Wild Ride Down Grand Boulevard

By Randy Haglund

Imagine finding yourself on an out-of-control streetcar hurtling down a steep incline straight toward a hospital building.

But you’re not a passenger. You’re the motorman, helpless to do anything.

This is precisely what happened to my grandfather over 100 years ago.

On the evening of May 10, 1917, John Olson and his conductor, John Keenan, were bringing their empty trolley car back downtown from Spokane’s south hill. It had been full of commuters heading home during the dinner hour, but when it headed back down Grand Boulevard it was just Olson and Keenan.

Little did Olson know it would be his last day with Spokane Traction, the company that owned and operated the trolley system.

When they came to the steepest part of the hill, around Thirteenth Avenue, Olson applied the brake. But the wood handle inexplicably broke off in his hand.

“No brakes!”

Throwing the useless chunk of wood to the floor, he frantically grabbed the controller handle to reverse the electric motor, but it didn’t respond. Olson knew why.

At any given time there were two streetcars on the Grand Boulevard line—an inbound and an outbound. They would pass each other on the steep incline between 9^th and 13^th avenues. Most of the line consisted of a single track running down the middle of the street, but for those four blocks it was double-tracked in order for the two cars to pass each other. That’s why it was important for the motormen to keep to a precise schedule.

Before the outbound car could begin the ascent the operator would wind up the controller to ten points—maximum power—in order to climb the steep grade. This action required all the power available to the line.

The inbound car, on the other hand, ostensibly wouldn’t need power since it was going downhill.

So when Olson’s controller didn’t respond, he knew the outbound was right around the bend.

And there it came, right on time, trundling around the corner at the bottom of the hill.

Full of passengers. 

With no brakes or power, all Olson could do was ring the bell and sound the horn, warning everyone of his runaway car.

The problem was that the uphill car had not yet reached the double-track, and he rode thirty tons of steel and wood surging straight toward them. Rocketing down Grand Boulevard Olson could now see the terrified faces of the commuters. And all he could do was blast the horn and clang the stupid bell.

Make the double-track! Make the double-track!

Just before a deadly head on collision occurred, the outbound made the shift over to the south-bound tracks. Olson could hear the screams reach a crescendo and diminish again, narrowly missing the back corner of the uphill streetcar as he blazed by. Averting certain carnage, he would have heaved a sigh of relief, except he knew his troubles weren’t over.

He closed in quickly on the tight bend at the bottom of the hill. At this speed the car couldn’t negotiate that turn. And straight ahead loomed the south wall of Sacred Heart Hospital.

One of two possibilities faced him. Either the car would leap the track and slam into the brick edifice like a battering ram, or it would turn the corner and flip onto its side, smashing into a million pieces.

Neither option seemed hopeful.

Did he whisper a prayer as he approached the impending bend? Did he call out, or plead?

No one knows. But something miraculous happened.

When the streetcar reached the curve, it jumped the tracks, but not before initiating the turn slightly to the left. The car tilted for a moment, but came level again, still moving at breakneck speed across the pavement toward a six-inch curb.

A deafening crash shattered the air as the steel wheels exploded into the sidewalk at an angle, causing the front end to lurch high into the air, taking out a trolley pole and a fire hydrant along the way. Teetering briefly, the car barely missed the southwest corner of the building, and slammed down hard into the lawn of the hospital. Olson and Keenan were hurled to the floor of the car as the chassis burrowed into the sod, and it came to a sudden stop.

Doctors, nurses and nuns rushed from the hospital to attend to the wounded, but both men walked away from the wreckage unharmed.

And Olson walked away from The Spokane Traction Company forever.

My grandfather died years later in a totally unrelated train accident at the south end of Hillyard. That happened seventeen years before I was born.

 I wish I could have talked to him about the wild ride down Grand Boulevard. I have lots of questions.

***

I’ve written a book about my grandfather and his adventures! But you can’t read it. I haven’t published it yet. But you can get a description of it on this link http://randyhaglund.com/archives/my-book-85-days/

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