She Likes Trains: Knowing About The Railroad On Sunday night December 5 Glenn tells me I know more about the railroad than most people. On Thursday night December 9 Dave tells me I’m right about the first order of Metrolink locomotives. Afirmed by the engineer and the railfan I think I’m finding my spot here in Fullerton’s historical landmark. It’s interesting to me that twenty years ago I cared nothing for trains. Now, it is becoming my social hangout, my interest, my love, and most of all, I am afirmed by the right one, the engineer of my dreams. But oh the things that happen here! If only you could be there! From engineers to double daring passengers, it’s all in the rhythm of my new adventure. And it all adds to what I know about the railroad. Hard green. They’re mobbing me December 3 and 4 is the weekend of trains! But even before that the station has been a place of interest. "Do you want to buy a bus pass?" asks someone I know about a week earlier as I get off the 47 which reaches the station via Anaheim Boulevard and make my way to the tracks. Why would I want to buy a bus pass? a bus pass? I already have one. Besides, right now, I'm in a sort of hurry. I'm here to meet my train, the 608, at 7:04. bobby should be on that train. He is fun to talk to; he understands my annoyance when people ask me if I want to find the train or if I need assistance. I walk past him, knowing he'll probably find someone else to buy a pass. As I reach the cab stand I am mobbed again! "Hi, Shelley, how are you!" It's Worku, my personal cab driver if I ever want one. He tells me to go a different way there’s more room over there, but I'm determined to make that train. "Hey, Shelley, do you want ice-cream?" Curt on the bike is here. One of the cab drivers is giving away ice-cream sandwiches. But I must make my train! A large group of people stands by the bridge waiting to board number 4 that is now sitting there, waiting. I make my way behind the planter and encounter more people. “Do you want ah short cut?" Curt is here on the bike. He is everywhere at once on any day of the week. I’ve missed my spot behind the planter that lines up with the bridge for some reason and then I'm back on track. There’s bobby, pulling in as 4 still sits on track 1. It makes me feel special being mobbed by all these station regulars. I guess I'm a regular here, too. But the amazing thing about the station sometimes isn't that people are here to watch the trains, it is the conversations that happen here. Take for instance, Saturday December 4. And for that matter, Friday December 3. I make it down to the station both nights, and both nights the conversations are interesting. Have you ever heard of the Sprint candy bar? I haven't. Apparently it was disgusting, says Scott one of the railfans known as the foamers. . It was so bad that they played a joke on someone they called "the brat." The brat was someone that they baby sat for during school days. It was the rule that mom allowed one piece of candy after dinner. So after dinner one night Scott went for the Sprint. "No, let our guest pick first," says mom who doesn't know what's going on. The child picked the Sprint for the simple reason that it was what Scott had chosen first. The kids watched as he bit into the bar and then couldn't finish it because it was so disgusting! Revenge! Mom didn't quite figure it out. But even thirty years later they were still talking about it. Wonder if they ever had trouble with him again? And then there's Wally and his sound affects. A car breaks down on the road; he pours five quarts of oil into it. Starts it up, he makes the hanging sound of a starter, only he can do it, it can't possibly be written. He really gets into those stories and he loves to tell stories about cars breaking down or his son or whatever strikes him. "Don’t get him started on the Army; that's good for an hour," says one of the station regulars a while back. I believe it. There's the case of the luggage being ripped open by kids who found an abandoned box on a baggage cart. Some of those new clothes ended up in the elevator. Valerie, one of the station regulars who hangs out with Agosto who has had court orders in the past to stay away, calls for Scootter to bring the luggage to her. She thinks the clothes are her’s. Now Metro link flashes a sign clearing them of responsibility. “pleas keep all your personal belongings with you,” it says. Guess they have enough trouble with engineers missing signals. Who wants to be responsible for luggage? The thing was it was luggage destined for an Amtrak train that was pilfered. Well, okay, so Metrolink is Amtrak now. So remember when you go down to the train station, keep yourpersonal belongings with you. I lost a purple coffee mug there once and a scarf, oh yeah, and my heart. Some think the homeless guys would take a person’s personal belongings. One woman once refers to the church group that meets down there as thieves. “Where’s yours? Says Jazzy Jeff. Just keep your personal belongings with you! sweet Engineer Talk "Hi, Shelley." It's engineer number 2 from the 608. "What number?" I'm touching the locomotive, it's 902, it's loud an dobby is taking lessons from Glenn, he learns how to yell over engines. He's been doing it fifteen years, I think he can. He's projecting well tonight. "I saw your extra last week." He's the one who asks me if I want to ride the Metro link train, the young one. "Who was he?" ""Don't know. Someone. Very young." "I'm back on the job," says the engineer as he gets the high ball. I'm here today Tuesday December 7 because I was let go early at work, mandatory, not something I asked for. It gives me time to get to the station and play with trains, just not on tracks. “You work too fast,” says Carey on 606 before I meet bobby. Yes tonight I’ve met my trains: 606 and 608. Guess if I meet them long enough I’ll meet all the engineers that work for Metrolink. Sometimes I don’t like to go over in the afternoon if I have time because I’ll want to talk to the engineers and I might get nervous trying to meet them. They’ll just ask me if I want to ride a Metrolink train, or just wave and smile. But I haven’t had time to do that lately so trains 606 and 608 are my train meets. Line up, guys, take a number behind Glenn! OfSignals and Engineers On a Monday evening, or is it a Tuesday, a group of station faithful stands and sits around the planter where I first came to mourn an engineer I’d never met. The flowers are quiet, it’s a little too cold as demonstrated by jackets and sweaters, hats and gloves that adorn the train watchers. Music that is distinctly modern wafts to us on the cool, crisp air, the Amtrak ticket office sits quietly, the café is closed or about to close, we don’t sit there now. We inspect the rails. There has been some activity around here, a truck, maybe it’s a highrailer, has found a rail that needs work. We wonder when it will come and rescue trains from possible destruction; probably after the destruction occurs which is usually the case isn’t it? I hope, in the interest of train safety, that this isn’t the case. Curt on the bike, Scooter, sees a wire soddered to the rail in front of us. “There's a bond wire, 'says Dave Norris, explaining a wire on the rails, and that wire communicating current to the signals and if that current is broken that signals to dispatch that there is something, a train, in the block; it's a communication device. "I talked to my engineer," I say to Dave Norris on that same night, so it must be Tuesday. Monday Dave is at the monthly meeting of the Pacific Railroad Historical Society. I’m sure I haven’t gotte the name right but it’s something like that. All the pillars of the train watching community go there. "I know I'm going to be useless after I talk to Glenn." I’m referring to Sunday night, the story that can be found in the essay called “Sweet Train Engineer.” It's true. I get everything done; chores, packing for Monday, cats fed and litter box cleaned, all the usual house things. When I am ready, I leave a voicemail and then go look at Union Pacific freight yards online. After Glenn calls back, I sit in the recliner for fifteen minutes imagining him packing for Lancaster. "Snuggling kitties and Glenn driving to Lancaster in the rain" I text to my face book profile on Wednesday December 8, "images to sleep by." Dave Norris chuckles. He knows I'm star struck. Jim shows up and talks politics. We haven't seen Dave Keller, Diesel Dave, Curt now calls him, since Friday or Saturday when his wife calls him and asks for food. There's the conversation about signals, red over green, diverging clear, Centralized Traffic Control. This reminds me that on Sunday night through the hiss of Glenn’s bluetooth, the sound of his car, he projects, just like a good freight engineer. “Southern California,” he says, “is on CTC or Centralized traffic Control.” I am in sublime existence, sitting at my engineer’s feet, rapped, all ears, and smiling. Uto, here we go, I think. It’s going to be a long answer. When it comes to trains, Glenn is not only about headlines. It’s the engineer’s perspective. I’m going to get a primer on signals, something I’ve sought for since 2008. A man on his way back home from a meeting putting together a racing team is going to quinch me. Now sitting on the planter two days later, through crisp air and the sighs and souns of the station, big rolling bags, music, a guy spitting, Valerie talking, the clanging bells, throbbing engines, speeding freights, cigar smoke, some kids playing pass the football and losing it, love’s call, we are discussing signals. I guess there were towers that controlled signals but they’re all gone now, at least in the United States, says Glenn. Dave wants to tell me about how white used to be go and green was caution till a lot of people got killed and so now green is go. Trafic signals on the road of course are based on the railroad signals and most railroads are standardized but you’ve got to know your railroad. “I guess I’ll stick to what I know,” I say on Sunday night to Glenn when he tells me you’ve got to kno your railroad and I explain that I’m writing a story with an engineer. “You know more than most people do,” says my train crush, my middle-aged teenage railroad heart throb. I’ll take it! “If I have an addictive personality” I text to my Facebook page this week, “I think I’ve met my match on the rails.” What I mean is that there’s so much to learn that I don’t think I’ll ever have to learn about anything else. This is enough. I have over a hunred years of history and things to learn, though the modern railroad is where I make my connection. I cant’ talk to any engineers from the past. These are good enough. Thy’re all pretty special, but you know who is the best. You got it~! “There are two types of signals,” I say to Glenn on Sunday, and forgot to tell you this in the essay, “Intermediate and something else.” “Control points,” he says. Oh like yeah, okay! I should have remembered that! It was the first term I learned when reading through the Chatsworth hearing. Control points! Of course! Yep, Glenn I know more than most people know about the railroad, but I forgot the term control points! Wonder if I ever make him smile. I hope so. “You can go 79 miles an hour if you have a flashing yellow,” he says, “but you better be prepared to stop if the next signal is a yellow.” That’s because the next signal after hard yellow is red. He talks about the curve just beforethe eastbound Fullerton junction sign. Speed on the curve is 55, unless you’re a freight and he thinks it’s thirty. Better than that, Dave says. He wants to contradict my engineer? Whatever it is, sometimes those freights come through there hell bent and Barsto bound, or on their way to L.A. to go to bed or do something else, maybe go to Ruby’s someone says, once. It sure gets cold when those freights come through, the wind kicks up, freezing hands and feet, the blast of air energetic and refreshing if a bit biting. I tuck my hands into my sleeves after one such freight event. “Cold?” dave asks me. “Just my hands.” “You need mittens.” “Engineer gloves,” I say. Engineer gloves. Those locomotives are dirty, I guess, so sometimes you wear the gloves to protect your hands from the dirt and grease of those cool engines. Wonder if they’ve marketed engineer gloves? They’ve marketed railroad bags to engineers. I have my eye on one. It’s a heavy duty travel bag, weighing four pounds, empty, the online description says. Wonder if Glenn has one. I’ll have to ask him. Believe me when I ask him one question I get inspiration for more questions. For now, speed is restricted on flashing yellows and parts of the track. Green is go. So go on little engineer! Make my train day, bag, gloves, and all! Of Dogs and Such Things Recently, Dave’s daughter, Ana married Tim. They have a fox terrier, a rescue, an excitable thing. Her name is Jezebel, or Dog Dog. Bred to hunt, she decidedly does not like trains. Her short tail apparently makes it easy to pull her out of a fox’s burrow, but at the train station, she jumps and runs and stands for petting, and ends up clutched in Dave’s arms. He likes dogs. He and Kathy have a cat, Buckey, and a dog, so they’re used to animals. Ninja, Robert’s Labrador, is the one who likes trains. This one just barks and jumps around, Ninja is deliberate. Apparently she was hit by a car, her master’s wife hit the unsuspecting dog who changed routine and walked behind the car, but the vehicle was stopped in time and now she’s fine. The pronounced limp, Robert says, accentuated the drama of the whole event. A few weeks back her toenail was cut by her master who was doing a grooming. I’m afraid to touch my cat’s claws, I will let someone else do it. If the guy who could see did that I’d not want to. I’m sure I could do it, it’s just the cats know I’m afraid. I think they pick things up through touch. They always know when I don’t want to put them in the carrier. In any case I will let the pet place do that. Ninja has to visit her pee mound at the station, see who’s been usingit. Probably one of the guys has, we saw a guy relieving himself on the fence. It must be the clubs across the street with all their liquid offerings that make it a common thing to relieve oneself in public. It is the train station, anything can happen here, and it does. But we can’t leave Dog Dog out of the action. It seems she has been sick lately and had to make a trip to the vet. She’s the third dog this week I’ve heard about getting sick. Francis did at work, one of my neighbor’s dogs had parvo and went to the hospital, and now Dog Dog had some form of gastroenteritis. But she’s fine, now, waiting for them in the truck. Apparently she set off the alarm once by unlocking the doors. Now she stays on a leash in the truck. It’s safer there especially since she’s not a train fan. Hamburgers and cookies make their appearance on Saturday night, December 4, along with Wally who has to pick up his son from the grocery store where he works. Anna and Tim appear on the platform with a Blues burger from Ruby’s and Kathy brings cinnamon oatmeal cookies. She gives me the bag, these yummy things. All that’s missing now is the icecream and the locomotive engineer. It makes me think I want a hamburger. I do. But when I get paid I go to the Spaghetti Factory instead, enjoying the tortalini with sausage, salad, bread, iced tea and icecream. It is heavenly! But that burger still calls my name. I love spaghetti and on Friday December 10 I enjoyh a trip to the restaurant, one that hasn’ been made for a while. Maybe it has been six months since I’ve been there. “Nice to see you again,” says Joe the host who helps me find my spot. Jamie is a great waitress and she says now because of my excitement over the tortalini with alfredo sauce and a side of marinara, she’s going to try it. So I’m selling her product? I just love food! Food, trains, buses, doughnuts, engineers, and whatever else comes along there. There is plenty that comes along. Metrolink 707 on Thursday, is an hour late, causing one man to yell hysterically on the phone, at the people on the platform. “Goddanmed BNSF,” he says as if BNSF had anything to do with it. Maybe it did though we suspect not. “I’m going to cuss out the conductor!” he promises. “An hour and a half late?” he responds to the sign just as the train shows up. Curt and the agent go down and get him on the train, warning the conductor that he has “a crazy on board.’ Curt describes him. Wonder how that conductor’s day was! However it was, the “crazy shows up the next day, the train is on time, and everything is good. I pull out my phone on Thursday and dial the police but Curt won’t describe the guy so we disconnect the phone. “GO tell it to that guy in the car over there,” he tells him. “The cop car?” says the guy. Yeah, that’s the one! He doesn’t. We all laugh. Curt is such a prangster. He tells hard rock looking teenagers to go ask the old Austrian Curt for gas money. Curt from Austria would hardly give out money. I don’t think they have any success on whatever day that occurs. Oh the things that happen here! They are better than cable, better than Net Flicks, better than tv. They are, in Walt Disney’s words, the show. “What’s up,” ssweet magical Glenn used to ask me sliding that train right up to the spot. “Just watching the show,” I would reply. And it is truly a show! There’s a low yellow on track 1. They’re going to switch Amtrak 589 to track 2 and run him down the Orange subdivision. I still don’t know my rail divisions, my maps, I need to find someone to try one. So I have to learn my yards, my subdivisions, and my wying strategy. So much to learn, and I have to meet all the engineers and entertain the dogs and the kids and the railfans. On Friday December 10 Carey asks me, sitting high up in that cab, how “Toastmasters is going. I don’t know when I’m going to get him to a meeting. I need to get his number so I can call him and tell him to go find a club in his area. I’ll get him! And then maybe I can ask him about trains. “You’re just a synic,” he says, when I tell him I don’t like the bell he has on his locomotive today, “just because you don’t’ think it’s a real bell.” He laughs. Okay so now that’s two engineers who have laughed at me! Someday I’ll get my number 1 engineer to laugh at me; that is if he doesn’t tell me to go away! He won’t. “Saw 8700 series locomotives, blue, Santa Fe, 8704, 8738 and 8709 last night” I text to Glenn on Friday. These are GP60s. Not quite sure what that means yet but I’ll figure it out. “Nice,” Dave says as the four locos pass us.” Wonder if that makes Glenn happy. Who knows. Speaking of locomotives and we sort of were, somehow a discussion starts about Metrolink’s 850 or 860 series. We want to know what number the locos started with. Dave thinks it was the 860s. “No,” I say. “It was 855 that was crunched in Chatsworth.” “You’re right,” dave says. “They did start with the 850s.” “I’m right?” I gasp. “The rail fan is telling me I’m right? That’s okay,” I explain, “Glenn told me I know more about the railroad than most people.” “You do,” says Dave. Two years; I’ve been affirmed by the engineer and the railfan, both have been involved with trains for at least forty years and who knows how long before that. What I want to know is what Glenn the engineer collects. Pay checks. Nice. Hatching Plans The chilly weather and the silence on Christmas Eve around the station gives me an idea. Curt can play the keyboard and I will sing Christmas carols on that day. We’ll set up by the planter and sing. And then Curt thinks I’m bringing cookies for the people the night of the Christmas train. Well the night is here and I’m not there. I’m home writing and catching up on things that need to be done before I get busy this week. This week may be busier for me than I’ve been in a while, and even when I’m not busy, I’m busy. A cast Christmas party, a Pampered Chef Christmas party, station, and who knows what else! Toastmasters next Saturday and then hopefully some time off and the train Christmas party next Monday. And I’m still going to come down and sing Christmas carols on Christmas Eve. Why not? What fun! But I won’t bake cookies for the Christmas train. I’ll bake them for New Year’s Eve, I can’t wait for that! Holding the Train and the Dare Friday, December 10, though, takes the cake in the disgruntalled passenger department. A woman stands over on the south side, her husband tries to hold 589 to Los angeles. She makes her way slowly and the conductor gives the engineer the high ball. I hear him on the scanner and immediately the whistle sounds. The train is gone. The man goes into the station, argues with the ticket lady. I don’t know what happened but he was not very happy. Around us, Ed the train guy makes jokes. He says Thanks God it’s Friday, SHIT, So Happy It’s Thursday, SCREW Some clown really enjoy Wednesday. Dave says a lady two days ago wearing high heels missed her train, talking to someone. People come and ask where the train comes to L.A. “Are you waiting for a train?” asks someone on the south side. “No, I’m not waiting for a train,” Dave says. “Which train are you waiting for?” I ask the young person across the tracks. “The one to San Diego.” “You’re in the right spot,” we both say. I remember when I hardly knew what was where and now I’m right about Metrolink locomotives, I know where to catch the train, and I know more about the railroad than most people. You think I might be a foamer? Ask the engineer. He’ll tell you. Speaking of asking the engineer, on that cool Friday night I trek over to the six car marker waiting for 608. I wait for 606 and 608. “There’s a sign that says do not enter,” Simon yells across the tracks. So that’s what that sign says. It starts right at the beginning of the fence that blocks the construction of the new platform. Apparently Larry is not here, Simon is here, but Larry, the guy who always wants to go to the bathroom on the train, and the one who is just downright baudy sometimes, apparently doesn’t’ know Simon is here tonight. But back to the sign. I thought it was a caution sign. A Do Not Enter sign is caution I suppose. “They don’t want you to go bpast this point,” a lady tells me. “I’m not going past this point,” I say. “The six car marker is right here and I’m waiting for the engineer.” “They’re building a new station,” she says. “No, they’re extending the platform down toLemon.” “Oh,” she looks down the road. “Yeah. Lemon.” Standing here, number 4 pulls in on track 1. “There’s 4,”I say. She looks up before disappearing. “You really know your trains!” She disappears and Bobby pulls in. “You’ve got the right one,” I say. “yeah,” he says in that engineer way. “854. The best one.” “Where can I get engineer exams?” I ask him. He seems surprised. “I only get them when I go to class,” he says. “I want to see them.” “Do you know all the rules?” “No,” I shake my head and laugh. “I just want to see what you guys have to know.” No, Bobby, who tells me his last name on Thursday, I don’t know all the rules, but your predecessor, Glenn, says I know more about the railroad than most people. Well, if I know my trains, I know what not to do on my trains. This last story probably takes the cake! Apparently the movie “Unstoppable” has inspired a lady with questionable mental capacity to climb up on a locomotive and ride from Buena Park to Fullerton. She is in the last car, the locomotive is behind pushing the train to Fullerton. She climbs up the ladder of the locomotive and settles herself among the fans and clutter at the top. Upon reaching Fullerton she goes to the ladder, discovers it is hot, and falls from that twenty foot height to the ballast, lucky, they tell me later, she doesn’t hit the fence. She is transported to the hospital, kept in mental ward, as I understand it, and says she’ll try it again. Apparently she did it wrong the first time, her friends say. Ed the train guy with the bad jokes is the one who got a picture of her. Curt talks to the ticket agent and shares with us the rest of the story. Yeah, I know my trains; and I also know enough not to climb on top of a locomotive. That is the job of train crews with their bags and gloves. I’ll leave that to them. On Sunday night December 5 Glenn tells me I know more about the railroad than most people. On Thursday night Dave tells me I’m right about the first order of Metrolink locomotives. Afirmed by the engineer and the railfan I think I’m finding my spot here in Fullerton’s historical landmark. It’s interesting to me that twenty years ago I cared nothing for trains. Now, it is becoming my social hangout, my interest, my love, and most of all, I am affirmed by the right one, the engineer of my dreams. But oh the things that happen here! If only you could be there! From engineers to daring passengers, it’s all in the rhythm of my new adventure. And it all adds to what I know about the railroad. Hard green.
Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi |