The Little Trolley that Could

I’m sitting on a brown leather bench seat, in front of large wood-casement windows in Trolley Car 116, and it isn’t hard to imagine Old Phoenix.

I can easily picture the little town that would grow into the nation’s fifth largest city. I can see women in long, modest skirts and men wearing hats. I can see St. Mary’s when it was brand new and the construction of the Luhrs Tower. I can imagine when most of these streets were still dirt and when the construction of a new home was cause for community celebration. I can even see the conductor and operator who made sure men paid the required 5-cent fare while women and children rode for free from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. I smile at the slogan printed on this trolley: “Ride a Mile and Smile the While.”

Did Sharlot Hall – the first woman on Arizona’s government payroll – sit on a seat like this in 1909 as she rode to the Arizona Capitol for her job as the Territorial Historian? Did the infamous “trunk murderess” Winnie Ruth Judd sit on this exact seat in 1931? Did Barry Goldwater jump on, trying to sneak a ride, when he was a boy? Did Native Americans who came to town to trade their jewelry ride this orange trolley with its red and yellow trim?

As I sat there, in a relic most of Phoenix has forgotten, I imagined all those early residents and pioneers riding with me. And I thought, how sad that this important piece of Phoenix history is tucked away in a tin shed, when just outside, maybe 500 feet away, this city is spending millions to build a light rail system that will try to duplicate what this little trolley did long, long ago.

Most of Phoenix doesn’t even know this town had a thriving trolley system for 61 glorious years – from 1887 to 1948. Think about that. When this town still had nothing but dirt streets and adobe buildings, it had a mass transit system for the few folks who lived here. As the city grew, so did the lines, allowing the trolley to boast: “It comes every 10 minutes and goes everywhere worth going.”

In fact, for most of those years, the trolley was the main transportation system in this town. The alternatives were either a sturdy pair of legs or a good bicycle. Few had wagons and horses, although eventually many would have automobiles that greatly diminished the need for the old trolleys.

Phoenix “modernized” after World War II and replaced the trolley with a bus system that has never been what it should be. And now we’re in the midst of building a light rail system down Central Avenue and Washington Street. Those were the main lines for the trolley system, too, although the light rail will go much farther, reaching into Tempe and Mesa. But as much as we think we’re inventing something new, we’re actually imitating the old. Car 116 is the latest reminder.

That’s the message Ernest Workman is trying to deliver. He’s president of the Phoenix Trolley Museum, and he can talk for days about the glory of the old trolleys and why Car 116 belongs on the street again. The Phoenix Trolley Association, which runs the museum, was founded in 1975 by Larry Fleming. He grew up riding on Phoenix streetcars with his paternal grandfather, remembering it as “a warm and unforgettable experience.” Now, Workman is carrying on Fleming’s dreams of replicating those early streetcar memories for Phoenicians.

It’s not hard to pass the Trolley Museum, which is tucked into the side yard of the historic Ellis-Shackelford House across the street from Burton Barr Central Library Downtown. There are a few old tracks and signs, and out back is the tin shed that holds Car 116 and the shell of the only other known Phoenix trolley body still in existence.

It’s a very modest setting for such an important piece of Phoenix history. There once were 18 cars that ran constantly around the Valley, throughout Phoenix and even out to Glendale. They were electrified, just as the new light rail system will be, and could travel in either direction; when the car reached the end of the line, the conductor flipped the seats to face in the opposite direction while the operator took the metal handle out of the power box and moved to the opposite end to start back along the same tracks. (There was only one handle so nobody would sabotage the line by turning on the power at one end when the line was moving the other way, Workman notes.)

Inside the cars are advertising signs for local businesses of the early days: Tom Chauncey Jewelers (he later went on to own KOOL-TV, which is now Channel 10), and the Coffee Pot restaurant that once stood at Seventh Street and McDowell Road. O’Malleys Building Center, the largest lumber yard in town, bought an ad, as did the old Central Avenue Dairy that became Shamrock Farms.

Of course, the trolley wasn’t only meant to be a way to move people around. The original trolley line was founded by General Moses Hazeltine Sherman, who was elected the territory’s first superintendent of public instruction in 1880 and donated 10 acres of land for what became the State Capitol. He saw the trolley as a way to inspire real estate development: Where the trolley went, so went new homes and businesses. The City of Phoenix bought the trolley system in 1925 and, with a voter-approved $750,000 bond, completely rebuilt the rails and bought new trolleys. Millions would ride on these trolleys over the years, and the city not only paid for the operation, but it made money!

Someone once calculated that the city-owned 18 cars had traveled 15,673,140 miles on the streets of Phoenix.

The last trolley run was February 17, 1948. Mayor Ray Busey rode on the last ride from the Downtown courthouse to the State Capitol. Howard Pyle was a radio announcer for KTAR in those days, and he narrated the trip live. (Pyle would go on to be Arizona governor.) Pioneer Arizonans were invited to ride the last run, and dozens turned out.

The retired trolleys were sold off to individuals, who used them as storage sheds and for “mobile homes.” A few were later found in a trailer park but were lost again when they were washed away in a spring flood from their riverbed storage yard. Car 116, which has been restored, along with the shell of another car, are all that exist today.

But that’s enough, Workman insists.

“Every major city with a light rail system has a historic venue,” Workman says. He hesitates, not needing to finish the sentence with, “except Phoenix.”

So far, he hasn’t been able to rouse any passion at City Hall or with the folks building the light rail system or with people who promote Downtown, to incorporate the old trolleys into the system. It’s not that he hasn’t tried. He’s called. He’s sat in meetings. He’s sent information. He’s called again. “We haven’t found the right person yet,” he says, with all the optimism of a man who knows it takes but one passionate believer to move such a project forward. I liked him right away for still believing such a person actually exists. “I don’t expect to find that person at City Hall but [rather] in a foundation or a corporation,” he later adds.

In the best of all worlds, all of this would happen before December, when the new light rail system is set to begin operation. That means only a few months are left for the “right person” to catch on and get off his or her duff to do something.

Workman and his group of about 30 want only a short run for the old trolley, maybe through Margaret T. Hance Park, which adjoins their museum, or around Heritage Square with its historic buildings. Then again, maybe the trolley could run along Jackson Street, the location of the upcoming “entertainment district” Downtown, or originate at the old Railroad Station on Fourth Avenue and go out to the Capitol complex at 17th Avenue. There are tons of possibilities, he says, seeing this as a tourist attraction and a colorful addition to the Phoenix street scene.

But none of this is easy or cheap. Workman foresees a price tag of $850,000 to completely restore and make usable the old trolley so it would meet all government and safety requirements. He notes that some cities have used their old trolley bodies, adding rubber tires. When I ask the next question, I preface it with, “This might be sacrilegious, but… would you guys consider rubber tires for the Phoenix trolley?” His answer is an emphatic “no.” “It would destroy the authenticity, and we’d have to rebuild the entire trolley to make space for wheels and an engine,” he explains.

Workman keeps hoping the group’s restoration efforts will lure that special someone. “I understand and acknowledge there [is] a raft of needs, and I’m not saying my streetcars are more important than feeding children or saving whales,” he says, “but they are an important part of Phoenix history, and I think they shouldn’t be ignored.”

And neither do I.

If that special someone is reading this column, you can contact Workman and his group at phoenixtrolley.com.