Did They Build the Museum Around This Massive Train?

If you’ve been to the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, you likely have been flabbergasted by the simply gigantic train on the far side of the museum.

The Allegheny Locomotive is an American-made colossus, constructed in 1941 in Lima, Ohio. During its short working life, the engine hauled coal over the Allegheny Mountains from West Virginia into Virginia.

And wow was it powerful. Not only is it monstrous—nearly 17 feet tall, 125 feet long, and 1.2 million pounds fully loaded—it was capable of producing 7,500 horsepower. Adjusting for inflation, it cost $5.5 million to build. The steel alone might cost as much today.

Steampunk hardly begins to describe the engine.

Standing in the museum, you begin to wonder: Did they build this wing of the museum around the train?

Surprisingly, they did not. But it was an engineering feat to get the steamer inside, and it took three tries.

On the first attempt to pull it in, the locomotive derailed outside the museum.

After removing some rods, the team tried again, though they quickly found out that it couldn’t fit through the door—even though they had already widened the door. Passing over the rails on the switch caused the locomotive to swing wider than expected, so they were back to the drawing board.

For the third attempt, they had to remove even more parts from the locomotive and only then could it slide into place where it rests to this day, likely compressing the building’s foundation with its bulk.

So why is this symbol of American industrial might not slamming across the rails today? Steam engines were replaced by diesel engines not long after the Allegheny started chugging along.

The Chesapeake & Ohio Railway, which had a total of 60 of these trains built between 1941 and 1948, started retiring these fuming monsters with diesel engines starting in 1952.

It may have had a short working life, but it found a final resting place near Lincoln’s assassin chair, Henry Ford’s Stradivarius, the Rosa Parks Bus, and the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

I can imagine a century from now, when the museum becomes decrepit and all of its treasures have moved to a new home, some unfortunate curator will gaze upon the bulk of the Allegheny in despair.

His boss will say, “Well if we got it in here, we can get it out.”

And that unfortunate curator will look up at the million-pound black beast, gaze down at his shoes, and give his two weeks notice.