October 28, 1906 was a clear, warm autumn Sunday. Atlantic City was at the height of its early-twentieth-century run - the boardwalk was crowded with tourists, the rolling chairs were full, the Steel Pier was packed. Sunday excursion trains from Philadelphia and Camden ran constantly, bringing weekenders for the day. The West Jersey and Seashore Railroad had electrified the line from Camden to Atlantic City just a few years earlier, replacing steam with overhead trolley wire to allow faster, cleaner, more frequent service. The afternoon train that left Camden at 1:20 p.m. was a routine run. It was made up of three open-platform passenger cars, drawn by an electric motor car. The passengers were sitting in their seats, reading newspapers, looking out the windows at the salt marsh as the train approached the city.

The Thoroughfare bridge had been newly constructed - a swing-span draw bridge of the type common across coastal New Jersey, where rail lines repeatedly had to cross tidal creeks navigable by small vessels. The bridge worked on a rotating pivot. When a boat needed passage, the central section swung ninety degrees out of the way, opening a gap in the tracks. When closed, electrical interlocks were supposed to lock the rails back into alignment and prevent any train from approaching until the alignment was confirmed safe. On October 28, that interlock failed. The bridge had been opened for a passing vessel. The signals that should have stopped the eastbound train were either not displayed, not seen, or not obeyed. The engineer drove the train into the open span at 40 mph.

The motor car and the first two passenger cars left the rails and plunged fifteen feet into the cold tidal water of The Thoroughfare. The doors had been closed, as was the railroad's custom, and the interior connecting doors between cars were also shut. The cars filled with water within seconds. Passengers trapped inside had almost no opportunity to escape. One or two people from the first two cars made it out. Everyone else - dozens of people - drowned in the dark, in their seats, in the cold water. The trailing third car hung briefly from the bridge structure before slipping into the water as well. The brakeman riding in the third car had the presence of mind to throw open the rear door immediately when the derailment began. He held the door open while the passengers of his car climbed out onto the bridge above.

The Atlantic City rail terminal was only a short distance from the wreck site. Within minutes of the crash, a crowd of thousands gathered along the bridge approaches and the surrounding shore. Boats from the city's harbor pushed out into The Thoroughfare. Ropes were lowered from the bridge superstructure. Rescuers focused on the third car, hanging at an angle below the bridge, because it still contained living people who could be reached. Some of the passengers who had escaped the third car climbed back down to help pull out others. Several passengers in the submerged first and second cars broke windows with their hands, trying to push their way out underwater. A few survived. Most did not. The recovery of the bodies continued for two days. Fifty-three people died. The dead included men, women, and children - all returning home from what had been a routine Sunday outing.

The 1906 Atlantic City train wreck was, at the time, one of the deadliest railroad accidents in New Jersey history. The investigation that followed could not definitively assign blame. The bridge interlocking system was upgraded. Train operators received clearer rules about confirming bridge alignment before proceeding. The West Jersey and Seashore Railroad continued to operate the Camden-Atlantic City line for decades, eventually becoming part of the Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines and then NJ Transit. The bridge over The Thoroughfare was replaced multiple times in the twentieth century. The modern Beach Bridge crosses approximately the same location and still serves the rail line into Atlantic City. The water that swallowed those passenger cars is shallow, brown, and tidal. It looks unremarkable. Generations of Atlantic City visitors have crossed it without knowing what is buried in its history.