Gary Bensman has spent more than five decades restoring locomotives. Now, at 70, he’s working on his toughest project yet — his own recovery.

The longtime Fort Wayne boilermaker and founding member of the Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society (FWHRS) is making slow, promising progress after suffering a heart attack and stroke earlier this year. His family, friends, and fellow rail enthusiasts are calling it nothing short of a miracle.

A Life Built Around Steel and Steam

You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who knows more about old trains than Bensman. He started working on them when he was 18. That was back in the early ’70s, long before steam engines became popular attractions or nostalgic museum pieces.

In 1972, Bensman helped found the FWHRS — a passionate group of volunteers who believed history shouldn’t just sit in a museum, it should move.

Just two years later, the group restored and ran the Nickel Plate Road No. 765, making them the first all-volunteer nonprofit in the country to do so. That engine would become a regional icon.

“A good friend of mine, his quote is, ‘My, that is the most beautiful locomotive that God ever put on this green Earth,’” Bensman recalled with a small grin.

A Sudden Collapse, Then Silence

It was supposed to be a regular day.

Back in February, Bensman was working on an engine when something went very wrong. He suffered a heart attack, then a stroke, collapsing near the machines he loved.

He was rushed to the hospital. Doctors placed him in intensive care. He slipped into a coma. Then… nothing.

“For 3 to 4 weeks, no one knew if he’d wake up. Nobody knew what shape he’d be in, even if he did,” said James Donohue, a close friend and fellow FWHRS member.

There were moments when the worst seemed inevitable.

Recovery Begins With One Step

And then — he started waking up. A flicker of recognition. A slurred word. A twitch of the hand. It wasn’t fast, but it was something.

Bensman remembers those first therapy sessions. Barely. “It became clear to me the first days of my therapy that they were gonna teach me to walk again,” he said. “We’re making progress on it.”

It’s been slow. And exhausting. But every step, every stretch, is a win.

There are good days and hard days. But for someone who once brought a 400-ton machine back to life, this feels almost familiar.

The FWHRS Community Rallies Around Him

The Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society isn’t just a group of train buffs. It’s a tight-knit family.

Many members have known Bensman for decades. He’s been their guide, their teacher, their stubborn perfectionist who wouldn’t accept anything less than authentic restoration. So when word of his condition spread, the group rallied.

Volunteers took turns checking on his progress. Cards, phone calls, even videos from old rail fans began pouring in. “It was like watching a community light a candle that refused to go out,” said Donohue.

Support extended beyond emotional gestures, too. There’s been talk of future fundraising events to help cover medical costs and home care adjustments.

One Man’s Health, Tied to a City’s History

To the city of Fort Wayne, Bensman isn’t just a guy with a wrench and a blowtorch. He’s part of its industrial legacy.

The Nickel Plate 765, restored under his leadership, has drawn thousands of tourists over the years. Its whistle is a familiar sound during festivals. Its smoke trails bring memories rushing back for older generations.

And Gary? He’s the soul behind it all.

A short timeline of key moments:

Progress Isn’t Linear, But It’s Real

There’s no sugarcoating it — Bensman’s recovery will take time.

He’s relearning basic motor skills. He tires easily. Some memories are hazy. But he’s clear-headed when it counts, and he knows exactly what he’s fighting for.

Sometimes he talks about the locomotives like they’re old friends. “They’ve got soul,” he once said, years ago, in an interview. It’s funny how people have started saying the same thing about him.

Looking Ahead, With Caution and Hope

Will he ever return to full strength? Nobody knows. Maybe. Maybe not.

But just being alive — talking, moving, cracking small jokes — is enough to make those around him believe in something bigger. “He built engines from ashes,” Donohue said. “And now he’s doing the same thing with his own life.”

And even now, tucked in recovery, there are whispers that Bensman wants to visit the engine room again.

Not to work. Just to feel the steel.