Summerville's Famous Railroad Depots--They're Gone But Their Stories are not Forgotten

The train depots built by the South Carolina Railroad from Charleston to Hamburg represent the heyday of many small towns, some owing their prosperity to the commerce and economic development it brought. However, since their use has expired, many were abandoned and became liabilities. The railroad demolished some of them, while others survived to the present because the towns they served took steps to save them and are now restaurants, visitor centers, gift shops, and wedding venues. Unfortunately, the two that serviced Summerville suffered a more dire fate before any opportunity could present itself to preserve them.

The first famous Summerville depot was built in 1880. A unique feature of the depot was its ornate gingerbread-style trimmings. The small Victorian station survived the 1886 great earthquake, but not long after was moved to Ladson to make way for a bigger one in 1902 designed by Frank P. Hilton. It was a grand depot, 100 feet long and 25 feet wide, constructed from wood with wainscoting about halfway up and stuccoed the rest. Passenger train service between Charleston and Hamburg ended in the 1950s, and Summerville's railroad landmark vanished into a debris pile in the 1960s. The gingerbread station was dismantled long before that in 1935.

A photograph, said to be from the 1880s, shows a panorama of the town square with the gingerbread station on the north end, which would put it in the time period before the construction of the town hall on the south end. However, when looking at the photograph, the point from which it was taken required a position of elevation, a birds-eye view, which causes me to believe it was more likely taken around 1893, after the town hall's construction. The town hall belfry or one of the building's windows would have been an ideal place to take the picture. The angle lines up perfectly with the belfry. One source suggests the photographer climbed a tree to take the shot, but that would be no easy task, especially with the camera equipment available in the 1880s. The town hall is a more practical explanation.

Another point of interest is the trees planted on the grassy square. If you look at another photo of the town square and the Hilton railroad station taken in 1908 from almost the exact same vantage point, the trees are at the height you would expect them to be after 15 years of growth.

The gingerbread depot of 1880 was made famous during the great earthquake by the story of Frank Doar, the station master at the time, and it is a ghostly story. Frank recounted: “It was 9:45 pm. The inbound train had just passed Jedburg. Awaiting its arrival, I was peacefully sitting in my chair, drifting in and out of sleep, when I was suddenly startled by an elderly black man who appeared out of nowhere on the depot platform. He was filthy, sweaty, breathless, and agitated. The agitated old fellow excitedly told me he had just run several miles up the rail line from where the tracks were severely bent and that I should release warning flares immediately to alert the incoming train of the impending danger.

I knew everybody who worked the line and thought I knew everybody in the community, but I never saw this man before tonight. The moonlight glistened off his sweaty hair, giving the top of his head a halo effect. I would have ordinarily been apprehensive about such a demand. However, on this occasion, I sensed the stranger to be sincere. At his urging, I quickly deployed the torpedoes. As I finished putting out the devices, I turned to speak to the old man, but he was gone. It was as if he vanished into thin air.

I removed my pocket watch and glanced at it. The old man’s visit, the warning, and the emergency preparations had taken only five minutes. It was 9:50 pm. At that very moment, an eerie hissing sound enveloped the town, followed by a massive explosion. The ground began to shake violently. I could hear the walls and chimneys of nearby buildings collapsing and the swaying trees being torn out of the earth by their roots. A massive earthquake had struck Summerville.”

The 1902 train depot was probably the same one associated with the story of Harry Woodruff, who worked as a station master for the South Carolina Railroad. One evening, Harry had returned to town after completing business for the railroad. As usual, he was met at the Summerville train station by the family retainer with his horse and carriage. However, to Harry's bewilderment, they did not take their customary route home upon leaving the station. Puzzled, he asked the driver, "Where are you taking me?" Unknown to Mr. Woodruff, his home address had changed while he was away. Sara had purchased a new home on the corner of Richardson Ave and Palmetto Street. The house became known as White Gables.

President Theodore Roosevelt visited Summerville on May 20, 1902, the same year Hilton's railroad station is stated to have been built. The Victorian depot may have already been moved to Ladson, but maybe not. I cannot say with any certainty whether the new depot was finished by the time of Roosevelt's visit or whether it was in the process of construction. Pictures show Roosevelt arriving by way of the railroad and walking where there are two sets of tracks. Judging by the surrounding landscape, he did not disembark the train at the town square. No buildings are in the picture, just open space. There was another stop after a long whistle just outside of downtown Summerville called "West End" near Hickory Street, also called Hickory Hill. Businessmen who worked in Charleston used this stop. It was close to the location of the turntable, the place where the Summerville Short turned around to head back to downtown Charleston.

One thing is for sure the grand station of 1902 was present when Frederick Wagener of the Pine Forest Inn hosted a dinner for President-elect William Howard Taft in January 1909. President Taft and his wife Nellie were frequent weekend guests of Charleston's Mayor Rhett at his home on Broad Street. Mrs. Taft thought Southerners were "strange" for their irritating ritual of "always taking a half hour to get ready for everything." 

The South Carolina Railroad played a large part in the growth of Summerville. It is a shame the two famous depots that served the railway and the town were not preserved. Only their stories remain.

If you would like to get a glimpse of what Summerville's Hutchinson Square and the Hilton-designed railroad depot looked like in 1916, make the short day trip to The City of Aiken's Visitor Center and Train Museum. On display is a diorama depicting that scene. Interestingly, the train museum is a replica of Aiken's original railroad station demolished in 1954.

The 1850 South Carolina Railroad Tower Depot on John Street now serves as the Charleston Music Hall. On Ann Street, old train towers now house the Children’s Museum of the Lowcountry and the Best Friend of Charleston Museum. Best Friend was the South Carolina Railroad's first locomotive.

More Summerville stories

Summerville--A Haunting Tale Amidst An Earth Shattering Cataclysm

Branchville Station

The day’s overwhelming humidity continued to linger even at this late hour. Deep in thought, I reflected on some troubling peculiarities of the day. There has been a strange quiet, not about the people I brushed shoulders with, but more so concerning the animals. The usual chatter of the local birds has been eerily absent. Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing any birds, and the carriage horses were a bit skittish, as was the dog in the train depot.

The train whistle's blast signaled the final warning for departure. Its penetrating sound averted my thoughts back to the present moment. A billowing puff of hot steam filled the air. The locomotive jerked into motion. The train eased away from the loading platform. The final leg of my journal was underway.

I looked at my pocket watch, 8:50 pm. My destination is Charleston, estimated arrival time near 10:30 pm. I have been looking forward to my stay at the luxurious Charleston Hotel on Meeting Street with eager anticipation.

As a writer/publisher, I had certain advantages when it came to reading material. With a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's writings in my possession, I settled back into my seat as we steamed away from Branchville. In my research on Poe, I had learned he was stationed on a barrier island near Charleston called Sullivan's. I planned on visiting some of the places associated with the writer, which included Fort Moultrie and the war-damaged plantations on the oak-lined Ashley River Rd, Runnymede in particular--a favorite haunt of Poe.

I peered out the window and stared at the passing trees. The moonlight sifting through their branches cast a soft dancing glow onto the lower growing bushes. The visual effect was as shadowy as the writings I was about to venture into. The rapidly increasing clickety-clack of the heavy steel wheels rolling over the tracks informed me the train had reached full throttle. Some passengers had retired into a nap while others quietly read—much too late for conversation. I flipped open the cover to the dossier sitting on my lap. I began reading The Gold-Bug, and for an unknown length of time, slipped into the reality that was Poe.

Suddenly and abruptly, a thunderous explosion shook me, followed by an uncharacteristic feeling of weightlessness and the realization I was levitating above my seat only to come crashing down with a spine-jarring thud. A scenario repeated countless more times.

The piercing screams of helpless passengers bouncing around uncontrollably in their seats filled the compartment. An ungodly hissing sound accompanied the jolting up and down, back and forth turbulence. Outside my window, I caught a glimpse of water spewing from the ground skyward. The car’s forward progress sputtered violently. I sensed the engineer was attempting to slow the train but to no avail. There was no shortage of prayers. Then, as quickly as the upheaval started, it ended.

Despite the chaotic mayhem, the train miraculously remained on the tracks. The startled passengers took stock of their physical condition. Aside from bumps and bruises, it appeared everyone was okay. Again, the car jerked, unnerving the already traumatized group of travelers. Only this time, the train was in the normal process of slowing and crept to a stop. I pulled out my pocket watch only to find the glass shattered and the hands pointing at 9:50 pm. I gathered up the scattered pages of the dossier strewn about and stepped off the train.

An unearthly orange glow possessed the night sky. Fires were burning, and uprooted trees littered the ground. In front of the smoking engine, brightly burning flares illuminated the surroundings. We had stopped just short of what looked like a depot. I straightened my disheveled wardrobe and walked to the locomotive’s front. The engineer was conversing with an unfamiliar person. Steadying my rattled composure, I introduced myself. I asked what happened and our present location. The person introduced himself as the stationmaster. His name was Frank Doar. He went on to relate this most unusual story as we walked towards the depot.

Frank recounted, “It was 9:45 pm. The inbound train had just passed Jedburg. Awaiting its arrival, I was peacefully sitting in my chair, drifting in and out of sleep, when I was suddenly startled by an elderly black man who appeared out of nowhere on the depot platform. He was filthy, sweaty, breathless, and agitated. The agitated old fellow excitedly told me he had just run several miles up the rail line from where the tracks were severely bent and that I should release warning flares immediately to alert the incoming train of the impending danger.

I knew everybody who worked the line and thought I knew everybody in the community, but I never saw this man before tonight. The moonlight glistened off his sweaty hair, giving the top of his head a halo effect. I would have ordinarily been apprehensive about such a demand. However, on this occasion, I sensed the stranger to be sincere. At his urging, I quickly deployed the torpedoes. As I finished putting out the devices, I turned to speak to the old man, but he was gone. It was as if he vanished into thin air.

I removed my pocket watch and glanced at it. The old man’s visit, the warning, and the emergency preparations had taken only five minutes. It was 9:50 pm. At that very moment, an eerie hissing sound enveloped the town, followed by a massive explosion. The ground began to shake violently. I could hear the walls and chimneys of nearby buildings collapsing and the swaying trees being torn out of the earth by their roots. A massive earthquake had struck Summerville.” His account beguiled me.

Everyone disembarked the train and walked to the station. We waited for further information on how we were going to get to our final destinations. We puzzled over the story Frank Doar told us. In time, the stationmaster received a message. Farther up the rail line from Summerville towards Ten Mile Hill and the Woodstock Station, the violent upheaval twisted the tracks into an S curve. A train that left Summerville for Charleston moments before the violent upheaval struck derailed on the damaged tracks. The engineer on the train was critically injured, and a crew member was killed.

The flares Frank Doar deployed saved our commuter train from the same fate. However, the mystery question remained; how did the elderly black man know about the impending danger before the earthquake occurred? He had vanished and nowhere found. No one was ever able to thank the old man.

As for Frank Doar, even though he was the one who deployed the flares that saved the train, he refused to take any credit for being a hero. He faithfully believed the old man was an angel. At least, that is the story Frank told.

Although this story is fictional, verified events and eyewitness accounts are the basis for its authenticity. The haunting tale experienced by Frank Doar is as much a part of Summerville’s history as the earthquake. Bruce Orr made it famous in his book "Haunted Summerville, South Carolina." I hope you enjoyed this retelling with my own added personal touch.

The Great Charleston Earthquake:

Charleston earthquake damage

The Charleston Earthquake of 1886 was the most damaging quake to hit the Southeastern United States. It occurred at 9:50 pm. on August 31, 1886, and lasted just under a minute. The earthquake caused severe damage in Charleston, South Carolina, damaging 2,000 buildings and causing $6 million worth of damages. About 110 lives were lost.

Considerable damage occurred in Summerville and as far away as Tybee Island, Georgia (over 60 miles away. Structural damage was reported several hundred miles from Charleston (including central Alabama, central Ohio, eastern Kentucky, southern Virginia, and western West Virginia). It was felt as far away as Boston to the north, Chicago, and Milwaukee to the Northwest, as far west as New Orleans, as far south as Cuba, and as far east as Bermuda.

In Horse Creek, Aiken County, a train pulling stock cars plunged off the tracks into 40 feet of water. The fireman was killed, and four horses drowned. Other animals kicked holes in the stock cars and swam to safety. In Ravenel, Charleston County, the ground broke open for 2.5 miles. A jet of water cut off a man trying to reach his grandchildren. In Columbia, Richland County, the Congaree River rose with 10-foot waves.

The Charleston Hotel survived the Earthquake, but not unscathed. The center portion of the parapet of the hotel's block-long Corinthian colonnade had been hurdled to the sidewalk during the massive upheaval reportedly crushing two ornate gas lamps that flanked the entrance door.

Summerville house

Summerville train depot

Eye witness accounts:

"The first awareness I experienced was the noise that developed over my head and can only be described as sounding like a huge herd of rats was thundering across the overhead ceiling. In a panic I rushed outside and felt an awful and profound shaking of the house, and was frozen in fear that the earth was going to open and swallow us all up. All I could reason was that God had set his mind that the judgment day was at hand. I looked up and expected to see the heavens fall, and then the second shock came and I was just barely conscious that I was falling, and felt a tremendous pain in my back from falling debris. Shock wave after wave hit and I became nauseous and thought I was going to die."--Virginia Ingraham Burr

"The waves seemed to come from both the southwest and crossed the street at the intersection where they collided. This is where I was standing and they were lifting me up and down by at least two feet. I was paying very careful attention and being as observant as I could under these conditions, and noted that I was at the intersection of Tradd Street between Logan and Greenhill."--Hossein Hayati and Ronald Andrus

An Unusual and Bizarre Legend Associated With One Of Summerville's Famous Train Stations

Summerville's 1800's Victorian Style train station,
moved to Ladson in 1900 as pictured here.

Although I have not seen any official documentation, and you can correct me if you know differently, it makes perfect sense to me as to how Summerville got its name. The following explanation details how I arrive at that conclusion.

Some of the wealthy residents of early coastal Charleston seeking refuge from the oppressive heat of summer and disease carrying insects of the coastal regions established a village among the shadows of Charleston County's tall pines. Summer retreat + village and voila, you have Summerville. As to the exact date the village received the name it was destined to be known by is not absolutely clear, but the fact there was an "Old Summerville" and a "New Summerville" is documented. The distinction occurred with the advent of the railroad.

In 1827, the South Carolina Canal and Railroad Company was organized and chartered by a group of citizens from Charleston. The railroad trustees eyed the emerging community of Summerville as a place to develop a large tract of land with a rail station as its center.

The tract of land would be a square grid in the form of a checkerboard with broad streets and every other square designated as parkland, a layout created by Thomas Jefferson in 1805 to fight yellow fever, a prevalent disease of coastal Colonial America. Called the Detmold Plan, it was named after the Company's most creative engineers, C.E. Detmold. The chosen tract of land was adjacent to what is now called "Old Summerville," the area of the first settlement where the wealthy planters built their summer residences.

In 1831, the tract of land was purchased and "New Summerville" was established - 1,500 acres at 37 cents an acre according to the Charleston Courier of Aug. 20, 1831. It was the first stop on a 136 mile planned railway line. The South Carolina Railroad when finished would extend from Charleston to Hamburg near Augusta, GA. Completed in 1833, it was honored with the distinction of being the longest railway line in the world and the first to carry U.S. mail. "Best Friend" was the name of first locomotive to operate on the line. It was also the first locomotive built in America. Destroyed in an accident, "Best Friend" was replaced with "The Phoenix."

In 1848, the first commuter train between Charleston and Summerville was begun, running in the summer months only, no doubt transporting the wealthy residents of Charleston to their summer retreats and back. Yellow fever epidemics ravaged Charleston between 1852 and 1858 leading to an upsurge in Summerville's population, which in time led to its famous reputation as a health resort. The commuter train began to operate throughout the year and continued to do so until its termination in the 1960's.

1920's Town Square with train station in background

The center piece, the train station, would occupy a plot facing town square where the railroad tracks crossed Main Street. The last one was built in 1900 - replaced the smaller classic Victorian Style station decorated with an elaborate gingerbread trim, which was moved to Ladson. It was an impressive 100 feet long and 25 feet wide passenger station constructed from wood with wainscoting about halfway up and stuccoed the rest. But the station that existed in 1886, the smaller Victorian station, is where all this history is headed and where my story takes a bizarre turn on the tracks into the Twilight Zone.

Summerville's 1800's Victorian Style station at left-center

The date was August 31st. The time was 9:45 pm. The inbound train had just passed Jedburg. Awaiting its arrival, stationmaster Frank Doar was peacefully sitting in his chair drifting in and out of sleep, when he was suddenly startled by an elderly blackman who appeared out of nowhere on the depot platform. The agitated old fellow excitedly told the stationmaster several miles up the line the tracks were a twisted mess and he needed to immediately release warning flares to alert the incoming train of the impending danger.

Frank ordinarily would have been doubtfully apprehensive, but on this occasion he sensed the old man was being sincere. Frank quickly released the emergency flares called torpedoes, then turned to speak to the old man, but realized he was gone, as if he vanished into thin air.

Frank removed his pocket watch and glanced at it, the time was now 9:50 pm. At that moment, an eerie hissing sound enveloped the town followed by a massive explosion. The ground began to shake violently. Walls of nearby buildings began to collapse and swaying trees were ripped out of the ground by their roots. A massive earthquake struck Summerville and the surrounding areas of the Lowcountry leaving in its wake a path of tremendous and costly destruction - the largest recorded earthquake to ever hit the southeastern United States.

The train coming in from Jedburg was struck by the earthquake. The engineer applied the brakes to no avail. The shock waves mercilessly accelerated the train as the earth rolled up and down like the waves of the ocean. Miraculously, the train survived wave after wave. On its approach to Summerville, the engineer saw the warning flares and applied the brakes again. This time the engineer succeeded and the train of frightened passengers rolled to a stop a mile from Summerville with no one injured.

Damaged railroad tracks

Further up the rail line from Summerville towards Charleston near the Woodstock Station, the tracks had become bent into a S curve by the violent upheaval, which would have spelled disaster for any train passing over it. The flares Frank Doar deployed saved the commuter train of passengers. No one was ever able to thank the old man. He was nowhere to be found.

Frank Doar did not take any credit for being a hero. He was convinced the old man was an angel. At least, that is the way Frank told the story. Hey, it's October. I hope you enjoyed the article.