She Likes Trains: The South Side Of Paradise (1) The south side of paradise, the place where I met Glenn, where I was proposed to so many years ago by a railfan never knowing I would fall headlong for trains; the south side of paradise where someone’s sweet train dream came true, a dream to open a new track connecting to the main line, this is the place where the magic is this week. This is the side of the station that perhaps gets the least attention unless you’re going to San Diego. Railfans don’t usually sit here to watch freights. This is the side I rarely make before Cary’s train pulls in. I used to sit here and wait for 708 when I could make it because Glenn was on that train. But usually it’s the north side that gets a great deal of attention, where most of the rail fan action happens. It is the south side, however, where the action happens for me, where the interaction with engineers occurs on a daily or weekly basis. This week it is the place of exploration and train chasing. Late nights, a five hour visit by a distressed freight, a conductor with a distinctly out of state accent, a scanner, trying to talk over four very loud EMDS, BNSF train 5218 heading who knows where. Probably heading for Barstow on Thursday May 5, but instead, making an unplanned five hour stop in Fullerton. This week, between engineers, it is the south side of paradise that lures, beckons. It is hot today, shade disappears slowly on the right side of the Santa Fe Café, the table in the corner where we usually sit gets a good dose of the early May sun. People carrying bags dot the platform waiting for Pacific Surf liner 785 and Amtrak’s number 4. a woman with a smoky voice some might say and a cough, sitting near the trash can which is just to the right of the double doors of the café says “I’m sure going to miss this weather.” She’s headed back home with a DVD player, planning to spend Time in her room on the train after dark watching movies. “There isn’t much to do after dark on the train,” she pronounces to anyone who will listen on this Monday May 2. “You could go flirt with the guys in the lounge car,” I suggest from the sidelines, eliciting a hearty laugh from one of the travelers. “Her husband is with her,” he explains. “Well,” I have a remedy for that, “Come with her. Make it a family affair.” I arrive today, observing the colorfully clad people, stopping to ask Wendy when she closes the grill. I can order a cold sandwich she says after 7:00 but after 7:20 then she’s done. Fair enough, I just don’t want to rush and eat my dinner between engineers. Sitting down, relaxing, watching as 708 pulls up on track 3 I wonder when I will go over to that train and introduce myself to its engineer. Is the magic gone? No, not by any means! I am just always tired when I get there and for good reason today. I’ve worked an hour over time, gotten two bookings, combined with several more today, it has been a long, busy day, a good thing, I suppose. Bus 47 drops me off at dock 4, the driver asking me if I’m going all the way to the train station. Yes, you bet I am! I deserve it! Besides I have to tell someone about getting to climb into the cab of the ALCO locomotive. American Locomotive Company (Alco) an RSD1 originally number 98 used for service in World War II, 1000 horsepower, quite beefy for those days, is the cab I’ve been in on Saturday April 30 and you can read all about it in another essay called “An Odd Walking duck.” Tonight, I have to tell someone about it and so it is my engineers who get the story, and later on, John, the collector of switch keys, who also, I finally put the two together, was an engineer at Knots Berry Farm on their Baldwin locomotive for sixteen years. I’ll take my engineers any way I can get them. Retired, working, in debt, married, single, old, young, experienced, years ahead of them, laughing at me, shaking their heads in dismay, calling me to their cabs, not returning my phone calls, they’re always worth the wait. Yes, the Fullerton Engineer girl will take them any way she can get them, especially if they want to talk to me about running the trains, controlling those glorious locomotives. I don’t’ know why I have such a thing for locomotives. Maybe it’s just because I like to be in control as much as possible. Whatever the reason, I’m more than willing to listen if they’re willing to talk. Later, John, the former engineer talks to me about switch keys, branch lines of the railroads, California Southern, Pacific Electric, others whose names escape me, some established by Union pacific and then swallowed into the existing railroad. It’s all a gloriously steel tangled maze, shining, hot and dusty, and lovely. He talks engine numbers, the Orange Empire Railway museum and its steam engines, the Emma Nevada, Chloe, Vc2, all engines maintained or worked on by the museum staff, donated by Ward Kimball, a man who was heavily involved with the Santa Fe. Walt Disney named a locomotive on the Disneyland railroad after him. The C.K. Holliday is another locomotive on that railroad, a model I’ll probably own some day. Tonight, however, his conversation is mostly about his upcoming lock project. He explains how the locks work, about the different parts of the apparatus, the ring cuts in the locks, the cuts in the key to fit the rings in the locks so they can lift the springs to the correct height for opening the lock. “Where’s the lock,” my number one engineer used to ask me. “In Flagstaff!” And tonight, one is in my hand, John has made a cut in the lock and put a piece of plastic over it to show the mechanism, so it’s really half a lock. He has made a key way in the lock John says tonight. “Does it work?” “I don’t know.” I fish through the bells an keys on my lanyard and he helps me, this man of the railroad, collector of switch keys, another engineer who knows his stuff, it seems, helps me locate the key. We insert the key. It works! John wasn’t sure if that key would work, but I guess it did. The lock part spring open, and I’m getting the run down. Here’s the lock, the mechanism with the ring cuts and I can never remember the rest. Meanwhile back on the patio platform I lift my new red and black OERM bag to the table and ask if they will watch it for me. Yes, is the usual response and so I take my cane and had out to the south side of Paradise. “I guess it’s Time for me to get into position,” I say, a phrase I picked up from Glenn’s conversation about driving to Lancaster on the Sunday in December when I talk to him. He goes to Lancaster to sleep and wake up in position to run his train. I must go to get into position to meet my trains, two of them, for tonight I am determined to talk to my men of the railroad, especially after my weekend and not seeing them since last Thursday. “Are you waiting for Metrolink?” The man asks me as I stand waiting for Cary, my 606 train. He first approaches as I come down the stairs from the bridge, walk to the edge of the tracks and make a right turn, walking past the elevator and stopping just short of the six car marker. “Are you blind?” “Look down on the ground,” I say. Find the car marker.” I’ve decided I’m going to detour the questions now, make people see what I know is there. “Not if you’re talking to the engineer,” I say when he says “Metrolink doesn’t come there.” “Where does Metrolink come?” “I don’t know.” “Don’t tell me where the train doesn’t come if you don’t know.” I don’t know what makes him ask this question sometimes you think you know something about people. He has a lisp he seems mentally challenged but I’m the one who doesn’t want to be prejudged so maybe he just wants to know if I’m waiting for the train. He’s wearing flip flops and they drag across the bricks as he returns to the elevator, going I do not know where. I stand, waiting 606 It approaches its lights winking in the warmth of the distance, my hand in position, the click of the window as the engineer approaches. “Hi.” “Hey!” I am enthusiastic. “How was your weekend?” Oh Cary you could have said nothing more perfect my 606 engineer, the man who takes vacation days and tells me where to find Glenn. It was good. I got into a locomotive cab.” “Where was the locomotive?” The nasty MPI clatters. The sound is a bit striking with its rattles and bangs in contrast to the ALCO engine on Saturday, whose specs I’ve yet to acquire. The ALCO engine clatters, but not as noisily as the MPI, perhaps because the sound echoes into the empty space behind us, whereas the MPI echoes off the benches, fence, and parked cars at the station. Neither engine is as deep or throbbing as the Genesis locomotives that guide number 4. “At the Orange Empire Railway Museum,” I now tell him. Cary doesn’t know about the museum. Maybe he’s not into trains? He ran Southern Pacific and Amtrak trains. he may or may not be into trains. Bobby, interested in trains, says he wants to take his girls to see the trains in Los Angeles on national train day on Saturday May 7 but he has other things going on. Glenn says he loves trains. Mo says railroading is in Glenn’s blood. Everyone is different. It surprises me about Cary not knowing where the museum is but I’ll ask him later about that. Maybe I’ll be doing some advertising for the museum? Don’t ever go there, Cary, they’ll suck you in. “I don’t’ think Glenn’s a museum person,’ I tell the executive director of the museum on Saturday. “It’s never too late,” he says. If they need FRA certified engineers, he may be their man. Cary gets the high ball and I make my way over the bridge, expressing surprise to the group about his discovery of a museum. I guess I think everyone should be as interested as I am. I know I certainly don’t’ know everything!
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