There’s a story behind every song, and we thought you might be interested in the origins of just one of the songs on this CD. For a more complete account, please visit The Wreck of the Old 97.

Origins of “The Wreck of the Old 97”

On September 27, 1903, the Southern Railway’s fast mail train, number 97, plunged off a 75-foot trestle north of Danville, Virginia, killing nine of the 16 men on board. In its reporting of the accident, the Richmond News Leader dwelled on morbid and dramatic details.

The skin and hair of the engineer and fireman were torn off by the impact of the steam engine.

Ladies who drove out to the wreck from Danville fainted at the sight of the bodies.

A woman in a delicate condition of health witnessed the wreck from her chamber window. She fell to the floor unconscious, and it is not believed she will live.

Among the express consignments were a number of crates containing canary birds. The birds were not hurt and were singing when taken from the wreck.

The Old 97 derailed at Stillhouse Trestle near Danville. The accident was caused by excessive speed, and the engineer had only been on the job for a month. This photo was taken from the original glass negative and was copyrighted by the Williams Studio of Danville in 1960.

The event also served as an inspiration to songwriters and balladeers. Charles Noell, of Greensboro, North Carolina, wrote a song soon after the wreck and sent it to the Mill News of Charlotte, where it was published. In writing the song, Noell used as a model, “Casey Jones,” which at the time was a very popular railroad ballad celebrating the heroism of an engineer who died in a wreck only three years before the Danville disaster. Noell’s song is quite different from today’s popular version, but it did contain a few hauntingly familiar stanzas, notably

Now its a awful bad road from Lynchburg to Danville and from Lima its a four mile grade.
It was on this grade that his air brakes failed him. And look what a jump she made.

Falling down this hill at seventy miles an hour his whistle began to scream
He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle he had scalded to death from the steam.

When the news come flashing over the telegraph wire. And this is the way it read.
That brave engineer that pulls ninety seven is lying in North Danville dead.


Noell’s song is also closely related with the song called “The Ship That Never Returned,” which was written by Henry C. Work in 1865. The popularity of this song is evident in the number of parodies which arose from it, such as “The Train That Never Returned,” “The Parted Lovers,” “The M.T.A. Song,” “The Prisoner’s Song,” and our ballad.

Mr. Fred Lewey of Danville was one of the first on the scene of the accident, and he wrote a song about the wreck within two or three months of the event, which he sang in Danville, Lynchburg, and Fries. Many scholars believe that the words from both Noell’s and Lewey’s songs were merged into the version most people sing today.

The ballads of Noell and Lewey (or their combined form) remained in popularity in Fries, Virginia, largely through the singing of Henry Whitter, who played a double accompaniment of guitar and harmonica. Whitter shortened Noell’s song, made it more ‘peppy’ by changing a few words and quickened the time of the music. Whitter also added a concluding stanza adapted from “The Parted Lovers”, which ended with

Now, young men and maids, from my song take warning
Or your hearts will break with pain.
Never speak harsh words to a faithful lover
Or he’ll leave you to never return.

Vernon Dalhart of Marmoneck, NY, a popular singer in the 1920’s was given a record containing Whitter’s song. Dalhart copied the song and recorded the song for the Edison Talking Machine Company. In August 1924, he began to work for the Victor Talking Machine Company, and he recorded the song again. The record was immensely popular and sold a million copies. It was the first popular country song, in an age tiring of jazz.

In 1927, David Graves George claimed authorship of the song, and he sued the Victor Company. The mountaineer was awarded royalties of $65,295.56 with interest in the District Court of New Jersey, but this was overturned on appeal. He twice took the case to the Supreme Court, but at the end of nine years of legal battles, he was not a cent richer. He had a number of supporters, but the facts were not among them.

Over the years, there have been many minor variations to the ballad as it entered the folk process and became the refined version we know today. But George’s version began with

On a cold frosty morning in the month of September
When the clouds were hanging low
97 pulled out from the Washington station
Like an arrow shot from a bow.

which Peter Stanley and I often use to open the song.—Alfred Scott

THE LADIES: Van Scherer and Sara Scott. Sara wrote “I Went Downtown To Get My Purse” when she was 2-1/2, or more accurately, she sang it once and her daddy has never let the world forget it. Even so, it has infected the minds of generations of children who have driven their parents crazy by singing it madly from the back seat.

Actually, there's more to this story. We were watching a play about blacks in the old south, when a girl skips off singing "I went downtown, to get my..." and my mind suddenly went WHOA!  And the same thing happened to everyone who knew 'our' song and the Peter Stanley Collection.  It's just not possible that such a combination of words would just happen.  There had to be a connection.

The play was "Fences" by August Wilson. We attempted to contact him to ask him about it, and then later he died.  Obviously, we had hit a dead end.

Then later I got to know Stephen Wade and I was listening to his CD, "A Treasury of Library of Congress Field Recordings" and there was the same song! "Pullin' the Skiff" by Ora Dell Graham, was recorded in a Mississippi schoolyard by John Lomax in 1940. Ora Dell Graham was 14 at the time, and died two years later in an armed robbery that she was attempting to pull off. She sings:

I went downtown to get my grip,
I came back home, just a-pulling the skiff

Hmmm. A grip is a handbag, not that different from a purse. Then it all started to make sense. When Sara was very young, Mary Vaughan used to baby-sit and "Mimi"—as Sara called her—used to sing songs for Sara and play the harmonica. While we can't prove it, it seems likely that Sara probably learned the song Mary Vaughan.

Mary Vaughan was a wonderful person, and one of the high points of my father's life was having tea with Mary Vaughan in the lobby of the Homestead. Like many southern men, he was raised thinking that blacks were not really people, but he loved Mary Vaughan, and that day when he had tea with her in the lobby of the Homestead was the day when he put all that behind him. And he was proud of himself for doing it. When Mary Vaughan died, I was the only white person at the funeral. And I've never been so proud of myself for going.—Alfred Scott