Conversations With Glenn: So Much In Between
Shelley J Alongi

 

It wasn’t till two weeks after I returned from Austin, Texas for a reason completely unrelated to railroading where I had met a former railroad engineer for the Santa Fe that I could sit down and write this last conversation with Glenn. Perhaps it was the same railroad beginnings, or the person that held the same job for a while and was familiar with the accident that claimed Glenn’s life, and who was more than willing to talk about trains with me, that gave me courage to do this. It was the oddest meeting I’ve ever had in my life in a place I never would have imagined and yet it did so much to help me say goodbye to the man who taught me so much and perhaps helped solidify a growing passion. You can read all about that story in another journal entry called “Shining Railroad Eyes.” Here is this one. I have thought about those conversations so many times. The first words on that October 19, 2009 day were: “She likes trains” and the last words on December 20, 2014 was a simple greeting: “Merry Christmas.” There was so much in between. Teaching, teasing, simple, powerful advice, encouragement, patience, and even a book. It was a delightful railroad friendship. It will be missed and cherished. So much in between.

Tuesday, February 24 2015 would turn out to be another one of my own personal railroad milestones. 5:45 AM Metrolink train 102 hit a tractor trailer abandoned on the tracks at Rice Avenue and fifth Street in Oxnard, California the second stop on the Ventura County line heading for Los Angeles. This is the second major accident on this line in six and a half years. The first of course was Chatsworth which led me to the all too personal experience with this moment. The odd thing is going back to September 11 2009, the day I first became acquainted with this engineer by name, I was unaware that I would be meeting Metrolink’s next major casualty spanned by a number of fatalities all of which had no crew injuries or deaths. None of the elements that influenced Chatsworth were present. There was no cell phone texting on part of the crew. This was an action frowned upon by Metrolink’s number one engineer, and my friend, who specifically at one time stated to me that he always kept his phone off when he was at work. There were no signal misses. Over the past five ears, at various points in my writing, the admonition has been to anyone operating a train not to miss any signals. I would miss that man. There were no missed signals. If there as negligence, and according perhaps to what I consider common courtesy there was, it would have been on the part of the driver of the tractor trailer fowling the crossing. The train operated by a student engineer and a conductor and the instructing engineer derailed sending 28 people to the hospital, four injured critically, including Glenn Steele, Metrolink’s highest tenured engineer. You know him as #1 engineer from my journal writings.

The ironic thing about this February date was that I was destined not to learn about it till the next day. On that day I was involved in writing a letter to the California Unemployment Department appealing the denial of my claim for unemployment insurance. Writing my letter took all my time. At that time I still had the Metrolink texts that came to my phone and so somewhere in the back of my consciousness was a text about a Metrolink accident. Oh, not another one, I thought vaguely, not realizing this was the most important railroad accident to occur in the all-consuming passion that has overwhelmed my consciousness since September, 2008. In the middle of the day I received a phone call from the lady who was helping me edit the book I told Glenn I would finish when getting to Texas. She called to ask me if I had heard about the accident. Yes, I said, kind of, but hadn’t paid much attention, knowing I would look it up later. By the end of the day, retiring for the evening, I got a Face book message asking if Glenn was one of my engineer friends. The thought lingered, but I slept and in the morning, looked at the message in detail. Oh, crap! What was I supposed to say? News reports and questions put to someone who knew more than I did revealed that it was Glenn who was injured and that his heart had stopped twice on Wednesday. He died early on the morning of Tuesday March 3, a slightly sunny day in north Texas. His death came two days before the first Angel game of spring training. Your team almost made it to the wild card race, falling to the Rangers on Sunday October 4. By the time that day had arrived I had four people watching for details and so you can imagine how difficult it was to receive that news four times. It would have been more difficult I think to be there but it was no less painful. His memorial service was held at Los Angeles Union Station on Sunday march 15 at 11:00 AM.

There was a report which I have been unable to find again that said Glenn was conscious when being transported to the hospital. It was hard to imagine him in such shape with its accompanying images. Having seen someone personally hooked to IV drips I can imagine the images that were possible. They contrast to the vibrant memory of him standing in the cab car telling me to take my bag and meet him outside, and his ubiquitous presence: he was here, then there, flitting like a lightening bug on that June 2013 day I got his picture. And, yet, he told me he had no energy. He could be relaxed and calm but he was possessed of high spirits. Many complimentary things were written on the Gofundme site set up for his support, ranging from prayers to compliments from one of the engineers who helped him test the positive control train. I remember him telling me during our last conversation that he had tested it and was in danger of falling asleep while driving home. I wrote about this in the journal entry called “Something About Trains.” The thing that would be missed, said the engineer, was the ‘gentle wave” and the baseball cap on various train meets. Perhaps some day I shall meet this man.

Approximately six weeks before the accident, I sent a text message saying I would call him in six weeks. Various messages beforehand let him know I had safely arrived in Texas and was living by the railroad track. When first coming here, the tracks ran directly in front of the house, separated by an easement and an empty field. “You’re still my #1 inspiration” I wrote, though I most likely meant engineer. No matter. They’re both true. Later, I wrote that I was still working on my book. As of this writing, we are looking at the final draft before publication. I promised him I would finish this book when I got to Texas. We are well on our way to doing that.
I found this one rather amusing: live in a world of dogs you would feel right at home.
Almost everyone on my block has a dog and he had nine at one time all of whose names he gave me. I can only remember six of the names to date. The last message I sent was the inspiration one. I briefly thought of calling him two days before the accident, but decided to keep to my time line of six weeks. I won’t waste time regretting I hadn’t called. I’ll just cherish all the memories.

Suddenly, I was sending get well messages.
Thursday February 26 11:28 AM: All of Texas and ca praying for you #1 engineer. Thinking of you. Working on my book. Queen of Bells, your friend out.
Saturday Feb 28 10:16 PM: Found rr museum here will send pictures when we dig out from the snow. We will talk again you always tell me that so I’m holding out that promise for you take care.
If I leave a voicemail just cry so consider this the six week call so get better the kitties say so.

After that final message, the night before our church service was cancelled because of the weather, I waited with bated breath. I had no contact with the family except limited information received from a Twitter account. Three days after sending the first text message, I was sending condolences and RIP messages. The worse had happened. So many times I had said there were no tears for this engineer. Now, it seemed, there would be nothing but tears for months. This was an even harder death than losing my own parent.

I’ll leave you in peace. Please look for a notebook with my name on it because I gave him some writings I wanted him to see. I’d like you to read them. Would lie to meet you sometime.

RIP Glenn you are always going to be the best my heart is with you Steele family xxoo from Pearl and Brandy the cats.

But, before I say goodbye to my friend, I must step back in time and record our final conversation. It was a short one, really, but pleasant. All the memories, the five years of learning, being nervous and excited, and maybe on December 20th the date of our last conversation maybe I am the most relaxed of all. Finally, I am getting used to the idea that I met someone who works for the railroad who will talk to me. It’s not that no one else will it’s just that I worked really hard to get this one and it was always worth it. “Hey, Tex,” he says on the voice mail, the truck in the background, “hey just curious when is that pizza party?” I’ve let him know that my going away party is on December 28. I will be leaving for Texas on December 31, 2015 to start my new adventure in life. Is it tomorrow? You get a chance give me a call back or text me or let me know.”

It’s that voice. Tomorrow ends on a high note.

Now, on the phone, I am relaxed. Strange thing is I don’t remember where I was when I called him back. I was probably at the house, but I really don’t remember. At that time it was customary for me to go to the train station on Sundays and stay at the house on Saturdays. It is the only time I can’t remember where I was during a conversation. All I remember is I am at ease.
“Can you come to the pizza party?” I ask. That would just be a coup.
“Me and my daughter are coming up to Orange County to decorate my father’s grave.”
“The party is December 28,” I tell him.
“I don’t think I can make that one.”
The conversation is a rambling affair.
“I’m going to Texas to get training in the food service business.” He knows of my dream of owning a railroad based café. Maybe I’ll start one by the railroad tracks, I say.
“I’ll come to your café by the railroad tracks,” he now says.

Yes, you will now, with your picture and your memories.

Neither of us knew that two months and three days later he would be injured in an accident that would take his life.
Now that I have him on the phone, I have to ask this question. I’ve noticed on the radio that the student engineers always speak in a hurry. So, I have to tease him.
“Why are you making these students nervous?”
“Just different personalities,” he says. I don’t’ think he understood that I was teasing. Who knows now. I’ll not be able to ask.
Of course, two people interested in trains sometimes talk about trains.
“The short line railroad in Wichita Falls where I’ll be is the Wichita Tilman and Jackson,” I tell him. “The big one is BNSF.”
“Interesting,” he says. Not sure what he is thinking.
I don’t remember the conversation being much longer than that. It seems we had to end it. I do, however, remember the last words.
“Merry Christmas number one engineer,” I said.
Silence if only for a moment.
“Merry Christmas,” he returned.
I have thought about that so many times. The first words on that October 19 day were: “She likes trains” out the cab window, and the last was a simple greeting: “Merry Christmas.” There was so much in between.
Rest in peace number one engineer. I will take you with me on my next railroad adventure.
This final entry in the Conversations with Glenn files completes a five year friendship that was one of the best I ever had. I’ll remember you forever.
You have the first phone call in the Santa Fe when I could barely talk to the very last conversation. He called me Tex. I thought that was so unoriginal. But, now, I shall cherish it.
Your friend, Queen of Bells, Out.
Good night, number1 engineer.
My book has been published. I promised him and the dedication reads as follows:
Most of all, to the memory of Glenn, who will be forever enshrined as my number one engineer, and was always patient. He knew I was writing this story. I promised him I’d finish this. Here it is. RIP
Your friend, Queen of Bells, Out!
It wasn’t till two weeks after I returned from Austin, Texas for a reason completely unrelated to railroading, and had met a former railroad engineer for the Santa Fe that I could sit down and write this last conversation with Glenn. Perhaps it was the same railroad beginnings, or the person that held the same job for a while and was familiar with the accident that claimed Glenn’s life, and who was more than willing to talk about trains with me, that gave me courage to do this. Strange how life works, sometimes. It was the oddest meeting I’ve ever had in my life in a place I never would have imagined and yet it did so much to help me say goodbye to the man who taught me so much and perhaps helped solidify a growing passion. You can read all about that story in another journal entry called “Shining Railroad Eyes.” Here is this one. I have thought about those conversations so many times. The first words on that October 19, 2009 day were: “She likes trains” and the last words on December 20, 2014 was a simple greeting: “Merry Christmas.” There was so much in between. Teaching, teasing, simple, powerful advice, encouragement, patience, and even a book. It was a delightful railroad friendship. It will be missed and cherished. So much in between.

 
Final Tributes

“Glenn, you were always worth the wait from the time you said “she likes trains” out of the cab till our last conversation in December. I was so looking forward to talking to you this weekend but now I shall have to wait till God introduces us again. Rest in peace number one engineer. Your friend, Queen of Bells, out. Miss You.
---Shelley Alongi, the tribute on Glenn Steele’s gofundme site upon learning of his death on March 3, 2015

Did anyone ever shed so many tears? Perhaps those related to him.

The following is a poem composed by me in his honor.

My Friend, My Number One Engineer
You woke up this morning and drew your last breath
was my name on your lips?
In the midst of forgetting, did you remember me?
Angels took your hand and led you away,
You are not forgotten on this side of the veil.
my friend, my number 1 engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
You were always the best even if you weren’t' perfect;
You were what I needed.
When the rails beckoned,
Vast experience and willingness to share,
My friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
Your name wasn't on my lips
I'm sure someone was with you,
Surely, God was,
He took you and left your memory,
My friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
If I could have been there,
I would have held your hand,
Your hand that led me through all the confusion,
Your profession's twists and turns,;
 my friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning, and drew your last breath,
Because you were yourself,
You always dealt with my excitement;
and answered my questions;
It was all I ever wanted,
My friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
God gave me five years with you in intervals
And it was always worth the wait.
Glad I had the courage to get your number,
Glad you said "She likes trains" out your window,
my friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
My life will go on in all of it's chapters,
And I will take you with me on the adventures,
Others have drawn me,
None quite like you,
My friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
I remember Two people united for two minutes or an hour,
By thin ribbons of steel;
Subtle lessons about life.
A whole lot of teasing,
my friend, my number one engineer.

You woke up this morning and drew your last breath,
I will miss you.
I know your family will miss you.
We'll all be better because of you,
Goodnight, your friend, Queen of Bells;
My friend, my number one engineer.

For Glenn Steele 082752 03032015

 

 

Copyright © 2015 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"