seats on excursion trains that would take buyers to the scene of the century—a phased collision of two locomotives.

The unique publicity stunt is the pet project of an imaginative passenger transport agent whose name is unlikely to be William George Crush. A railway accident a few years ago made him think.

Although the accident occurred several miles from the nearest town, within minutes, the scene was crowded with curious seekers. If people are so fascinated by the boxcars scattered in the landscape, how about two galloping freight trains colliding head-on?

Work is coming, and Crush presented this crazy idea to his bosses in Missouri, Kansas, and Texas. Katie's officials did not tell employees to clean up his desk, but always eager to stand out from the competition and enthusiastically approved the plan. In the never-ending pursuit of propaganda, Crush touched the mother vein.

The desolate valley, 17 miles north of Waco and 3 miles south of the west, was chosen as the perfect location and was named Crush. A battalion of 500 workers laid new tracks to connect secluded locations to the main line and built a two-mile span for the actual demolition sprint.

Several huge roller coasters were rescued from the waste dump and refurbished for the final run. One thing is certain, these behemoths painted in bright colors will crash to the ground.

Katie Railroad advertises this once-in-a-lifetime pleasure in newspapers in Texas and neighboring states. Each of the 30 excursion specials sold out quickly.

By noon on the afternoon of September 15, 1896, an estimated crowd of 50,000 people had turned the empty lot into the most crowded real estate in Texas. During the exciting hours, Crush was the second largest city in Lone Star State.

Lunch is served under the Lin Lin brothers’ huge circus tent, and eight oil tankers provide free water for the thirsty crowd. The carnival makes the children happy, while the adults entertain themselves with stronger things, and lemonade is added on request.

Just after five o'clock, the iron horses each dragging six cars began to roll. The engineers stepped on the accelerator and wisely jumped from their cabs. For two heartbreaking minutes, the trains collided with each other as they cheered frantically in the crowd.

Two 35-ton missiles encountered a deafening roar at a speed of 50 miles per hour. According to the Houston Daily Mail, "The front end of the engine was sprayed upwards, the tender and seven cars piled up in a pile of debris under them, and the boiler drained everything side by side."

A rope blocked the 250-foot impact point in all directions. This was a well-intentioned attempt to prevent the audience from being harmed. But the consequences of this disaster have been seriously underestimated, beyond anyone's control.

Both boilers exploded upon impact, and sharp shrapnel fragments swept the dumbfounded audience. A huge fragment was thrown a thousand feet away, and a man standing half a meter away was crushed by the flying wood.

A photographer was hit in the face by a metal bolt on a dangerous scaffold 100 feet from the shipwreck. The projectile pierced his right eye and pierced his brain. Although he lost his eyes, he miraculously survived and pressed the shutter again.

The other two victims were not so lucky. The rain of rubble caused serious head injuries to a man and a woman, and neither of them survived the night. Dozens of other observers suffered minor injuries.

When the doctor hurriedly helped the fallen man, the unscathed man selected souvenirs among the wreckage. The twisted broken steam engine fragments were taken home as a souvenir of the only train disaster in the world.

On the return journey, the tragic death toll increased by a third person. The carefree vacation of a teenage boy ended in death when he fell under the wheels of the hiking train returning home.

Lawyers in Missouri, Kansas, and Texas have been busy resolving a series of claims filed by people with disabilities for years. Despite the high cost of litigation, the railway company believes the activity has been a great success.

As for the agent Crush, his reward is a big salary increase and promotion. In later years, this natural initiator used his talents for less dangerous activities, such as the Texas State Fair and the Battle of Flowers in San Antonio.

But he never suggested another train crash. After all, how could he hope to be among the best in Crush's Crash? "

Read all the information about the early oil fever in "Texas Booming Cities: A History of Blood and Oil". Mail a check to Bartee Haile, PO Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393, and order your copy for $24.00.

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