This was the earlier wooden depot. Not the small, metal building I used to frequent in the mid-1970s. But, both were on the same site. The slab for the metal building is still there, or was a couple of years ago.
Neat picture John. A great overall view capturing the flavor of rural Frisco depots in action. Is that an icing platform to the left? Admittedly, my eye was first caught by the underbody detail on the coach to the right! Best Regards,
To my knowledge, they did not have icing there, as it was only 45 miles north of Pensacola, FL. I believe that platform had something to do with a pickle plant that was just out of view to the left of the photograph. The man that ran the plant lived across the street from us. I remember him letting us borrow the plant forklift one day to set two new air conditioning units of top of our house on a section of flat roof. As a sidebar, the 1974 date on the print is obviously the date of the negative being reprinted.
Hafta tell my long-winded, but true Frisco story in Atmore. I used to ride my trusty Huffy 10-speed up to the agent's office all the time. Carl was a great guy to visit. He drove an old VW Beetle. Anyway, any time I ever left home, I had to answer 4 questions - Wherya goin?, Whaddya doin?, Who with?, and When ya gonna be back? So, I am visiting Carl one day close to noon. Carl left for lunch, and I was riding my bike up and down the cars in the "yard", such as it was, looking at door seals. I had just read an article on them in a recent issue of railroad Model Craftsman (RMC) or Model Railroader (MR). I do not remember which. Suddenly, I am surrounded by cops. I am put in the Chief's car or all things and whisked downtown, to the accusing voice of the Chief. I am hauled into the Chief's office, and he calls my home. "Mister Markl, this is Atmore Police Chief Steve Dees, do you know the whereabouts of your son, John?" I wish I had a camera to record the look on his face. "Um, well, Mister Markl, maybe you should come down to the station". My Dad's reply had been "yah, he's down at the Frisco yard looking at car seals, something about an article he read in a magazine." Anyway, in recent weeks, several plug-door boxcars had been broken into, and dozens of cases of beer stolen. Yah Chief, me, my bike, and my wagon, we made a real haul. So, Dad took me back to Carl's shed to get my bike. Carl is back from lunch. The carman who had "reported" me to the cops told Carl that he nailed one of the beer thieves. The carman did not know who I was. Carl was, well, embarrassed. And we all lived happily ever after. The moral of the story - If your parents know what you are up to, it can come in handy sometimes.
John, Pretty priceless story, thanks for sharing. Glad you did not end up there in the big house listening to "...that train a comin', rolling round the bend." At least I think there was a big house in Atmore?
Yep, we had the Atmore Prison Farm, later "Fountain Correctional Center", and the "big house", Holman. My cousin, Father Tom Weise, was the pastor at St. Robert's Catholic Church there during the years we lived in Atmore. He spent a lot of time out at the prison. Having the prison there made for a rather seedy Greyhound/Trailways Bus station back in the 1970s. I do not think the busses stop in Atmore anymore.
