Meldrim disaster

BY JOHN THOMAS MADDOX

Growing up in Bloomingdale was peaceful in the 1950s. Life consisted of playing baseball, fishing, swimming, taking piano lessons and going to church. If you wanted to fight the heat, you went to Morgan’s Bridge or Meldrim Beach underneath the train trestle to swim in the Ogeechee River.

My uncle, J.T. Maddox, owned a store and a boat house at Morgan’s Bridge on the Ogeechee. He was always fishing and, one day, took me to Black Creek. On the way, we stopped as a freight train crossed the trestle over the Ogeechee River near Meldrim. I remember how it whizzed over our heads as Uncle J.T. docked his boat on Meldrim Beach.

Meldrim was a fun stop, and that train going across the trestle was an awesome sight to a young boy. On June 28, 1959, that came to an end.

It was hot that week—over 98 degrees. After church, several people left to go swimming. My grandmother, Lucy Ramsey Maddox, telephoned and said, “Turn on the TV. Something awful has happened!” My mother,  Joyce Maddox, gathered us together, and we rushed down to Meldrim Beach. When we arrived, a policeman said, “Ma’am I wouldn’t take your children down there. People are dying in the river.” She argued that she was a nurse, but he was unmovable. I remember hearing the moans that even today I hear in my sleep.

The propane cars of a train crossing the trestle had fallen over the side and exploded, killing 23 people swimming below. We might forget how to spell Meldrim, but we should never forget those who perished: Jimmy Anderson, Elizabeth Dixon Barnes, Ted Barnes, Julian Beasley, Linda Jean Beasley, Reba Lamb Beasley, Michael Bland, Charles Carpenter, Billy Dent, Joan Dent, Edna Dixon, Frank Dixon, Barbara Hales, Claudia Johnson, L.B. Lamb,  Elbie Lane, Florence Lane, Terry Lane, Leslie Lee, James Smith, Margie Hales Smith, Timothy Smith and Wayne Smith.

Uncle J.T. moved to Bloomingdale after the disaster. Memories of Meldrim were surrounded with prayers. The train’s conductor, who had shouted to people to get out of the water before the explosion, was never the same—neither were the people of Meldrim and Bloomingdale. The trestle is gone. Meldrim Beach has faded into the corridors of time, but the names of the victims will never be forgotten.

Meldrim is a growing little town now. A ball park is dedicated to those who lost their lives. The people of Meldrim realize the tragedy, but have moved on with new parks and playgrounds. There are sounds of laughter instead of moans.

I will always remember the Meldrim tragedy and how it made us look at life a lot differently. For it is not what you take up, but rather what you leave behind that counts.

—John Thomas Maddox is an ordained elder of the United Methodist Church. He lives in Douglas with his wife, Regina.