From the June, 1914 issue of Erie Railroad Magazine:
Engineer Sidney Luckey of Port Jervis was presented with an honorary badge at a Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers meeting held at Port Jervis in May, 1914, signifying 40 years as a member of the organization.

From the July, 1918 issue of Erie Railroad Magazine:
General Supt. J.J. Mantell has issued instructions to have the names of Engineers Charles Watts and Sidney Luckey placed on the sides of their engine cabs. This honor has been accorded these engineers on account of long service, strict attention to duty and loyalty shown the Erie Railroad during their terms of service. Engineer Luckey, who is employed on the Delaware Division, has completed nearly 49 years as an engineer. he is in charge of engine 2737.

From the February, 1926 issue of Erie Magazine:
Delaware Division Engineer Sidney Luckey was commended for running 30,000 miles in passenger service without an engine failure.

From the January, 1932 issue of Erie Magazine:
Sidney P. Luckey, 84, Erie veteran, who at the time of his retirement in 1928 was the oldest engineer on the Delaware Division with 63 years of service on the railroad, died Dec. 15 (1931) at his home, 252 West Main Street, Port Jervis. Mr. Luckey was a member of the engineers' brotherhood and the West End Reformed Church. His wife died 11 years ago. Survivors are two daughters, Mrs. Willis H. Simpson of West Orange and Mrs. Sarah C. Quick of Port Jervis, and three sons, Howard, Robert and Chester Luckey, all of Port Jervis.

From the August, 1950 issue of Erie Magazine:
Way back when -- On the Jeff, By Tom Pickering
The flying string of coal jimmies clattered to a sudden stop with links and pins jangling near Ararat, Pa. Knotting his muffler tight about his thin neck, Jefferson Division Conductor George De Witt swung off and ran up through the snow toward the big-stacked engine.

"Who flagged you down here, Sid?" he called to Engineer Sid Luckey who himself had hopped down off the footplate and was walking quickly but cautiously up along the track ahead of the train.

"Where's your track? That's what I want to know," asked the puzzled Sid of the equally bemused conductor.

Well might he ask the question, for there ahead of them, the track�a quarter of a mile of it�had disappeared from the face of the earth leaving an ugly hole in the snow and a black quagmire the surface of which was 30 feet below the level of the track on which the train with its engine was standing. Thanks to "Swift Sid" Luckey, the train was safely above ground instead of resting at the bottom of the great cave-in which could have held fifty trains like his.

Here was a sink-hole and a bad one, a nemesis that often pursued pioneer railroad builders. It had been caused by the collapse of the roof of a cavern in the limestone red rock far beneath the surface. The "Jeff" Division, or the Jefferson Railroad as it was then called, was only five weeks old when the sink occurred. Actually it did not become part of the Erie until several months later. Coal trains had been running from the coal measures to the main line since November, 1870.

It was now December and it was snowing hard, as it should in December excepting when you have a sink-hole like that to fill. But the word went out and track forces, borrowed wherever they could be found, converged on well-named Ararat, the highest point (2025 feet) on the Jeff.

Here was a problem for the construction engineers. Four test piles, each forty feet long, were first driven down, one on top of the other, before solid bottom was reached, showing the depth of the unstable spot to be 160 feet. Then a row of piles was driven, in the manner of the test piles, on both sides of the space required for the road-bed, driven close together, so close that the work required nearly 8,000 of them. They prevented the escape of anything dumped into the enclosure.

For four months, gravel, rocks, and entire forest trees were thrown into the pit. Acres of hemlock forest were levelled to supply the trees. Fifteen hundred, ranging in size from 50 to 100 feet high and with a spread of sometimes twenty-five feet, were thrown in. Sid Luckey himself worked on the job as a logger felling timber.

An entire adjacent gravel hill, fifty feet high and covering four acres, was levelled to obtain material for building up this unbelievable roadbed. Rocks, weighing many tons each, were tumbled into the depths only to disappear before a solid way was made across it.

Years later after Sid Luckey had retired from the railroad, there was a little "hot stove" confab at a layover point about the "big-sink". (The name still remains today after 80 years in the name Sink Hole Siding where the old roadbed disappeared.) Around the fire was a fellow named Schmall who had worked for Henry A. Fonda, the Jeff contractor, Conductor Att. Palmer, and Engineers Bill Aumick and George De Witt. They talked about Engineer Luckey who kept his coal train out of the hole. Someone said, "Luckey by name, lucky by nature", referring to the fact that Sid had come safely through more tight places than are good for a man.

"No," said De Witt, "you're wrong, it wasn't luck � it was his usual watchfulness. The super knew all about the way he wheeled his trains. Sid moved fast all right but they never put the orders on him, did they? He was a safe man, Sid was, but I will say he sure was a fast roller."