Harry Burris is old school. He had the Engineering Crew out on New Year’s Day, surveying some planned drainage improvements. The Second District local waited on the freight house lead for No.59 to pass, 2-8-2 3222 simmering and occasionally pumping a little air. A raspy exhaust announced the approach of 59, and Engineer Wallace White gave the big PA1 another throttle notch to keep the speed up through the curve, and she obliged with a belch of Alco exhaust. The oscillating headlight wig-wagged against the embankment as the humble little passenger train curved past Harry’s survey party. After No.59 passed, the cantilever signal changed from red to flashing yellow. That was good enough for Engineer Buck Burleson, and he whistled off, dropped the reverse lever into the corner, and departed. He gave a short whistle salute to his brother-in-law (a rod man on the survey party) and had her hooked up and rolling as he left the curve. As Buck whistled for the Highway 70 crossing, Harry Burris wondered silently how much longer the sound of steam whistles, which - decades earlier -had lured him to a career in railroading, would be heard in the Texas Panhandle. Harry listened intently as the exhaust of Mikado 3222 faded into the distance. It would be a sad day, he mused, when the roundhouse put out the last fire and cranked up the latest quartet of brand-new EMD GP7’s.
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