Tell us a good story!

I've done two interviews on the Notch 6 podcast site. Doing live/voice interviews is much easier than typing out stuff, plus the person doing the interview gets to ask questions. Check out the Notch 6 site.

Back around 2005, I was entering photo competitions. I spend a fair amount of time shooting a series on the Strasburg RR (which was later exhibited in England). One of the shots was of a engineer at the cab window. I had a print made and framed, and gave it to him. A year later, he saw me with my family ready to board the train at the picnic grove. He got out of the cab, and asked me if I'd like a ride back in the cab of 475. What a thrill that was! I had to sneak off of the engine at the water tower so no one saw me, as no "public" rides are given. His comment, at the time, was, "Over the years, a zillion people have taken my photo in the cab window. You are the only person that gave me one".

Hot Water posted:

I've done two interviews on the Notch 6 podcast site. Doing live/voice interviews is much easier than typing out stuff, plus the person doing the interview gets to ask questions. Check out the Notch 6 site.

Right.  Everyone needs to find that interview and hear that story about the engineer wasting steam while you shoveled your pants off firing, trying to maintain pressure for him.  Excellence.

The difference between "railroading" and "railfanning" is as different as "night" and "day".  An alert brakeman would be more concerned with his wheel report and switch lists, his train order meets, and overall safety than what might be occurring trackside from a railfan's perspective.   However, there was one evening on a road switcher when I was able to enjoy a little of both aspects.
The "OCCY" was an unofficial Frisco term for the road switcher going east from Oklahoma City to Tulsa and did all the work in between.  The only other regularly scheduled eastbound traveling that segment was through freight #30. Most of the old heads on our board were on east end pools, and extra board men rarely worked these trains.  Having said that, Conductor Sanders was not the easiest guy to get along with, and pool brakemen would occasionally lay off calls with him leaving vacancies for us poor folk.  The extra men would also lay off if they knew "with whom they were working", so Jim's name was plastered all over my time book. (I never laid off a call).  The two of us had worked together enough to a point where he trusted me to do my job such as watching the wheels on every curve (all 123 curves between OC and CY), or paying close attention when we neared the four Failed Equipment Detectors.  The switching was going to be slight on this particular evening, and Jim decided he wanted to do it all himself, so he put me in the caboose.  Normally unheard of.
The OCCY also always had tonnage and east empties on the back, and our yard crews were very good to put low cars ahead of the caboose.  On this night running OCCY there were about six empty TOFC cars on the rear end giving me an excellent view of the train. 
Luther hill was a mostly 1% grade (downhill eastward) from mp 520 to 517.  I can remember old heads talking about the glory days of our subdivision when westbound QLA had four SD45's going 55 mph UP Luther hill.   As we approached the grade I decided to go out on the front platform of the caboose and watch the train from there.  It was a pleasant evening and the temperature was just right.  It was one of the best working views of a train I ever had.  And I was getting paid. !
Fast forward to today, I realize I might have been getting a good blast of asbestos while going down that hill (remember the days before mandated dynamic braking when a hogger just might put it in run 8 and straight air the pi** out of it most of the way...hehe), but it was still a most memorable ride for a brief opportunity that did not present itself very often.

I know my stories are sorta' lame, but I tell them just to get the career guys "off high center" and tell us a really good one. 

photo:  Mike Condren   check out the FM on the ladder !!

This story was told to me years ago by the father of my (at that time) Santa Fe account manager.  His dad was number one on the ATSF engineer’s seniority board out of Slaton, TX at the time.

As the story went; the father was dead heading in the cab with a Santa Fe engineer in the Panhandle of Texas on a line that crossed the FW&D at grade.  Because of the terrain in that area; they were able to see the home signal that guarded the crossing from several miles out.  The signal was malfunctioning and essentially short cycling from clear to stop to clear then back to stop.  

As they observed this; the father also noticed the engineer juggling between the throttle and the train brake handle and finally asked him what in the “h” he was doing.  The engineer responded that he believed he had things timed just about right so the indication would be clear as they hit the diamond.

Curt

Question:  If the signal was malfunctioning, would have been better for the engineer to "stop and proceed" at the signal?

Apparently they could see nothing was approaching from either direction on the FW&D.  That aside; I imagine the rule would dictate stopping the train short of the home signal and contacting the dispatcher for authorization to proceed.  

BUT, the engineer's actual manipulation of the brake and throttle made for a GOOD story! (Wink)

Rob Leese posted:

 

I know my stories are sorta' lame, but I tell them just to get the career guys "off high center" and tell us a really good one.

 

Hey, I kept reading until the end - if it was lame, I certainly would have quit before then! 

Awhile back I was a volunteer brakeman at the B&O Museum. One November, I showed up a bit early because of an expected  impending snow storm.   Good thing I did, as I was asked to ride in the cab of the diesel so I could flag at the intersection.  As soon as we crossed, and after I climbed aboard, the snow started like crazy.  The engineer had the local radio station on, and the reporter was already saying as a result of the snow...Baltimore traffic was a mess.

    Hearing this and being glad that I showed up early and thereby avoiding the traffic mess , I went out to the front of the engine to "take in the fresh snow"....admiring the snow...and loving the thump, thump, thump of that huge diesel motor as we motored to the repair shop.   My bliss was interrupted when Dwayne, the engineer, threw his door open and yelled, "Hey you nut, why don't you come in...its freezing outside"!   Yep, I stayed outside to take it all in!

juniata guy posted:

Apparently they could see nothing was approaching from either direction on the FW&D.  That aside; I imagine the rule would dictate stopping the train short of the home signal and contacting the dispatcher for authorization to proceed.  

As we say on the South Plains of Texas, "it's so flat, you can watch your dog run away from home for a full week".

I have a short one.  Many stories can go on for a while as things get worse for somebody, haha.

My wife and I married in 1982.  At that time, I was working as an Engineer on Amtrak passenger jobs (Santa Fe crews still manned them then).  Just ten years earlier only Engineers with 1936, or earlier, seniority could hold them on the Los Angeles Division, but retirements had put me on the first column of the seniority list, and, though the pay was less, scheduled work was a relief from 12 years of being on call.

I invited my wife to go for a ride with me on the Southwest Chief on a Friday evening and return on Saturday.  To avoid detection we decided to skip Los Angeles Union Passenger Terminal and board her at San Bernardino, which was close to home.  That way, if there was an official in the cab, she could just be meeting me at the depot to say hello.  

As we pulled in and stopped at San Bernardino, she walked up to the F40PH, and I opened the door for her.  The engine was on a left-hand curve, out of view of any "interested parties" who might have been on the station  platform.  The Conductor gave a highball, and we were off into the night, climbing over Cajon Pass, and out into the desert at high speed.  Of course I let her whistle for the crossings.  At Barstow, the platform and the lights were on the left side of the train, and Mechanical Department forces always inspected the train on that side first.  The Fireman led her back into the engine room and helped her get down through the rear side door on the unlighted side of the train, just in case there was a Carman who would snitch on us, while I stepped down on the left side and had a short conversation with the outbound Needles Engineer, who DID have a 1936 date.  He hated me for my facial hair, Hawaiian shirt, and youth.  Two years later I became his Road Foreman of Engines.  He almost swallowed his false teeth the first time I stepped into the cab to ride with him.

And the Fireman who helped her step down from the engine?  He later became a Road Foreman of Engines, also.

In September of 1993 we ran a number of trips with NKP 765 on CSX. They included a trip on the former B&O out of Akron, Ohio to Pittsburgh. The place where we stored the train in Akron was a spot called "The hole" by the CSX crews. Situated about 50 feet below the main line, which is up on a high fill in this location, it's nothing more than a very small yard with a wye at the east end. On the Saturday trip, after the passengers had gotten off the train, we backed the train down the steep grade into the hole, where a CSX diesel tied onto the rear. We cut away and they dragged the train back far enough so we could turn the 765 on the wye and duck into a siding for the night. The diesel then shoved the train forward and the CSX yard crew used it to spot the train for watering the air conditioners from a fire hydrant near the wye. This is typically a very slow process and it was approaching midnight, so we headed off to the motel for a nights rest.

When we showed up around 6:30am the next morning, the first car of the train was spotted right near the fire hydrant in a perfect spot for us to couple on and pump up the air. I was running the eastbound trip this morning and Kim Besecker was firing. We pulled out of the siding, backed up to the train, tied on and got the air pumped up. We did the terminal air test and were all set to go. All this time I assumed that the diesel was still on the rear to help us out, because there was a short but very steep grade to get out of "The hole" and up to the main line. When Ken Griffin, the CSX Trainmaster, said we were all set to go, I asked him if the crew on the diesel was ready to shove. He said, "What crew? There ain't nobody back there. That crew went home around 4am."

So...here we were with a "cold" engine, arch bricks cold, superheaters cold and a thin fire because Kim had just cleaned it. But the 765 was going to have to go all out to get this train out of the hole and up this "ramp" to the main line! Complicating things was the fact that we had a 29 car train behind the 765! I called Kim over to my side of the cab and told him what we were going to have to do. He said, "Give me about 5 minutes to get the fire in shape for this." He proceeded to take the shovel and build a good heel of coal in the back corners of the firebox. He then ran the stoker for a few moments to put another layer of coal on the fire bed, to thicken the entire fire just a bit. In five minutes the pops were sizzling and he gave me the high sign that he was ready to go.

We were literally 4 car lengths from where this grade started. There was no chance at all to run for the hill. I dropped the Alco Power Reverse down in the forward corner, opened the cylinder cocks, turned the sanders on full, released the brakes and carefully opened the throttle. We had moved only a couple feet when we got the word from the rear that we were "All movin!'" That meant that all the slack was stretched and I could open the throttle a bit more without yanking the train in two. By the time we had moved one full engine length and I had the 765's throttle wide open! The sound was deafening! Each exhaust was like a cannon shot going off! The 765 leaned into the grade without so much as a quarter slip, accelerating as best she could with a 29 car train behind her. We got up to about 6 or 7 mph, but with each turn of the drivers we pulled more of the train onto the grade. Slowly but surely the speed dropped until we reached a point where there was more than a second between each exhaust! The column of smoke from the stack was blasting over a hundred feet into the air. We were going so slowly that I could actually feel engine gently lunge forward as the steam admission port opened on each stroke!

Operating this slowly, with maximum throttle and cutoff, full boiler pressure was being used in the cylinders. I had the throttle wide open, the sanders on and the reverse down in the corner...I couldn't do any more than that. In a situation like this, it's actually in the fireman's hands as to whether you make it or not. If Kim let the steam drop back just a couple of pounds, we would stall. But he's one of the best fireman I've ever seen, and it looked like he had the steam gauge welded on 245!

Wham......wham.......wham......that sharp, Baker-timed cannon-shot exhaust kept blasting to the beat of a very slow drummer. Ever so slowly we dragged that big 29 car train up and out of the hole. All the while I was ready with both hands on the throttle in case we slipped, because if we so much as quarter slipped, we would have stalled. But the 765 hung in there and never slipped once! We made it, but this was the hardest pull I've ever seen with the 765. They made 'em good in Lima.

When we got to the switch to the main line, the CSX conductor was standing on the ground at the switch stand. His eyes were the size of pie plates and you could have put a football in his mouth! No diesel had ever put on this kind of show!

After getting the train up on to the main line, we had to back up about 2 miles to the boarding site at Quaker Square in Akron. When we spotted the train for boarding, I got down from the cab to say hello to my friend Terry Ludban. Terry was the local CSX Operation Lifesaver representative and we had worked on many Operations Lifesaver videos together. As we shook hands, Terry said, "You guys had to yank that train up out of the hole, didn't you?" I replied, "Yeah! how did you know that?" Terry said, "We could hear you!"

Believe it or not, the CSX conductor manning the switch at the top of the hill was the only person to see this show. There was no one else there! No railfans, no still pictures, no videos - nothing but this wonderful memory, plus the pictures and sounds in my mind.

The Frisco Chickasha subdivision between Oklahoma City and Quanah, TX was 183 miles of "interesting" railroad.  The last Oklahoma town before one crossed the Red river into Texas was the small farm town of Eldorado, OK...a town were my family briefly lived. After having lived there myself, and after having listened to the countless stories my father told of what typically went on in that town, I can truthfully say that it was a never-ending-three-ring-circus of a town during the 1940's, 50's, and 60's. 
In the years circa WWII Eldorado had a Frisco depot usually staffed by an old reprobate agent known as Mr. Doggett.  Mr Doggett was that type of person who was "no nonsense", and could not suffer fools in any capacity.  Too bad he landed in Eldorado.  In this same small town there was a particular group of three guys that typically loafed around town all morning and whose sole purpose seemed to be teasing people and stirring up trouble.  In their daily observations they took notice that Mr Doggett had a rigid routine which he followed every time he was on duty in Eldorado, so they hatched a plan equal to their mentality.  All three were waiting at the front door of the depot just before it was time to open.  As our aforementioned station agent approached they beamed at him and said, "Howdy Mr. Doggett!!"  Mr Doggett's reply was non-existant as he stepped into the depot.  It seemed best to ignore them.  While Mr Doggett was opening up the depot the three travelled to the front of the post office.  As Mr Doggett approached the next stop of his routine the three men beamed and said, "Howdy Mr Doggett!!".  By now, Mr Doggett was starting to mutter ugly things under his breath as he stomped past them.  While Mr Doggett was taking care of the mail the three made their way to the front of the local bank.  As Mr Doggett soon arrived to do his banking the three men beamed and said, "Howdy Mr Doggett!!".  At this point one could hear louder murmerings of phrases that included "crazy sons of@#)(>>..!" through gritted teeth.  Before going back to the depot Mr Doggett's last stop was always Josh Carter's Cafe where he would partake in a cup of coffee  (which is another story),  and the three had already made their way there.   As Mr Doggett walked up to the entrance of the cafe the three men beamed and said, "Howdy Mr Doggett !!"          That is when "the dam broke".  Mr Doggett briefly huffed and puffed, looked at the three of them sternly, and shouted, "HOWDY  HOWDY  HOWDY,  BY GAWD, HOWDY". 
That was the treasure the three men were seeking, so they went on to their next project and Mr Doggett went inside to receive the next excerpt of his continuing story.

Several of us were sitting around shooting the bull when my engineer, named Pete, started telling a story about how he had once been a test pilot for the Air Force. We all listened intently as he told about one particular flight and each maneuver he was asked to perform. The airplane performed as expected and there were no problems. That is, until he was asked to put the plane in a steep dive. As the altimeter began to unwind, the speed kept increasing. The more the speed increased, Pete said the harder is was to control the plane. The altimeter was unwinding faster and faster, 20,000...15,000...10,000 feet. the altimeter was spinning backward faster than he could count. Pete tried and tried to pull out of the dive. 9,000...7,000...5,000 ft. and nothing was working. The controls were locked! 4,000...3,000...2,000...1,000 feet. and Pete went silent. The silence went on for a few seconds, so, I finally piped up..."Pete! What happened?" Pete simply replied..."They threw a Red Board in my face!"

Rich Melvin posted:

In September of 1993 we ran a number of trips with NKP 765 on CSX...

And that was back when she was pretty worn out, before the major overhaul! 

Big Jim posted:

Several of us were sitting around shooting the bull when my engineer, named Pete, started telling a story about how he had once been a test pilot for the Air Force. We all listened intently as he told about one particular flight and each maneuver he was asked to perform. The airplane performed as expected and there were no problems. That is, until he was asked to put the plane in a steep dive. As the altimeter began to unwind, the speed kept increasing. The more the speed increased, Pete said the harder is was to control the plane. The altimeter was unwinding faster and faster, 20,000...15,000...10,000 feet. the altimeter was spinning backward faster than he could count. Pete tried and tried to pull out of the dive. 9,000...7,000...5,000 ft. and nothing was working. The controls were locked! 4,000...3,000...2,000...1,000 feet. and Pete went silent. The silence went on for a few seconds, so, I finally piped up..."Pete! What happened?" Pete simply replied..."They threw a Red Board in my face!"

"It's a good thing that lady walked out of the grocery store and unplugged the ride before you crashed."

That is the response Pete might have received in my neighborhood. 

Great story.  Thank you, Big Jim.  This is fun stuff.

Rob Leese posted:

. . . As we approached the grade I decided to go out on the front platform of the caboose and watch the train from there.  It was a pleasant evening and the temperature was just right.  It was one of the best working views of a train I ever had.  And I was getting paid. !
Fast forward to today, I realize I might have been getting a good blast of asbestos while going down that hill (remember the days before mandated dynamic braking when a hogger just might put it in run 8 and straight air the pi** out of it most of the way...hehe), but it was still a most memorable ride for a brief opportunity that did not present itself very often.

I know my stories are sorta' lame, but I tell them just to get the career guys "off high center" and tell us a really good one. 

Not lame by any standard!  Not every railroad story has to have a dramatic incident or a funny mishap.  Some of the best stories are short reminiscences of a time when a fellow just "takes it all in," while doing his daily work.  And it's always a pleasure when a story helps us recall the days when skill was important, complainers were looked down upon, and those larger-than-life characters were just part of daily life at work.

Rob Leese posted:

...Fast forward to today, I realize I might have been getting a good blast of asbestos while going down that hill...

Where do you believe the asbestos was coming from? Are you referring to the "old wives tail" about the composition brake shoes being made out of asbestos?

Hot Water posted:

Rob Leese posted:

...Fast forward to today, I realize I might have been getting a good blast of asbestos while going down that hill...

Where do you believe the asbestos was coming from? Are you referring to the "old wives tail" about the composition brake shoes being made out of asbestos?

Color me "guilty" of accepting the idea that railroad brake shoes may contain asbestos.  I will have to admit I have not researched the composition of brake shoe material.   One facet of brake shoes that I did learn while protecting the rear end was the unique smell they produce while working.  That is one of those "things" you can smell in your memory, if that makes sense, and it is a good memory for me.

As we have previously learned about our Frisco station agent Mr. Doggett, he was quite set in his ways to a point where it was easy for other people to observe.  When he walked into Josh Carter's cafe he would routinely slap a nickel down firmly on the lunch counter and growl one word, "coffee!".  When someone set the coffee before him he would snatch it up, take a healthy drink, slam it back down on the counter and scowl, "dad %$#@&, it's cold again...". This scene repeated itself most every day he walked in.  And much like Mr Doggett himself, Josh Carter had his tipping point as well, so he invented a cure for Mr Doggett's ill behavior. Minutes before it was time for Mr Doggett to come in for his harsh critique of Josh's coffee, a measure of Arbuckle was dispensed from the urn into a sauce pan and set on the stove to boil. Then a crock mug was taken from the shelf and placed into the oven to be heated up to a hellish temperature. A moment before Mr Doggett was due to walk in, Josh poured that boiling coffee into that hot-as-Hades mug, and inconspicuously using a dish towel to carry it, picked up his nickel and placed the mug in front of Mr Doggett.  As expected, Mr Doggett snatched it up and took a big slug quickly before he could actually feel it in his hand.  When the hot sensation did reach his senses he flung the mug down the counter, spewed boiling coffee all over himself, and yelled cursing, "**sputter**, Josh you son of a &%#!@, **sputter** are you trying to kill me !?!?!".  With a sideways glance, a slight grin and eyebrows raised, Josh asked with false concern, "is it hot enough for you, Mr Doggett?"
You may think these tales are a bit tall, but they did actually happened in that small Oklahoma town that truly does challenge belief.  Dad sold his nearby farm land to a cousin in 1964, changed careers,  and got us out of there before my older sisters had a chance to grow up and marry into that menagerie.  It's a twist of fate that I would wind up working for that same railroad and running trains through that same quirky town years later.  By that time the depot had been closed, and my great uncle John A. Richardson bought the building and had it moved to his farm to be used as a storage building.  As of 2019, the structure is completely gone. But not the hilarious memories.

OK; don’t know about “good” but; here is another story anyhow.

About 25 years ago I was traveling with my CSX account manager Jimmy Clark and a couple other Houston area customers  - principally to attend a chemical shipper meeting and fishing trip at the CSX lodge near Palatka, FL - south of Jacksonville.  

Since we were going to be in the area; Jim had arranged a tour of CSX’s dispatch center in Jacksonville.  Now; the actual room in which the dispatchers were located was round and set up in tiers, sort of like a wedding cake.  Projected on the outside wall were each of the territories the dispatchers handled with a ground level walkway separating the projection from each dispatcher desk located on the second tier one or two steps up.

As the manager who was conducting the tour was speaking to us; the group was kind of clustered to one side to hear what he was saying while Jim stood to the other side close to the outside wall on which the territory was projected.  

While listening to the manager; I glanced behind me and noticed one of the dispatchers stretching his body in order to see the projection of his territory.

Now Jimmy wasn’t a small guy - you might even say he “hadn’t missed many meals”.  Anyhow; the dispatcher finally gave up trying to contort his body and said to Jim - “hey fellow; could you move aside please; you’re blocking half the state of Tennessee”.

We all burst out laughing, especially Jim who had a very self deprecating sense of humor.

Curt

Parents grew up in and around Schulenburg TX, a small town 100 miles west of Houston. So I got to see some real interesting events.  So I can believe the coffee event.

Rob Leese's stories about Mr. Doggett, the cranky station agent at Eldorado, Oklahoma and his sudden reversal of direction upon his having been served a cup of hot coffee, made me think of the Union Pacific Agent at Baxter, Wyoming, about whom I posted a story of a similar 180 turnaround, some time ago.  Normally, I do not re-post anything, but, because of the similarity to Mr. Doggett, here's the UPRR story:

"My friend John, here in Amarillo, grew up in Green River, Wyoming in the 1940's and '50's. He told me this story.

Around 1950, he was in his early teens, and was down at the Green River depot watching the trains come and go.  A well-dressed man on the depot platform asked John if he often watched trains,and he replied that he did.  They continued to converse and the man handed him a business card identifying him as Arthur E. Stoddard, President and CEO, Union Pacific Railroad.  John remarked that it must be nice to always see everything on the railroad at its best, and that's when Mr. Stoddard told him this story.

Some small agencies on the main line near Rock Springs did quite a lot of business with coal mines and sold passenger tickets, even though they were in small towns.  Mr. Stoddard was alone, traveling by automobile to visit a family member in the area, and decided to stop in at Baxter on a cold Wyoming winter morning.  He entered the Ticket Office and Waiting Room, and it was uncomfortably cold.  He noticed that the coal stove was also cold.  The agent was in the telegraph office, and took his time appearing at the ticket window.  'It's cold in this room,' Mr. Stoddard said.  'Would you be kind enough to put a fire in the stove?'

'I don't have any time for that,' replied the Agent, obviously irritated.  'I'm too busy sending wires,' and he went back to the telegraph desk.  Mr. Stoddard began to write on a Western Union telegram form, and called to the Agent, 'I have a wire to send.'

When the Agent reappeared at the window, he took the Western Union form which was addressed to SUPERINTENDENT, UPRR, GREEN RIVER, and read:

MAKE IMMEDIATE ARRANGEMENTS TO REPLACE AGENT BAXTER AND CONVENE FORMAL INVESTIGATION FOR FAILURE TO PERFORM REQUIRED DUTIES.  FULL DETAILS LATER.  A E STODDARD 

'I don't have time to send that wire,' stated the Agent. 'Why not?' inquired Mr. Stoddard. 'I'm too busy building fires,' replied the Agent, as he headed into the freight room to get the coal bucket."

Tom:

If I could give two “likes” for that one I would.  I laughed out loud - literally!

Curt

Rich Melvin posted:

In September of 1993 we ran a number of trips with NKP 765 on CSX. They included a trip on the former B&O out of Akron, Ohio to Pittsburgh. The place where we stored the train in Akron was a spot called "The hole" by the CSX crews. Situated about 50 feet below the main line, which is up on a high fill in this location, it's nothing more than a very small yard with a wye at the east end. On the Saturday trip, after the passengers had gotten off the train, we backed the train down the steep grade into the hole, where a CSX diesel tied onto the rear. We cut away and they dragged the train back far enough so we could turn the 765 on the wye and duck into a siding for the night. The diesel then shoved the train forward and the CSX yard crew used it to spot the train for watering the air conditioners from a fire hydrant near the wye. This is typically a very slow process and it was approaching midnight, so we headed off to the motel for a nights rest.

When we showed up around 6:30am the next morning, the first car of the train was spotted right near the fire hydrant in a perfect spot for us to couple on and pump up the air. I was running the eastbound trip this morning and Kim Besecker was firing. We pulled out of the siding, backed up to the train, tied on and got the air pumped up. We did the terminal air test and were all set to go. All this time I assumed that the diesel was still on the rear to help us out, because there was a short but very steep grade to get out of "The hole" and up to the main line. When Ken Griffin, the CSX Trainmaster, said we were all set to go, I asked him if the crew on the diesel was ready to shove. He said, "What crew? There ain't nobody back there. That crew went home around 4am."

So...here we were with a "cold" engine, arch bricks cold, superheaters cold and a thin fire because Kim had just cleaned it. But the 765 was going to have to go all out to get this train out of the hole and up this "ramp" to the main line! Complicating things was the fact that we had a 29 car train behind the 765! I called Kim over to my side of the cab and told him what we were going to have to do. He said, "Give me about 5 minutes to get the fire in shape for this." He proceeded to take the shovel and build a good heel of coal in the back corners of the firebox. He then ran the stoker for a few moments to put another layer of coal on the fire bed, to thicken the entire fire just a bit. In five minutes the pops were sizzling and he gave me the high sign that he was ready to go.

We were literally 4 car lengths from where this grade started. There was no chance at all to run for the hill. I dropped the Alco Power Reverse down in the forward corner, opened the cylinder cocks, turned the sanders on full, released the brakes and carefully opened the throttle. We had moved only a couple feet when we got the word from the rear that we were "All movin!'" That meant that all the slack was stretched and I could open the throttle a bit more without yanking the train in two. By the time we had moved one full engine length and I had the 765's throttle wide open! The sound was deafening! Each exhaust was like a cannon shot going off! The 765 leaned into the grade without so much as a quarter slip, accelerating as best she could with a 29 car train behind her. We got up to about 6 or 7 mph, but with each turn of the drivers we pulled more of the train onto the grade. Slowly but surely the speed dropped until we reached a point where there was more than a second between each exhaust! The column of smoke from the stack was blasting over a hundred feet into the air. We were going so slowly that I could actually feel engine gently lunge forward as the steam admission port opened on each stroke!

Operating this slowly, with maximum throttle and cutoff, full boiler pressure was being used in the cylinders. I had the throttle wide open, the sanders on and the reverse down in the corner...I couldn't do any more than that. In a situation like this, it's actually in the fireman's hands as to whether you make it or not. If Kim let the steam drop back just a couple of pounds, we would stall. But he's one of the best fireman I've ever seen, and it looked like he had the steam gauge welded on 245!

Wham......wham.......wham......that sharp, Baker-timed cannon-shot exhaust kept blasting to the beat of a very slow drummer. Ever so slowly we dragged that big 29 car train up and out of the hole. All the while I was ready with both hands on the throttle in case we slipped, because if we so much as quarter slipped, we would have stalled. But the 765 hung in there and never slipped once! We made it, but this was the hardest pull I've ever seen with the 765. They made 'em good in Lima.

When we got to the switch to the main line, the CSX conductor was standing on the ground at the switch stand. His eyes were the size of pie plates and you could have put a football in his mouth! No diesel had ever put on this kind of show!

After getting the train up on to the main line, we had to back up about 2 miles to the boarding site at Quaker Square in Akron. When we spotted the train for boarding, I got down from the cab to say hello to my friend Terry Ludban. Terry was the local CSX Operation Lifesaver representative and we had worked on many Operations Lifesaver videos together. As we shook hands, Terry said, "You guys had to yank that train up out of the hole, didn't you?" I replied, "Yeah! how did you know that?" Terry said, "We could hear you!"

Believe it or not, the CSX conductor manning the switch at the top of the hill was the only person to see this show. There was no one else there! No railfans, no still pictures, no videos - nothing but this wonderful memory, plus the pictures and sounds in my mind.

Another reason lima locomotives where great pullers.But your right about railfan.I would have loved to have seen that.

I have a story.It started with me going to see my cusin in charlotte n.c.He lived close to the CSX freight yard.There is a small store not far from the crossing.I stopped to get a soda.There was a CSX freight train just sitting there.I got out of my car and walked over to gt a better look.The crew invited me to come aboard.I went aboard when the door shut.You could not hear any thing from the out side.The crew and I have a good talk.The lead locomotive turn out to be one of the very first CW GE DASH 9 locomotive.I had a good time and will always remember that.

You want self-deprecating? 

Still on probation barely two months with a new railroad. Working a local that served several industries 10 miles outside the yard. The crew had a habit of "parking" a new conductor at a switch and leaving them there for the occasional move. This gave them a chance to feel out the new guy. This switch came just past an industrial crossing protected by flashers and gates.

Other traffic is going by while they were working the sidings. I'm killing time.

Did you know if you stand just right it is possible to get whacked on the head by a crossing gate arm coming down? Hurt like ****. First thing I did was the "anybody see me" look around. I thought I was safe until I glanced into the car waiting at the crossing. I think the guy peed himself he was laughing so hard.

A not so elegant moment on the railroad. Still thankful the crew missed the scene.

Paul

When I was a little kid, 4 years old (about 1955), my aunt and uncle lived in Steubenville Ohio in a three story apartment , theirs was on the second floor.  In the back, all three apartments had screened in porches with shared stairs to the back yard. At the end of the back yard was a small stone wall about 3 feet high.  Beyond the wall was the PRR mainline.  During a visit, I heard a train whistle and shot out the back door and ran to the wall.  My dad caught up to me and made sure I stayed at the wall.  The whistle and exhaust kept getting closer.  Finally an enormous Steam locomotive passed with all the noise, steam, and smoke that giant could make.  And the smell! The engineer waved at me and gave a blast of the whistle.  What a sight!  

Larry

Rich Melvin, and that is why steam locomotives captured one’s imagination, that is until diesels and the space race. However, stories like “The Hole” and “The Ruling Grade, The Hill” bring it all back.

Larry

LLKJR posted:

Rich Melvin, and that is why steam locomotives captured one’s imagination, that is until diesels and the space race. However, stories like “The Hole” and “The Ruling Grade, The Hill” bring it all back.

Larry

Thanks, Larry. There will be a book with more stories, published sometime next year.

Rich Melvin posted:

We were literally 4 car lengths from where this grade started. There was no chance at all to run for the hill. I dropped the Alco Power Reverse down in the forward corner, opened the cylinder cocks, turned the sanders on full, released the brakes and carefully opened the throttle. We had moved only a couple feet when we got the word from the rear that we were "All movin!'" That meant that all the slack was stretched and I could open the throttle a bit more without yanking the train in two. By the time we had moved one full engine length and I had the 765's throttle wide open! The sound was deafening! Each exhaust was like a cannon shot going off! The 765 leaned into the grade without so much as a quarter slip, accelerating as best she could with a 29 car train behind her. We got up to about 6 or 7 mph, but with each turn of the drivers we pulled more of the train onto the grade. Slowly but surely the speed dropped until we reached a point where there was more than a second between each exhaust! . . . 

Operating this slowly, with maximum throttle and cutoff, full boiler pressure was being used in the cylinders. I had the throttle wide open, the sanders on and the reverse down in the corner...I couldn't do any more than that. In a situation like this, it's actually in the fireman's hands as to whether you make it or not. If Kim let the steam drop back just a couple of pounds, we would stall. But he's one of the best fireman I've ever seen, and it looked like he had the steam gauge welded on 245!

Wham......wham.......wham......that sharp, Baker-timed cannon-shot exhaust kept blasting to the beat of a very slow drummer. Ever so slowly we dragged that big 29 car train up and out of the hole. All the while I was ready with both hands on the throttle in case we slipped, because if we so much as quarter slipped, we would have stalled. But the 765 hung in there and never slipped once! We made it, but this was the hardest pull I've ever seen with the 765. They made 'em good in Lima.

No argument about the quality of Lima steam locomotives.  No matter how good the engine is, though, it's still the apex of manually-operated machinery.  It is the engine crew that makes the difference in the most difficult situations.

My hat is off, to you and to Kim Besecker.

Thank you for all the contributions to date. 

Since none of us can "swing up" anymore like we used to, this type of sharing fills a void. 

Former AT&SF conductor Clyde Stickley posted a photo with captioning on social media  that "says it all".

Number 90 posted:

No argument about the quality of Lima steam locomotives.  No matter how good the engine is, though, it's still the apex of manually-operated machinery.  It is the engine crew that makes the difference in the most difficult situations.

My hat is off, to you and to Kim Besecker.

Thanks, Tom. Coming from you, that's quite a compliment.

Rich Melvin posted:

LLKJR posted:

Rich Melvin, and that is why steam locomotives captured one’s imagination, that is until diesels and the space race. However, stories like “The Hole” and “The Ruling Grade, The Hill” bring it all back.

Larry

Thanks, Larry. There will be a book with more stories, published sometime next year.

Rich,

Do you have a title or working title for the book?  I’m sure it will be a page turner.

Larry

It's a little early for the final title, Larry. I'm still working on that.

It will be a 150+ page "coffee table" book with some reprints of articles on the NKP Berks, plus several chapters containing stories from yours truly and a LOT of previously unpublished photos.

Rich Melvin posted:

It's a little early for the final title, Larry. I'm still working on that.

It will be a 150+ page "coffee table" book with some reprints of articles on the NKP Berks, plus several chapters containing stories from yours truly and a LOT of previously unpublished photos.

Do I put it on my Father's Day list, Birthday list (October) or Christmas list?

I look forward to it being published!  Congrats!

-Greg

If I can get it finished, I think Father's Day 2020 would be about right.

Rich Melvin posted:

If I can get it finished, I think Father's Day 2020 would be about right.

👍👍

I was stationed at Aberdeen Proving Ground in 1998 as a newly minted 2LT in Army Ordnance. I had two run-ins having to do with the NE Corridor (one involving a M-1 rifle and a Conrail police officer when he didn't realize he was not on RR property and was instead on Army land that could have ended very badly for him, I'll have to write that down someday), but one was pretty funny and I had no hand in any of it. I'm sure everyone involved has long since retired, anyway.

As a ROTC cadet the previous year, I was there for 3 weeks doing what was supposed to be OJT as an unofficial officer, but my assigned Captain was never around so it was a three-week vacation after advanced camp. At that time, I bummed rides off the Maryland National Guard unit at Edgewood Arsenal, riding on their UH-1 "Huey" choppers a few times.

Fast forward another year and I came back, and they remembered me (especially that I kept quiet and out of their way, things aviation types love in passengers) so I got up with them again a few times. As a LT, though, I was told I couldn't take a camera with me as I had as a cadet. I soon found out why. One Friday night after training was done around 1600 or so, I grabbed some chow at the Burger King in the PX parking lot and head south to Edgewood.

What was supposed to be a overland flight for training (I never knew where we went, the flights always went almost due west, I think we'd land for a few minutes near Frederick, at a small commercial airport), instead involved in zipping up and down the NE Corridor, up to just before the massive bridge at Havre De Grace, then south before anything near Baltimore, and back. We'd gone over the line at least 1500 feet the year before (I need to find the photos I took) and Metroliners could be watched zipping up and down the line back then.

Somewhere along the route this time, I can't be sure of the exact location, the crew decided to get low. Then lower. Then LOWER. I could see the pilots yucking it up and trying to look back to see if myself and a Chemical Corps Captain with me were bugging out. Seeing the smile on my face (knowing they wouldn't intentionally crash the bird, but not yet realizing how stupid Army rotor heads can get, which I found out the hard way later in my short military career), they weren't happy that they weren't freaking us out, I guess. With their external landing lights on, and being very low to the ground adjacent to the tracks and hovering less than a man's height right alongside the tracks but apparently with rotors far enough from the wires, we sat there for a moment, with the cockpit and landing lights facing toward the tracks, which were oriented left-right in front of is at a right angle, as we were on the outside of a curve.

I then saw the glow of headlights coming from around the curve to our right - fast, as all trains go through there - and as I couldn't tell the crew to keep an eye for the oncoming train without a headset, I realized I didn't have time to tell them anyway. Suddenly, an southbound Amtrak train with a AEM-7 zipped by very close to us. I can still see the two men in the cab hitting the deck, from their split-second sight from the curve, of a helicopter which must have appeared to them to be right on the tracks, and then the sudden fluttering of the helicopter as apparently the wind of the train disturbed the airflow of us hovering so close to the ground. I clearly recall seeing stuff lying on the floor of the Huey flying to one side of the interior, then back again. Once they got the bird steady, they turned 90 degrees (with the tracks now to our left), 'crabbed' the chopper further to the right, into the field and away from the tracks, then set her down with the engine still running at almost full power. The crew chief almost knocked me over getting past me to the door, flinging it open, getting out and looking all around. I looked over at the CPT and his face was solid white. With the crew chief satisfied that we hadn't hit or damaged anything, we were off, back to Edgewood.

Normally, the crew would talk with you after a flight, asking how you liked it (or more likely, hoping to hear how much you were impressed by them). They didn't say a word and each had a real deer in headlights look about them. I just chuckled and went to my SUV, eager to meet up with some LTs from my class who were going to the movie theater in White Marsh (I think to see "Armageddon," if memory serves). Then, I 'd be heading back to the BOQ for some shuteye as I was going to go to Gettysburg the next day to hit the antique stores in that area.

They never had us passengers (PAX, in military terms) sign in, so nobody called me later asking to give a statement, just in case someone got in trouble. I decided to stay away from a short while, and my weekends got busier after that and I never got back there for another ride.

I never got to ride in a Huey again.

I grew up near the village of Convoy, Ohio, which is about five miles from the Ohio-Indiana state line.  Convoy was on the PRR Ft. Wayne Line, about an hour east of its namesake city.  There were two grain elevators and a lumberyard that had rail service.  My friend, Pat, was a railfan and model railroader.  Pat's father was the manager of one of the grain elevators.  During the summer months, I would ride my bike the mile into town and hang out with my friends.  Pat and I would often sit on the railing outside the Farm Store and watch trains pass.  We especially enjoyed watching the local switch the elevators, and occasionally, the lumberyard.

It was the summer of 1976, the first year of Conrail.  The Ft. Wayne Line tracks were in desperate need of maintenance.  We knew that help was on the way as loads of cross ties had been delivered to the former station, which was now just a maintenance shed.  We were watching a westbound freight pass through town at about 50 mph when we heard this God-Awful noise coming from an approaching freight car.  As the car passed we could see that the brakes had stuck on one of the wheels.  The wheel was glowing cherry red.  We went into panic mode.  Our first thought was to try and signal the conductor in the caboose.  As the caboose approached we stood at the crossing waving our arms and shouting "FIRE".  The conductor obviously saw us as he gave us a friendly wave as the caboose passed.  As we looked eastward down the tracks we could see smoke coming from between the rails.  We started to run down the tracks toward the smoke.  After a short distance another friend saw us and joined us on our mission.  We ran as far as we could and didn't seem to be getting any closer to the smoke.  Finally, after treking about a half mile we found a severely deteriorated cross tie fully engulfed in flames.  The fire had to be put out.  We weren't close to a phone to call the fire department.  We had no water supply handy so we did what any 14 year old boy would do...we pi...,um, "relieved ourselves" on the burning tie.  Between the three of us we got the fire knocked down.  Thank God, none of us had gone to the bathroom recently.  As we started to walk back toward town we again saw smoke.  We all just looked at each other when one of the other two said "Screw it.  They're going to replace them anyway."  Besides, we had no water left in our tanks.  Apparently, the train safely made it to Ft. Wayne, as there were no news reports of a derailment.

A few weeks later they started to replace the ties and grade the ballast.  We often wondered what the track gang thought when they came to the burned out carcass of that railroad tie.

Tom   

Rich Melvin posted:

LLKJR posted:

Rich Melvin, and that is why steam locomotives captured one’s imagination, that is until diesels and the space race. However, stories like “The Hole” and “The Ruling Grade, The Hill” bring it all back.

Larry

Thanks, Larry. There will be a book with more stories, published sometime next year.

I will pre-order one, if that was an option!

Tom, you might be interested in this book - Sam Johnson: The Experience and Observations of a Railroad Telegraph Operator (1878) - Clippinger.  The book is available in reprinted hardcover.

  Clippinger’s book details the work experiences of a railroad telegraph operator in the late 1860’s. It has chapters grouped into four “Epochs” corresponding to the four major towns/locales where Sam Johnson worked: Princeton, Indiana, Wasatch, Indiana, Newtown, Indiana, and Poverty Flat, California.

Based on my knowledge of railroads it appears the first epoch in Princeton was working for the Pennsylvania Railroad. The author gives the reader an excellent picture of the grueling hours and exhausting conditions a station agent/telegrapher faced working in a local train station in the late 1860’s. In Johnson’s case the work was made even more arduous because he contracted malaria shortly after he arrived at Princeton.

  It is obvious the author has changed the names of the towns but a little checking of Google maps reveals the following: 

  There is a town of Princeton, Indiana, however, the description of the towns on the rail line to the east and west of Princeton match the towns to the east and west of Pierceton, Indiana. The town of Wasatch, Indiana is a deliberate pseudonym; details in the book indicate it is west of Fort Wayne which would suggest it could be the town of Warsaw, Indiana. As a guess I think the author may have chosen a pseudonym for Pierceton because of his having contracted malaria there and the name Wasatch because of his very poor opinion of the place.

There is no town of Conroy, Ohio but there is a town of Convoy which matches the book description of its location and there is a Poverty Flat, California however, it is south of Sacramento and not in the eastern foothills. I would guess that the Poverty Flat of Clippingers book is now known by some other name just like the 1860’s town of Hangtown, California is now known as Placerville.

Interesting.  I'll look for a copy.  Thanks for the tip.

In the early 1970s, the Union Pacific's General Traffic Agent in Cincinnati was Farrell Beggs.  Sharp dresser, his suits did not come off the rack.  The railroads furnished off line agents with a list of missing cars.  Those cars were either owned by the railroad, leased by the railroad or had a customer's freight on board.  By nature of the market, the Union Pacific hauled a lot of PFE/UPFE/SPFE refrigerated cars with plug doors.  Farrell was driving on the east side of Cincinnati area, possibly between Norwood and Madera, when he spotted a lone 'PFE' car on a siding normally used by coal hoppers.  The car was on the 'missing' list. He stopped, ascertained the refrigeration unit was not running and the seals were in tact.  He proceeded to the nearest grocery store and borrowed a few milk cases which would allow him to get high enough to break the seals and rotate the handle to open the plug door.  Unbeknown to Farrell, the car had been loaded three months before with 90,000 pounds of cabbage.  Now stop for a moment and imagine what 45 tons of cabbage would look like after three months of Summer.  As soon as the plug door popped out, gallons and gallons of liquid poured out, ruining a very nice suit. 

John in Lansing, ILL

John,

I nearly lost my supper reading that!

John, what a story!!! ROFL

Dan Weinhold

rattler21 posted:

...As soon as the plug door popped out, gallons and gallons of liquid poured out, ruining a very nice suit.

In addition to ruining a nice suit, can you imagine what it must have smelled like? Yikes!

Rich,  Farrell did not have a company car.  He was on mileage for using his family sedan so he had to drive it home.  John 

So in addition to cleaning (or perhaps replacing?)  his suit, he had to clean his car, too!

Great story.

John, That reminds me of the night  I was working at Buckeye yard in Hilliard, Ohio.  Conrail had just become Norfolk Southern and our respective computers were not talking to one another from the NS side to the Conrail side. I was inspecting cars in the receiving yard on third trick. I noticed a foul smell much worse than the normal foul smells in a rail yard. As I approached a reefer car the smell was getting much much worse. I noticed a trail of an oily substance in the ballast that ended under the plug door track. I shined my lantern on the door and noticed it was shimmering. I though that maybe something was leaking so I looked a little harder at the door. Much to my surprise the plug door and a few feet on either side of the door was covered in maggots! The shimmering was hundreds of thousands of the squirmy worms. I called the car number in to the yardmaster and found that that car had been missing for several weeks. The fuel tank was empty and the car had a load of meat. The car was directly across from the engine house fuel pad and those guys were throwing a hobo fit about the stench. The yardmaster spotted the car on the shop lead and eventually the haz mat company they use came out and removed the rotted meat and steam cleaned the inside of the reefer. After that any refrigerator car that came into the yard had to have at least 200 gallons of diesel in the tanks, if not, they were switched out and spotted on the caboose tracks for fuel.  Doug

Doug, I was in Enola and Conway around that same time and had similar experiences.  Not to the extent of maggots on the cars (!), but we definitely had reefers run out of fuel after “disappearing” for a while.  Interesting times...

I guess I’ll throw a story in, since I (probably) can’t get in trouble for it now lol.  I was working the NS Conway yard not long after the Conrail split, probably spring of 2000.  I was a student on a hump job on 4 Hump (eastbound), “pulling pins”.  The hump operator in his booth had a list of the cars being sent over the hump, and would line the switches according to where the cars went.  He would then announce the “cuts” on a loudspeaker.  Instead of reading off numbers, he’d say for example “cut three, then two, then four” and so on.  

On this particular cut, he announced “cut four, then one”.  Coming over the hump were a boxcar, then four MOW camp cars (which shouldn’t have been humped in the first place, but they were).  Following his instructions, I watched the boxcar and three camp cars go by, then lifted the cut lever on the fourth camp car.  I immediately realized I’d made a big mistake- the power cables between the cars were still connected.  I won’t repeat what I said.  I began frantically shaking the cut lever up and down, trying to drop the pin which wouldn’t have stayed up if I’d wanted it to, and radioed the engineer to stop the move.  The pin didn’t drop but my stomach did.  I watched helplessly as the cars separated, and in what seemed like slow motion, the power cables pulled out of the boxes at the ends of the cars as the cut rolled slowly down the hump.  A telephone wire dragged along behind as they disappeared from my view.  

Needless to say I was sick.  My conductor was laughing his *** off, and assured me it would be fine.  We got on the last camp car, rode the shove over the hump, and coupled the cars back together.  He threw the cables back up on the deck and said “it’ll be fine!  These cars will probably get sent over to the westbound hump and classified again before they even go anywhere!”  Still, I didn’t sleep much that night...  I was sure I was getting fired.  Thankfully I never heard another thing about it but I can see those cables pulling apart in my mind to this day!

Here is another story.When I went to school.The school was real close to the Seaboard Air Line rr.By this time it was the Seaboard Coast Line.All one had to do is look out the window to see a fast freight go by.Some time I would see 6 to 7 gp7 or 9 pulling a long train.Man the railroad names that I saw.I recall seeing penn,cnw,up, wp santa fe ,great northern.mkt kcs.Another thing is that the boxcars still had their roof walk ways.Some were even wooden boxcars with outside steel bracing.Of course this got me into trouble with the teachers.I was just a kid who liked trains.I meant no disrespect toward them.I recall one parent teacher meeting.My teacher told my mother how I acted when a train was going by.She said I could tell he was really tried to keep his mind on his work this time.I just could not bring myself to get on him this time.Because he tried and did not even look out the window.Later my mother had a smile on her face.She told me she knew how hard it was for me.As we waited for a train at the railroad crossing.Its a big time surprise we learned any thing there.Because on the other side of the tracks was a rock quarry down the road was the airport.A huge charlotte pipe company.And the airforce fighter jets would some times make a sonic boom!

The Kroger Company is a retail grocery company based in Cincinnati. In addition to calling on division traffic managers, railroad agents paid what amounted to courtesy calls on general office traffic people.  Sometimes the railroad agent would be with a man from their general office.  On one occasion I met Harry Bervort(sp?) from the Union Pacific in Omaha.  If he had a title on his business card, I do not remember it but I do not think his title was shown.  Several months later I made an appointment to call on him in Omaha and he was kind enough to walk me through several of the floors of their building - ten foot high doors with the UP shield on the faces of the brass hinges.  The control room had three very tall wall boards with lines on them and lights in segments, very much like some model railroads have on their control panel.  If I remember correctly, on that day there was less than 50 miles of track on Slow Orders. Truly a first class operation. I thanked Mr. Bervort for his time and left for Cincinnati. 

A Kroger tradition is to have low priced oranges For Sale the week before Christmas.  To be in the stores a week before Christmas, the oranges had to be received by rail at least by the 16th.  In 1973, oranges were ordered and shipped in PFE reefers from California to various distribution centers north of and east of St. Louis.  Obviously, these would roll through Bailey Yard.  Some where along the way, two PFE cars were on the same eastbound train to Bailey Yard - ab67cd and ab76cd.  One was a load of oranges for The Kroger Co in Grand Rapids and the other was a load of grapes for a consignee east of Harrisburg.  Bailey Yard would batch cars for movement beyond Chicago.  Generally the trains ran UP-Fremont-CNW-Chicago- and then batches of cars were handed to the eastern railroads.  When Kroger at Grand Rapids opened the door of what should have been a load of oranges they found a load of grapes which they neither ordered nor needed.  With the help of a few people at the UP and the PRR, the other car was found in Enola Yard.  There was no way to get that car to Grand Rapids in time for distribution over the dock and truck the oranges to various stores to make the sale date.  I placed a call to Mr. Bervort, left a message and he returned my call within two hours.  I explained the situation and all he said was something to the effect that he didn't know a thing about moving oranges by truck and if I could solve the problem, he would appreciate it and to send the bill for all the charges to his attention.  I called the Cincinnati PRR agent who placed an order for the car of oranges to be placed on a team track at Enola.  I called a truck line who had insulated trailers and explained the situation to them.  The truck line sent three semis to Enola yard and the next day the oranges were delivered to Grand Rapids.

Anyone may make a mistake, any corporation can have problems.  One way to rate a company is to watch how they handle problems caused by their error.  In this case, the Union Pacific Railroad immediately took steps which led to a solution.  You cannot ask for anything better than that.  They were a first class operation in 1973 and I haven't seen anything in the last 46 years that would change my opinion.

John in Lansing, ILL

This actual event happened in 1981 on a chat train on the west end of our division of the Frisco (it was BN, inc. by that time, but you could not tell us that).  I do not recommend the behavior, but it gives insight as to how it used to be.  Or could be at times.
After working for one day with Road Foreman Wilson Jones and his track crew putting out ballast between Lawton and Snyder, OK we headed home with our empty open hoppers.  The engineer was going at track speed, 40 mph, when he put his head out the open cab window to watch the wheels on a right hand curve. That is when his newly prized possession, a Rolling Stones cap, blew off his head.  (You know, the cap with a logo of big lips and tongue out.)  His immediate reaction was to look at me and say, "I gotta have thay cap!".  So he makes a suppression application and the train quickly comes to a halt.  Then he radios the conductor in the caboose and simply makes the statement, "Dewey, I need to back up".  The only reply he gets is, "OK".  No explanation...no questions...no nothing. It was a remote area with no crossings, so we back up the entire train whatever distance it was until his cap comes into view, and I drop off to fetch it. 
At the time, I found it curious that this type of running could occur, but I was a new hire and all I did was keep my mouth shut and do what I was told.  Over the years I lost track of the engineer, but Dewey went on to promote to engine service and kept on working into his early 70's. He always kept a set of dominoes in his grip, and we played in the caboose on several occasions while waiting in the hole at a meet.  That is him on the right in 2018:

My Dad grew up in the 30’s in the town of Hampton, NJ - at a junction of the CRR of NJ & the DL&W. He was always exploring his surrounding countryside. So one day he has to watch his younger sister, so off they walk down the DL&W to the little village of Changewater, NJ. The Lackawanna had a pretty high bridge over the creek there, I think it’s the Musconetcong. Anyway they chance a crossing of the bridge & of course a train comes. Dad told his sister, Ruthie, to get down off the tracks & hold on to a bridge support like he was. Well I guess the steam engine scared her & she lost her grip & fell 30 feet or so to the creek below.  Providentially, she landed in a gravel bed and was basically unhurt ! My Dad has passed ,but my Aunt Ruthie is still alive & blames him for her need for a hip replacement today !

We had a Communications Technician on the Santa Fe, at Brownwood, Texas, and part of his assignment was to inspect each radio tower and its transmission equipment, at prescribed intervals.  The radio equipment was in a metal bungalow supported off the ground by short, concrete pylons, just like is seen at CTC control points, except that many of these are not on the railroad right of way.  Instead, they are located on hills and bluffs to give maximum transmission and reception distance.

One of these was up on a hill, in the cross timbers region, grassland peppered with oak and cedar trees.  At this location, there was a large diamondback rattlesnake who lived under the bungalow.  Jesse had seen him on numerous occasions.  The snake would coil and rattle, and Jesse would stop approaching.  After a minute or so, the snake would crawl away into the grass or back under the bungalow, and Jesse would go inside and take care of his business (always checking around the inside before entering, and the outside before leaving).  Rattlesnakes are part of life in west Texas, and you have to always be aware of your surroundings.  This snake was a big one, 5 or 6 feet, probably 35-40 lbs.  But Diamondbacks can be lived with.  They're cranky, but their best attribute is that they do not enjoy human company and will make an exit if they can . . . usually.

On one occasion, Jesse visited the bungalow and the snake gave his usual warning, but, this time, he refused to leave.  Jesse threw stones at him, and he did not budge.  Jesse went to his truck and thought about using his pistol to shoot the snake, but he had some admiration for the serpent, due to their long acquaintance.  Instead, he got a can of wasp spray (Comm Techs deal with lots of wasps) and shot a stream right into the snake's face.  The snake went wild, writhing all over the place.  Jesse retreated to his truck and decided to do this work on another day.

A few days later, he returned.  The snake was, as usual, outside the bungalow, and he coiled and rattled as usual, but his eyes had a cloudy film on them.  The snake slithered into the weeds and Jesse did his work.  After that, when a periodic inspection was made, the snake gave his usual "welcome", but his eyes were back to normal, and he never again stood his ground against Jesse.  And Jesse never again used wasp spray on a snake.

Tom, like "walk softly but carry a big stick" ........great story

There has been a recent thread about hood units with high short hoods, which brings to mind a period when we had a number of them on the Santa Fe.  Here's a little everyday railroading from that time, now over 40 years ago:

In the 1970's, N&W endured a months-long strike by its Mechanical Department employees.  As their locomotives were still subject to Federally-mandated scheduled inspections, they were in a real spot, trying to use supervisory forces to both maintain and inspect their fleet.  Santa Fe was short on power, and made a deal to take some N&W diesels, use them as trailing units, and perform required maintenance and inspection.  The actual units were rotated back to the N&W and we got all kinds of high hood second generation EMD units from GP30s through SD45s, and even a few GP9's.  Rarely was an N&W unit used in the controlling position, as they did not have ATSF radio channels, so, when this was (rarely) done, all that was available was the Head End Brakeman's handheld pack set radio.  It was extremely unusual to have an N&W unit leading in long hood forward configuration.

During those months, I made one long hood forward trip.  I was called as Engineer for a 3-unit helper at San Bernardino, shoving the rear end of a drag freight to Summit, and then running light to Victorville.  The Victorville wye was out of service that day, so we had to return by changing ends on the consist.  The controlling unit was now an N&W GP38 facing west (long hood forward).  TheN&W unit had dual controls, with 26-L air brake schedule, and it was a simple matter to cut in the controls on the side of the cab that would allow the Engineer to sit on the right side, no mater which end was leading.  

The DS had us double-head a drag freight which had lost power on one unit, from Victorville to San Bernardino.  We coupled on, made an air brake test, and off we went, up the east side of Cajon Pass, making pretty good speed for an old dog of a train like that one, as we had significantly increased the horsepower of the train.  It was hot, and, unlike today, there was no air conditioning in the solid black cab.  

In Run-8, going up the mountain, the force of the exhaust was enough to lift the smoke and vapor high enough to be blown away by the desert breeze.  However, going down the 25 mile grade on the west side of Cajon Pass at 15 and 20 MPH, in dynamic braking with the engine running at the equivalent of Run 3 and cooling off, the exhaust drifted back and was quite noticeable with the cab windows open.  The hot breeze from the dynamic brake resistors also came right back to warm up the cab a little more. But that was railroading then, and nobody complained about things like that.  We simply blocked the rear cab door open with the broom, and let everything flow through.

I made a couple of other trips with an N&W unit controlling in short hood forward position, but Santa Fe almost always used a home road unit on the point. Once, I had just three N&W SD45s on a train to Los Angeles, and then got the same consist back to San Bernardino.  They were not beauty queens, having not been bathed in a while, but they sure did run!  We found them to be very reliable and enjoyed having them.

This story happened about ten years ago. My boys were very young, probably two and four years old. We had just taken our first trip to Asheville, NC.

It was August, and even in the mountains, it was blazing hot. On our last day, my wife and I decided to take the kids and drive around the area a little to look around. I somehow got on a road that seemed like it was heading out of town. Grass and low-lying shrubs replaced buildings. Coming out of a sweeping right hand turn, I looked to my left and noticed we were now pacing a Norfolk Southern freight train, about a 100 feet way. We were going maybe 35 miles per hour, but the train was a bit slower.

As I looked up ahead, I noticed that the road curved to the left, and eventually crossed the tracks at a guarded grade crossing. I raced ahead a little and pulled the car off the road well behind the gates. The train continued to slowly approach the crossing, but eventually rolled to a stop maybe 300 feet away.

While the locomotives idled, I figured it would be a fun idea to get the kids out of the car so we could watch the train pass when it started up again and waive to the crew.

Now, I was well aware how real railroaders perceive foamers, and I did not want to appear as one. We were all sanding well behind the crossing gates, off the road, trying not to give any hint of foaminess (even though I was standing, foamer-like, outside my car with two young boys and my wife).

As we waited there in the glare of the hot August sun, I noticed that the front door of the lead diesel started to open. Out came a large man, maybe 6’2”, wearing blue jeans, dark leather jacket and dark sunglasses. He climbed down the engine steps and started striding purposely directly toward us!

He continued his methodical trudging along the right-of way, getting closer and closer. There was no hint of emotion on his bearded face, his eyes invisible. Was he going to chew me out for trespassing on railroad property? Chastise me for endangering my kids somehow? He got closer and closer. I started to panic, and was preparing to load everyone back into the car. But before I could make a move, there he was, standing directly in front of me!

He glared briefly at me from behind the sunglasses before he spoke. “It’s awful hot out here,” he observed, with no emotion, as he brought out four ice-cold bottles of water, and handed them to me and my family!

I was speechless. I mumbled something about what he did on the train, and he said he was the conductor. We thanked him profusely for his kind gesture, and he shook the kids’ hands. I asked him if the train would be moving, and he said yes, in a few minutes. We thanked him again. He nodded, turned and silently marched back towards his train.

A few minutes later, with the blast of the horn, the locomotives revved up and started heading toward us.  The gates came down, and the train growled past. The boys waived to the crew and were rewarded with waives back. The last car eventually slid past us silently, and the gates went up. It was quite again.

We all packed back into the car. Alice and I couldn’t stop talking about what had just happened—a true example of Southern Hospitality the likes of which we had never experienced before, and might not again.

We had an Engineer at San Bernardino, named Lloyd "Gabby" Stratton.  He had originally been a Gallup Engineer and had traded seniority from the Albuquerque Division to the Los Angeles Division around 1960.  At one time that was the only way, other than re-hiring at the bottom of the list, to change Divisions.  He hired out in 1940, and so was an experienced steam Engineer.

And he looked the part.  He always showed up at work, in a clean pair of ironed blue Oshkosh overalls and a pressed blue serge work shirt, with a clean white pleated Kromer cap.  He was further identified by his aluminum grip and and the cigar in his mouth.  If you had handed him a long-spout oil can, he'd have looked exactly like the steam man he was.

You can tell from my description, that Gabby was a no-nonsense railroad man.  There were never problems when he was running the engine.  He gave the rear end a good ride, stayed right on the speed limit, and was respected by everyone.  In the early 1970's, the railroad saw a coming need for Engineers.  However, most of the Firemen had been severed in 1964, by action of Arbitration Board Award 282.  Thus they began hiring Firemen so that we could get our required three years in road service and  be examined for promotion to Engineer.  Because they were hiring in rather large numbers, there were a few times that they could not be choosy.

One young fellow who had family on the railroad was hired.  He had a habit of talking and talking and talking.  He was called for a freight train to Los Angeles with Gabby, who soon tired of the ratchet-jawed Fireman.  Gabby reached down and depressed the Call button, which rang the alarm bells in all the units.  "Say, young man, I think you had better go check those trailing units.  Something must be wrong."  After the Fireman went out through the rear cab door, Gabby locked it behind him.  The Fireman walked through all the units, which were operating as intended.  He returned to the leading unit, but couldn't get the door open. Gabby got up and rattled the door handle from the inside, but the door remained locked.  He gave a "bad order" hand signal to the Fireman, who rode the rest of the way in the second unit, and Gabby enjoyed the relative quiet.

Another young Fireman, also with family on the railroad, caught a trip with Gabby.  This guy was never one to exert himself, but, because Gabby knew his family, he invited him to run the engine.  It was disastrous.  This guy had slept across the road whenever he could and he knew very little about how to handle a train.  They got to Los Angeles in one piece, but the Conductor and Rear Brakeman changed ends in their caboose a few times.  Shortly after that, I overheard Gabby telling another old-head Engineer about the trip and he concluded with, "He'll never run an engine for me again.  That boy is not even fit to run a power lawn mower."

I always enjoy thinking about Gabby Stratton and his dry humor.

@Number 90 posted:

... "Say, young man, I think you had better go check those trailing units.  Something must be wrong." ...

LOL! A man after my own heart. I would have enjoyed working a train with him.

Great story , Tom.

Wow. Terrifying. I've thought about that exact situation. 

It's cold and windy in the Texas Panhandle today, so it seems like a good time to tell a story.

In 1993, I was sent to Sweetwater, Texas as Assistant Superintendent, with primary responsibility for the lines lines from there to Temple; Brownwood to Fort Worth, and the trackage rights trains over the former Texas & Pacific line from Tecific to Fort Worth.  After several months, I was given more territory consisting of the former Slaton Division from Sweetwater to Clovis, and from Lubbock to Amarillo.

One of the Slaton Division Engineers holding a regular freight turn between Slaton and Sweetwater was F. E. Judie.  Among my duties was reviewing about 20 event recorder charts furnished to me weekly, and Mr. Judie consistently had almost no variation in speed on his trains, in spite of the fact that the railroad had mild undulation all the way.  This showed that he had exceptionally good knowledge of the road, anticipation of what the train would do at every location, and great skill in controlling the speed.

I had an opportunity to speak with the Brotherhood ofLocomotive Engineers Local Chairman at Slaton about another matter, and I mentioned my admiration of Frank Judie's work.  He did not hang around at the depot, and I had yet to see him face to face.  "Oh, Frank," the Local Chairman chuckled, "yeah, he takes care of his business, and still has the second dime he ever earned."  I asked if he could take a joke, and was assured that he could.  So I told the Local Chairman that I would put out gossip that I was looking for him, and see how long it took for him to find me so that I could pay him a compliment about his work.  I casually mentioned to a couple of Slaton crewmen that I was watching for Frank Judie, but that he came and went so quickly that I had not yet encountered him.

After about three days, the Slaton Local Chairman called me and told me that Judie had talked with him and was fretting about why I would want to see him.  He assured the Local Chairman that he had not violated any rules that he was aware of, and wanted desperately to keep his job.  With a straight face, his union representative told him that, whatever it was, Frank would have to ask me.

After a couple more days had passed, I saw that he was en route to Sweetwater and managed to "coincidentally" be near the crew lobby when he arrived.  He introduced himself and nervously informed me that he had heard that I was asking about him.  "Come on back to my office and we'll talk," I replied.  When he came to the office, I had three of his event recorder charts unrolled and displayed.  "Mr. Judie," I said," I just wanted to compliment you on your consistently exceptional train handling, and would like to buy lunch for you."  There was an audible sigh of relief from him.  "That's all?" he asked.  "Yes, that's all.  I really appreciate knowing that you take care of things every trip."

Frank Judie was an interesting personality.  He rarely took a day off, and was the highest earning Slaton Engineer.  He was a life-long bachelor who was not a cheapskate, but lived modestly, in a decent, but not fancy, apartment.  He had over twenty years of service and, since his only known concession to comfort was a nice automobile, which he bought gently used, he had a boat-load of money both in the bank and invested in a brokerage account.  He put his nephews and nieces through college, so that they could start adult life without the burden of student loans.  He helped individuals who had fallen upon hard times, and most people knew nothing about his kindness with his money.  When I would ride the train on his engine, we passed through two heavily producing oil fields, and I would always pick out a different well and ask him how much that one was producing, and why didn't he paint his name on the pump jack?.  He would get an aw-shucks look on his face and tell me, "Now, Mr. Campbell, you know I don't have any oil wells."  I'd always reply that my daughter, who was a student at Texas Tech and worked in Lubbock National Bank, said that this fellow F. E. Judie must have oil wells, as he was on a special list of depositors that the bank President was aware of.  (Actually, she didn't know Frank.)

He was one of a number of very fine people I encountered in my 37 years of railroading.  

Here's an old one from an Ashton Valve employee who worked the railroads way back around the turn of the century.

My mother grew up in the northern section of Arlington , VA,  two miles from DC, in the 1930s and 40s.  Arlington had/has a huge station and trainyard, with commuter trains, so riding trains was a big part of her life.

When I was about 4 and my sister about 6, we lived in Springfield, VA, about 10 miles from the station.  (This was in 1959).  We told my mother that we had never been on a train before and wanted to take a train ride.

She seemed shocked to realize this, and put our coats and hats on us and immediately drove us down to the station.

She bought 3 tickets roundtrip to Baltimore, and we waited in the huge station for about 30 minutes.

Then we walked down a big set of steps into an area where  lots of trains were coming and going.

We all got an a train, and road it to Baltimore and back.  It took about 45 minutes each way.  I got to feeling sick, because I was sitting in a seat facing the rear of the train, and everything was going backward.  So, she made my sister change places with me.

When we got back to the Arlington station, she took us to a lunch counter, and we sat on tall stools and we each had a grilled cheese sandwich and a Coke.

(That was the first time I was ever on a train, and I was not back on a train again until 1976, when I took a train from the same station to Philadelphia.)

Those were in the days when Mom's had enough time to do stuff like that for their kids. ' :-)

Mannyrock

My Dad and I would go to the Amtrak station and Ozol yard in Martinez California on Saturdays to get a line up of freights for the day. While I was watching and photographing the local work train do a pick up, my Dad was talking to the yard clerk at the Ozol office, the brakeman from the local motioned for me to come over....he had me climb up on the rear platform of the SD45 and told me to hold on tight to the stanchion.

Meanwhile, the yard clerk is motioning for me to "Get down from there" - which I did.  The crew thought I was still on the locomotive........the air was charged and with a few cars in tow the two SD45 locomotives accelerated like I've never seen (I guess they were going to give me a ride I would remember).

The yard clerk exclaimed "Those young guys are always hot rodding".

That's a topic that never comes up ~ how quick can these 3,600 hp locos accelerate?

Here's the duo, circa 1983....after Sacramento rebuild and renumber.

My photo:

I was a Signal Maintainer for the Norfolk & Western just before the new name of Norfolk Southern working the Chicago Ridge South territory.  It was Holloween night, 1981 and the wife and I were at home watching horror movies.  Around 11:30 that night, I got a call that there was a track indication at Palos Park.  Well crap.  I went to my office, the old Chicago Ridge train station at that time, and gathered a track battery along with a meter and drove out to Palos Park.  I knew my territory pretty well so I decided to start checking the voltage on the tracks at 131st street and walk south to Orland Park.  It was a cool and windy night with little moonlight.  Since the flashers were not flashing when I approached, that told me that the north and south bound grade crossing approaches along with the island circuit still had power so I would have to walk a little ways to clear the north bound approach circuit to take a voltage reading across the rails.  Oak Hill  cemetary is on the west side of the tracks and I was thinking to myself, of all nights to be by this place after watching several horror movies already.  As I discovered the insulated joints with my flashlight, I knelt down to take a reading.  Setting my flashlight down on the ground in front of me, I reached around to get my meter.  All I heard was the wind blowing and the rustling of leaves.  Just as I touched the meter leads to the rail, from behind me, a hound dog let out one heck of a wail.  That wail was matched and beaten by my wail.  I am not sure what went higher, me or my meter.  It took me a few minutes to recompose myself just to see that stupid dog sitting there looking at me.  My first thought was to ring its neck.  Especially when I saw that my meter was broken.  But, I love animals to much so the worst I could do was kneel down and pet him.  Then I cursed at him and then pet him some more.  I walked back to the car and got my old meter and started over again.  This time, the dog and I walked together.  The track battery had failed and had to be replaced on the circuit where I was attempting to take the reading the first time.  The hound stayed with me the whole time for whatever reason.  I lost it when he put his paws up the edge of the battery tub where the track batteries are kept and looked in while I was replacing the battery.  I got the feeling he thought he was my supervisor.  He walked with me back to the car and as I was packing away my stuff he gave a muffled bark, turned and walked away.  I left Chicago Ridge and the railroad in 1983.  I do feel, at times, that was one of the biggest mistakes I made as a young man.  But then again, I would not be where I am today if I had stayed.

I'm not a railroader, but I can tell you an interesting story from a railfan passenger perspective.

It's sort of long.  So the readers digest version...  The Amtrak police almost arrested me on the Acela, and then they didn't.   Enjoy some short video's below.

--------------------------------------------------------

For those still interested, here is the rest of the story...

It was the Spring of 2014 and I had to go to Providence RI for work.  The thing about traveling to Providence from Central PA.  It's 6 hours by Plane (Counting all of the ancillary travel, waiting, transfers),  6 hours by car or 6 hours by rail.

So, being a railfan I was able to show my boss that it was most cost effective to travel by rail, since I would not need a rental car as my business and hotel was right near the train station.  He agreed.

The trip started out great.  In Harrisburg there were not many passengers in the station where the train was originating.  I boarded and went all the way up front to the first row of the cab car (The engine was in the rear).

The Engineer boarded and started to talk with me.  He told me stories of his early days with Amtrak and starting out on GG-1's.  We got to chat for about 10 minutes before he went to work and we departed.

It was a pleasant trip to Philly where I had to make a train change.  I was changing to the Acela.  I was super excited as this was my first Acela trip.

Now I know 2014 wasn't that long ago, but I still had a flip phone.  So I brought my Sony Camcorder with me to take video and still shots.  It's not an enormous beast, but bigger than a cell phone. 

I started taking video as we departed Philly.  One of the conductors came by and told me the NJ corridor had some of the fastest speeds as it had the straightest rail from Philly to NY.  He said most of my video would just be a blur.

I tried anyway shooting video outside at various areas and also inside the car.  On this train, I was in the last row of my car.  I was hoping to point the camera down the aisle and see the car tilt into a curve.  Looking at the video, I couldn't tell if we we tilting or just rocking.

Still in NJ as we approached NY, we slowed down quite a bit.  I was able to get some really nice skyline shots before we entered the tunnel to cross the river into NY.

Now arriving at Penn Station NY, nearly everyone got off the train.  But no one was getting on.  There were a lot of people on the platform but they were all just standing there.

I looked down the aisle and a fella in plain clothes is approaching followed by 2 police officers in full tactical gear.  Body armour, helmets and AR weapons. 

The fella in plain clothes ID'd himself as the Amtrak Police and asked me for ID.  He wanted to know why I was taking all of the video on the train.

I am a Federal employee, so hoping to diffuse the situation instead of my driver's license I showed the Officer my Federal ID.  Sort of frustrated he said, "What is this?".  I told him I was a Fed on official orders and thought he might like to know that.  He flipped it back to me and said, "Get out your driver's license".  So I did.

He started asking routine questions, the typical Who, What When, Where, Why.  I was starting to get frustrated, but I was on the clock on official government travel.  So the last thing I want to do is get into trouble or worse get arrested.

With questions continuing, he asked, "When was the last time you were on a train"?  Again, now me being frustrated, and somewhat of a smart*** I replied, last week.  He said, "Where were you going?"  I said I was in Middletown PA on the Easter Bunny train (That is true... Here is the proof).

He screamed at me..."NO!  When were you on a REAL train?"  So I explained that last summer (2013) I took an Amtrak train to Pittsburgh.  Next question, "What were you doing in Pittsburgh?"  I said our Family took our vacation there (Again... true story).

Now he lost it.  "NO ONE TAKES A VACATION TO PITTSBURGH!!!  He threw my drivers license back at me and in a screaming voice said, "You're gonna sit down and you're gonna put that **** camera away.  Don't make a sound and don't get up.  When you get to Providence you are going to immediately exit the train and exit the train station".  Understood?"  Feeling like an idiot and holding up the Acela for what felt like 15-20 minutes, I said, "Yes Sir".

I certainly felt like a few of my rights were violated, but again, I don't want to get in trouble while on official business.  So I do as he says.

And so what did I miss getting video of?  Hellgate bridge leaving NYC.  Arrrg.

In Providence, I exited the train.  Figuring I was safe from the Amtrak gang, I did take out my camera and videotaped the train leaving the station.   After it departed, I put the camera away and headed toward the escalator to exit.

At the top of the escalator where two different Amtrak police officers (Again in full tactical gear and AR's) waiting for me.  As I got to the top, one said, "Mr. Fevola come with us".  They walked me out the exit on out onto the sidewalk and told me to leave the area. 

Enjoy some of the video.

Ron

Ron045,

Wonderful story.  I think that the Amtrak police were a little off base.  NH Joe

The recent West Texas wind and dust storms (so typical of every April) reminded me of a story of which I wish I could somehow see a replay.
Mr. Coleman was an insurance salesman in Plainview, TX during the 1950's and 60's. He enjoyed the convenience of riding the Santa Fe passenger train which operated daily between Lubbock and Amarillo, TX. This unnamed train connected with the California Special in Lubbock and the San Francisco Chief in Amarillo. I cannot remember his destination that particular day, but I do remember him telling me he had some fun with one of his amusing talents. Using only his voice and lips Mr. Coleman could do a very convincing train horn. He entertained me with this talent every time we saw one another.
The story begins on a day when the wind on the South Plains of Texas was blowing hideously and the air was darkened by blowing sand. This portion of Texas was famous for dust storms so dark it would cause the street lights to turn on. Several people were in the waiting room of the Plainview depot waiting to catch the train, and the train was running a bit late. Impatient people were occasionally getting up to go outside to see if they could see the train approaching. This was fruitless because visibility was poor. At this point Mr. Coleman thought he would have some fun. He raised the newspaper he was reading high enough to cover his face and proceeded to "sound his horn".  As he recalls, everyone jumped up to run outside into the nasty weather to board the nonexistent train. After the passing of several minutes they all started coming back into the depot one by one, each of them muttering, "I swear I heard that train coming..."

I always admired Mr. Coleman's little amusing talent, and was determined to gain the ability myself. I considered myself successful in this on the day I was doing my prescribed practice driving with my Drivers' Ed instructor. Upon stopping to look and listen at a FW&D grade crossing in Vernon, TX I started moving forward and "sounded my horn". The vehicle we were driving had a brake pedal on the passenger side (the instructor's side), and he stepped on it so hard it was torn from its mounting and rendered inoperable.
"What's wrong?", I said.
"I hear something honking around out there!", he said.
After looking carefully several more seconds he told me to go on.
There was one other student with us in the back seat. He never snitched on me, but some 40 years later will not let me forget it.

Photo by Joe McMillan of inbound #93 at Lubbock, TX

Rob, ROFL!

Dan Weinhold

Back in 1980 or 81 I was on OJT as an Engineer Trainee working the Pennsy side of Conrail out of Enola going to Morrisville, Pa. We ran over the Atglen & Susquahanna branch down the Susquahanna River to Washington Boro then up over the mountain to Quarryville and down to Thorndale were we went onto the Amtrak Harrisburg Mainline down to Thorndale. Back then we had the Pennsy side and the Reading. Though it was all Conrail it was still ran like two seperate RR's. My Engineer's name was Pete. He came off as a hard-nosed SOB and first thing he said was "hey sonny boy, I am losing $4.00 a day when you ride with me, so if you want any training you need to pay me that $4.00."

I road for a couple of round trips standing over his shoulder watching his every move. On about the second or third trip out of Enola he turned to me and said that I coughed and breathed over him the entire way on the previous trips and should know everything I need to know. At this point he told me to get in the seat and show him what I can do. Now remember this was on the Pennsy side and the old heads ran like he**. We were heading past Washington Boro when the train got up to the the Timetable posted speed. I reached the throttle and backed it off a notch at which point Pete Screamed out "What the he** are you doing, we have a mountain to climb." My reply was to Pete that were up to 50 mph and was told if we got caught speeding we would be terminated. Pete response was, "Hey sonny boy, Let me tell you about Speed limits, THEY ONLY Enforce Them When You WRECK." I smoked two packs of Marlboro's that trip.

He later told me a story about another Engineer that ran this route. He was going down the Coatsville hill on track 2 at a rather fast rate of speed when he went past a commuter train on track 1. The Engineer on the commuter train called Thorndale tower and said there was a run-away freight on track 2 at which point the Freight Engineer cried out, "Hey sonny boy, you run the Kiddy Car, I'll run the Freight. Thorndale came back and replied to get it slowed down he was going to be held at Thorndale, at which the freight engineer replied, " If I put it in the hole Now we won't get stopped till Downingtown.

Thorndale's response was "You will be held at Downingtown."

If you tried anything like that after NS took over it would be instant Dismissal.

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.

This is a story my father wrote up about 15 years ago.  He passed away a couple of years ago, it's good to have a few of his railroad related stories to remember him by.  Bob Bunge

A Boy's Unexpected Cab Ride - By Dave Bunge

Back around 1948 during the spring, the Pennsylvania Railroad was renewing the rail on the old Cleveland Akron & Columbus Railroad (CA&C) from the Joyce Avenue Tower in Columbus, Ohio north through the suburb of Linden to Westerville, Ohio. I remember coming home from school to find a work train at the foot of my street in Linden unloading rail. Naturally, a nine year old boy would forget his home work and go down to watch that work train with its I1 steam locomotive, gondolas load with rail, flat car with a crane to do the unloading, and finally the N-6B caboose.

After watching the operation for an hour or so, and talking to the fireman up in his cab, he and the engineer invited me to climb up to look around. For the next hour or so as the train moved up and down the siding, the fireman showed me the workings of the stoker and the engineer showed me the workings of the throttle, the screw reverse, and the brake valves.

With my friends looking on from down below, I got to ring the air operated bell, blow the whistle as we moved up and down a siding. In our area there was one siding on each side of the main track.

Eventually the crew was ordered to move north of Linden to drop off something. The engine crew asked if I wanted to go along. They also told me that they would be back shortly. That was a stupid question; of course I wanted to go along. Since my parents weren't home from work yet, they didn't know anything about my proposed cab ride.

Well northbound we went, and the crew completed their work. The Dispatcher then ordered us to continue north to Westerville the next open station and siding. "My" work train got stuck in that siding to let several freights by. Then we found out that we had to wait for #604, the southbound local passenger train, a self propelled motor car, which was running late on its way from Akron to Columbus.

After the passenger train finally went by, we were turned loose to go back to Columbus. We finally got back to Linden around 9:00pm and the engineer stopped on the main line so I could get off. I knew I was in trouble with my parents. I later found that when my parents got home and started looking for me, my friends told them that I had gotten on a train. My parents thought that I had been kidnapped. The brakeman on the work train walked me home, and explained the situation to my parents.

After the brakeman left, and the work train left to pull into the yards, I had to face my mad parents. Well as you can imagine, my rear end got a good tanning for going on my escapade. Today, though it is fifty years later, the CA&C has been torn up and in many places the right-of-way has been obliterated and used for other purposes. I have gotten married, have two grown sons, my hair has turned gray and I've moved away from Columbus. However, I can tell you that the tanning I got was worth it because of that afternoon and early evening thirty mile cab ride on the work train.

For my 18th birthday, I got to drive a real train! How totally awesome is that?! I went to the Nevada Southern Railway Museum in Boulder City, Nevada. I drove the UP GP30 #844. I would absolutely recommend the experience to any fan of trains. I'd love to do it again, and maybe someday, I will.

I was recently talking with my good buddy who lives in California's central valley.  He's also a retired Santa Fe Road Foreman, and the subject of fog came up.  With more housing being built around Bakersfield, Fresno, and Sacramento, the warm roofs are reducing the amount of fog.  My friend remembered going an entire week in -- or just under -- thick fog.  We used to get really heavy fog at night, and sometimes during the day, on the Los Angeles Division, where I was an Engineer.  People here in the midwest have a different concept of what constitutes heavy fog, than I do.  

Talking with my old friend about fog reminded me of a trip I made as an Engineer on a San Diegan around 1980.  At Los Angeles, it was foggy, but not coastal foggy.  Visibility was as much as a quarter of a mile.  We left L.A.U.P.T. and proceeded out of the city.  When we reached Los Nietos the fog had increased to minimum visibility, with block signals only visible for 1 or 2 seconds as we passed them.  We ran that passenger train the rest of the way to San Diego -- over 100 miles -- at 90 MPH, met 2 opposing trains on single track, and made 5 passenger stops with less than 200 feet of visibility.  The train crews on passenger trains did not have radios and everything behind the engine was in the thick fog, so the Conductor used the communicating whistle to give a highball after each passenger stop.  They managed to get the passengers on and off, and we made a pretty good trip, on-time most of the way.  In that kind of fog, you have to keep the side window open and listen for sounds that help you know where you are, in addition to watching for line-side things like signs, signals, battery boxes, etc.  Dimming the headlight just before passing a block signal helps to ensure that you can clearly see its color.  Fog like that was routine on the Fourth District, but rarely did it cover the railroad for 100 continuous miles.

The purpose of this post is not to brag (because the other crews out there on that day were doing the same thing) but to remember that, not all that long ago, there was an expectation that an Engineer would keep himself prepared to operate whatever kind of engine was assigned, no matter what kind of air brake equipment it was equipped with, on any train they could cobble together, in any weather short of a hurricane or tornado, and get the job done without complaining or asking for help.  Trainmen would be expected to know where to spot cars on spur tracks, make minor repairs to disabled cars to get them off of the main line, keep track of meeting points and speed, and all employees were expected to know the railroad in the dark, rain, fog, snow, sandstorms, and any other impediment to visibility.

I miss that kind of railroading.

Tom,
One of my engineers lamented to me that back when the N&W still had Position Light signals, meaning each light was Cadmium Yellow in color, it was bad running in fog. Not because you couldn't see the signal. That was not the problem. The problem was when running on an approach signal you couldn't tell what the next signal was as the fog made it appear as a big blotch of yellow until you got very close. This made it bad when holding the main line meeting a train and being able to tell when the next signal went clear from a distance. He was more than glad when the N&W went to Color Position Light signals!

This story will be written in 1981 terms of names and places.
In the northern area of Oklahoma City the crossing of Western Avenue and Britton Road is also crossed at an approximate 30 degree angle by Uncle John Santa Fe. I was hired as a brakeman/switchman on the Frisco railroad in August of 1981. (yes, I know it was BN, Inc by then but Frisco corporate culture was/is indelible). The Frisco East yard office is in the southeast area of OKC but I chose to live up north near the town of Edmond. As someone who had never spent time in this town I decided to cruise around and see what this area had to offer. In the dark of night while travelling westward on Britton Road I came to the intersection of Western Avenue and noticed there are railroad crossing gates across all four sides of the intersection. I thought this was fantastic! As I approached the traffic signals suddenly all of the crossing gates lit up and all arms started down. I saw in front of me a Volkswagen whose driver had been caught near the center of the crossing just before the railroad signals activated. I am not sure of the direction the Volkswagen intended to go next, but with all crossing arms going down the Bug did a full 450 degrees of circling in the street before they decided to go left and get out of danger.  Then !!   A southbound AT&SF freight comes roaring through the crossing at track speed which later research proved to be 50 mph. That was exciting, and the train missed the Bug by only a second or two.  It was at that point I determined the Santa Fe told the city at what speed they would travel through town rather than the other way around.

Included is a screenshot of a "street level view" of the crossing which appears to be slightly different than it was 40+ years ago with the addition of barriers between the lanes of traffic.  It is otherwise the same view I had in 1981.

My three sons work for the railroad in different places, and they often run into people who know me or who know people I know.  So, the middle son, who works in Denver, encountered somebody who knows a retired railroader from Sweetwater, Texas, and he asked if the name was familiar to me.  It reminded me of this story about him.

When I was Assistant Superintendent for Santa Fe, at Sweetwater, I was in my office one morning and I answered the telephone.  "Boss, I'm turning myself in," the caller informed me.  He was an Engineer in the freight pool to Temple, Texas, and lived on acreage, outside town.  "For what?" I asked.  "Well, I thought it was too good of a morning not to hunt, and I was out on my property and had just shot a deer, when my beeper vibrated in my pocket.  I had to make a decision whether to field strip that deer or to miss a call, and I have to tell ya that I decided not to leave that deer in the field.  I'll sign for any discipline you want to give me."

"Well," I replied, "You turned yourself in, and admitted what you did.  I can't see how formal discipline could fix this.  Just give me your word that you won't hunt ever again when you are first or second out."  "I can do that, Boss.  It'll never happen again."

In 22 years as an Official it was my experience that discipline was only necessary if behaviors could not be corrected with a handshake.  Some employees have enough credibility for that, while others require discipline for every infraction, in order to get their cooperation.   Of course. there are some very serious things, such as passing a Stop signal, that always require formal discipline, but there was no need to clutter up this man's record with unnecessary discipline for what he did.  Good employees, when you give them a break, will be even better employees from then on.  This fellow even started changing brake shoes and adjusting the brake rigging whenever he would be called for our switcher after that.  "Just payin' ya back for that deer, Boss."

And the reason I had that attitude about discipline is that, years earlier, I had been the Engineer on a crew which included a Conductor who was a bad actor and was leading the crew into doing something that could have resulted in all of us being fired.  A Trainmaster met me at the roundhouse when I was signing out, took me aside, and informed me that the behavior must never happen again, and, further, the only reason we were keeping our jobs is that my record was spotless and he was sure that I would prevent any future behavior of that type from any crew of which I was a part.  I got his message loud and clear.

Tom, thank you for a great story. Sounds like a little compassion could have long lasting positive results.

Dan Weinhold

I’m not a professional railroader. The following memory is simply from the young railfan point of view. It is an anecdote which has stuck in my mind all my life and I’m sure will continue to be there until I die, or maybe even after!?!

I grew up In Erie, PA during NKP steam days with the mainline about 265 feet from the back of our house. Frequent trips on my bicycle to pester the railroad crews included going to NKP’s “Dean Yard” on Erie’s east side, adjacent to the GE locomotive plant. Eastbound NKP freights pulled by Berkshires would very often stop at Dean Yard to drop off cars. Engine crews were very friendly so often get up in the cab while they were doing the switching moves. It got so some of the crews recognized me.

So, on one such occasion, we had coupled back up to the train, the head brakeman climbs back up in the cab, the fireman is checking what is a good hot fire, and the engineer is charging the brake line. So here I am, I was 13 or 14 at the time, standing in the cab of a live NKP S3 Berkshire which is sizzling at the pops, when the engineer turns to me and says, “well Jimmie, unless you want to go to Buffalo, you better get off.” I looked at my bicycle leaning up against a fence and thought of my dad drop-kicking my butt halfway down the block as he explains to me how, “I scared the crap out of mom”, so I chuckled and climbed down from the cab. As I had done many times before, I watched the engineer yank that throttle out, once everything was moving, as he prepared for the race to Buffalo.  

What haunts me to this day is if I said, “let’s go”, would he have taken me? The crew might have helped me throw my bicycle up on the tender deck?

In retrospect, dad worked for the NKP so the railroad could have contacted him and told him where I was. I know what dad would have said, “Well you got yourself up there, now get yourself back!”

Jim Kreider

Nelson street in Quanah Texas runs due east and west where it crossed the QA&P mainline between our yard and the connection to the FW&D (BN,inc at the time of this scenario).

Our switcher typically began service in the wee hours upon the arrival of inbound Frisco 537 and ran until we tied up which was usually around sunrise. There was an old man late for work headed east on Nelson (into the sunrise) just as we were headed across Nelson to deliver a cut to the FW&D. We were only going about 5 mph and blowing the crossing as the old guy approached at a high rate of speed. He hit his brakes and skidded to a stop directly over our tracks. Of course, we hit him squarely, and could see his horrified expression as we pushed his car about 20 feet before we came to a stop.  It might have taken us further to stop were it not for the fact that we switched with air, which enabled us to stop quicker.  The local deputy arrived to write up the incident. He said the skid marks he measured were the longest ones he ever recorded.  Being railroaders, the question raised was, “were they on the pavement or somewhere else!”.

Delete this if it is deemed inappropriate.
:-P

Best Christmas ever had or will ever have.

I was seven.  Growing up in Cleveland, Ohio, we had Higbees, May co and Halley’s down town department stores.  After Thanksgiving, each would have an entire floor full of toys.  Of course the best was the train area where there was Lionel and American Flyer layouts set up.  I’d stay there for hours watching them run and, of course, there were free catalogs.

Mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas.  I pointed to the Lionel SF diesel A-A and 4 beautiful aluminum passenger cars and said ‘that’.  At 90 bucks, mom said we can’t afford that.  Dad worked at Midland Ross steel and, if he made that in a week, he was lucky!

$90 in 1953 is over $1,000 in 2022: imagine spending that much on a seven year old, today, for one present!

I remember getting up that Christmas morning and seeing the large rectangular box all wrapped and knew exactly what it was.

As in ‘Christmas story’, that was the best Christmas I ever had, or ever will.

And it still runs great!

A few years ago I was out railfanning with a conductor for a regional railroad.  We had stopped by the trainmaster on duty's office to get a line up and say howdy.  There was a w/b coming we could easily catch.  I was taking night shots so I went to a location that had a tied down e/b and set up some flash.  And we waited.  Train came, I popped the flash.  A minute later the crew called into the trainmaster on the radio and claimed there was someone inside the parked train and they took their photo.  My friend and I looked at each other.  Huh?  The trainmaster told the crew to wait at the Hwy 19 crossing for the deputy sheriff to arrive and give him the report.  The crew acknowledged.  I told my buddy, "Those guys are freaking liars.  Call (trainmaster) and tell him we were nowhere near the parked train.  So, he called.  Trainmaster replied, "I know you guys weren't in the cab.  Those two are always telling me wild stories.  No deputy is coming."  I said, "What? They'll be sitting there waiting for a deputy that's never going to come?  For how long?"  The trainmaster replied, "They waste my time, I'll waste theirs.  I'm going to let them sit until they get some sense."  I told him that could be until past dawn.   I told my buddy that if it wasn't so late and I was so tired I'd beat them to the Hwy 19 crossing, set up the flash, and do it again.


Kent in SD

@samparfitt posted:

$90 in 1953 is over $1,000 in 2022: imagine spending that much on a seven year old, today, for one present!

Happens all the time:  it's called the latest iPhone.

Middle trick, hostler moving a double header F-40PH, to outbound track, made the move from the rear cab. Know where this is going (?) went through the switch, got down to throw the switch and realized the front unit wasn't coupled. Climbed back in the cab and gave chase, calling the tower to tell them they had a 'runaway', headlight on dim, and 'low idle',3mi to station down hill, tried to couple up, but the couplers were closed, which only made it go faster, all the time running every 'red' signal. The tower 'lined' up the switches, sent her through the low level, through the trunnel and onto bridge into RF&P yard. It rolled to a stop on the bridge, and he was able to couple up, and drag her back. Didn't hit anyone, anything, just scared the hostler to death. When they ask him how far he was going to chase it, he said till he caught it. He worked till he retired, but he never lived it down, and never made a move again from the trailing unit! True story!