Chicora woman honors husband’s legacy, passion for trains with historic caboose
CHICORA — Perched on a quiet hill above Connie Collier’s rural home rests a piece of Americana that may require a double take to affirm its existence.
For more than 50 years, a restored Great Depression-era caboose has been on her property and now serves as a tribute to the memory of her late husband, Harold, who died of a brain tumor in March 2012.
His legacy and love of trains, Connie says, is perfectly encapsulated in the bright red caboose and the blacked out rails that it sits upon.
“It just keeps his memory alive,” she said.
In line with Harold’s birthday being Dec. 3, Connie reserves time during the holiday season to brighten it up with decorative wreaths and bright lights.
“I always wait ’til his birthday to light it up,” she said. “From then on, I usually keep it lit ’til the end of the month. But I took the floodlights down early this year because of the weather.”
Despite acquiring the caboose for just $25 in 1973, the transportation of it became a serious roadblock.
Before it was brought home in the early 1970s, Connie and Harold cleaned and prepared the site themselves. Harold laid rail track on the property so the caboose could rest on authentic steel.
That’s when trouble began.
“The owner (of the housing plan) came up and said, ‘You know you cannot have a building so many feet from your property line,’” Connie recalled. “Harold told him, ‘I’m bringing in a caboose.’ And he said, ‘Oh no, that’s an outside building.’”
Connie didn’t waste any time providing him with a response.
“I told him, ‘You take us to court. We will put a walkway awning clear down to our house and attach it if we have to,’” she said with a laugh. “And we would have.”
The matter went to court. The ruling was that a caboose is not a building.
“That’s what saved us,” she said.
The caboose was brought home shortly thereafter, permanently cementing an artifact that perfectly marked the couple’s time together riding passenger trains across the country.
It was originally a boxcar from the Great Depression and was later converted, alongside two others, to serve rail passengers when rolling stock was in short supply. Unlike most modified cars, this one included bay and portal windows, a rarity for its time, Connie said.
“It’s quite old,” she explained. “Ours has horizontal boards and that was the oldest style before they went vertical. That makes it very unique.”
Numerous visitors have stopped by during the last five-plus decades to take a peak and step inside.
“I think it shows personality and a love of history,” Connie said. “I’m very proud to have it up there. It’s a money pit, but I love having it.”
The caboose has weathered snow, storms and the passage of time. The rear of it has deteriorated over the years, Connie said, because it rarely sees the sun.
Her son-in-law has restored the caboose twice, repainting and repairing it with the same level of care Harold devoted to it.
For years, however, the caboose wasn’t just a statue. Instead, it buzzed from the inside with the hum of model engines that Harold deeply admired.
Every other Thursday evening, fellow hobbyists came to run their locomotives on a winding track that traveled from one end of the car to the other.
“They had no place at their house to exercise their engines,” Connie said. “So they’d bring them here.”
One year, during a string of arsons in town, Connie grew fearful the caboose might be a target. She removed Harold’s trains to protect them.
“They meant too much,” she said. “I didn’t want anything to happen to them.”
For Connie, decorating the caboose inside and out has never been a laborious task. Instead, it’s been a meaningful tradition.
“It is such a joy to be able to talk to people about it,” she said. “Everybody knew Harold. Everybody knew the caboose.”
Connie’s daughter, Debbie Macurak, who was in elementary school at the time, still remembers the day the caboose arrived. It grew into a popular destination for her classmates in the years that followed.
“My class would walk over and tour it,” she said. “Everyone in my class knew I had a caboose in my backyard.”
The caboose has become a landmark that Connie says is irreplaceable.
“It’s all I have left of him,” Connie said. “And I’m so proud to keep it here.”
