‘Bad things happen, but there are always good people.’ Survivors recall deadliest train crash in Chicago history on 50th anniversary.

Survivors and family members of those who perished in a train crash 50 years ago that killed 45 passengers and injured 331 others gathered Sunday to memorialize the deadliest rail crash in Chicago history.

Ald. Sophia King, 4th, and the city of Chicago declared the date an official day of remembrance. “Tragic accidents often remind us of our humanity, and the fragility of our humanity,” King said before reading the city proclamation.

Gregory Boettner, pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Chicago Heights, said the service, which was held at First Unitarian Church of Chicago in the Hyde Park neighborhood was about more than just a rehashing of a historic moment.

“What we are here for is to honor the dead, the survivors, the first responders, the extensive network of friends and family, and those who were on the tracks that day,” Boettner said. “But we are here to make a meaning out of a senseless tragedy.”

On the morning of Oct. 30, 1972, a northbound Illinois Central commuter train zipped by quickly, missing one of the station stops. The train backed up around a bend to the platform at the 27th street station to allow passengers to exit. A second train was given the green light to proceed on the same track.

At 7:27 a.m., the two trains collided.

Louise Lawarre, one of the survivors, said she remembers the day clearly. It was a Monday when Lawarre boarded train No. 416 — described as a “tin can double decker highlander.” On that day, Lawarre was going to work downtown after a job interview at the University of Chicago near her home in Woodlawn was rescheduled.

“I am one of the lucky survivors despite having potentially fatal internal bleeding injuries,” Lawarre said.

Lisa Klare, another survivor, was on board train No. 720 — described as an old heavy steel train with concrete floors and wicker seats. Klare, a high school senior, was with two friends. The trio sat in the front seat of the front car behind the motorman. The conversation that morning was about how fast the train seemed to be moving, she said. At that moment, the motorman appeared in front of them and screamed that the train was going to crash.

“We woke to find ourselves encased in twisted metal,” Klare said. All she could hear was the shuffling of footsteps on gravel. Then Klare said she heard a voice say: “Don’t tell me there’s someone alive in there.”

“That was the moment we knew something really bad had happened,” she said. “We did not comprehend it at all.”

Klare also remembered the kindness of others, particularly the first responders who administered injections for pain relief and set up triage on the train platform.

“Bad things happen, but there are always good people, and that’s what gets me by,” Klare said.

One of Klare’s friends was among the 45 who died. It would take six hours for everyone, dead and alive, to be removed from the train.

The names of the deceased, between the ages of 18 and 62, were read at the service.

An NTSB report issued the year after the crash said it was due to the reversal of the first train while the engineer of the second train, who was traveling faster than the advised speed, failed to perceive it in time to stop and avoid the collision. The report said “ambiguous rules” regarding the signal system also contributed. Illinois Central is now defunct, and the train line is run by Metra. The Metra Electric trains run on that track.

Lawarre and Klare didn’t know each other at the time the trains collided. But they connected more than two decades later when a story about Lawarre ran in the Tribune during another anniversary. The women yearned for someone to talk to who could understand what they went through and exchanged correspondence.

On Sunday, they invited others affected by the train crash to tell their story.

Brenda Inis was one of several people who recounted how her life was changed by the traumatic event.

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The night before, her father was at a Halloween party with his five children and three grandchildren.

“We didn’t know that would be the last time we would see him alive,” Inis said.

Her younger sister, Deborah, would have been on train No. 720, but the conductor refused to let her on the train for unknown reasons. The conductor closed the door in her face.

“She would have been on the train that hit the first train,” Inis said.

It was not easy to board a train after the loss of her father, she said.

“It took maybe 15 years before I would even get on a train to go downtown,” Inis said. “It doesn’t seem like this was 50 years ago.”

tatturner@chicagotribune.com