Last spring, my wife and I were sitting in the shade on our front porch, and I was reading from Kalmbach's Real Stories of the Rails. One story was from an Espee Engineer who had made a helper trip out of Eugene, Oregon, in brutal winter weather. After cutting off at the summit and securing the engine, he and the Fireman had headed into the beanery for hot coffee and a hot meal. Normally I'm content to enjoy retirement but I realize that I miss being able to go out of bad weather, into a beanery.
About 15 years earlier, John McCracken, Rod Riley and I had ben sent, as an audit team, to test crews on the Clovis Subdivision (Clovis to Belen, NM). It was winter, and, as soon as the sun set, it instantly became dark. The relentless high plains wind was moving arctic air, so we shut down the testing, and headed toward Belen. Our only real chance to eat would be at Willard. We could see its lights for what seemed like eternity, but we eventually arrived. The temperature had dropped like a rock and the wind had not let up when we exited the vehicle. Once we made it inside, though, we were enveloped by fragrant warmth. I ate a plate of excellent chile verde that built a welcome fire in my boiler. We enjoyed a couple of cups of hot coffee after eating and then soldiered out into the freezing night to seek warm beds in Belen.
Reading the article by the Espee hogger got me lost in the days of traditional railroading and thoughts of hot meals that were so welcome on locals and helpers, and all-night cafes (which are becoming rare). I cherish memories of running an engine as part of a crew of skilled railroaders and using knowledge and initiative, instead of processes, to get the work done and get over the road. It's a good thing I persisted in gaining employment on the Santa Fe. A career in accounting would not have left me with memories like the railroad did. And we were really privileged, to have worked for a legendary railroad company.
