She Likes Trains Railroad Journeys
Shelley J Alongi

 

What is this railroad journey for me all about? How far has it come? How far is it going? It started for me on September 12, 2008 with the 10:00 PM news on channel 9 with footage of the Chatsworth accident and led me to the corner between two sections of a fence lining the patio at the fullerton train station, across the tracks to the south side of paradise, awaiting trains and their engineers; it took me to Chatsworth, Santa Barbara, a model shop, a railroad museum, a locomotive cab, and now it promises to take me out of state during the summer. It has already made connections with my past, bringing me down a very obscure branch of memory lane. Long before I fell for trains or tripped over them in the dark, my journey took me on a scenic route down three quarters of the Coast Starlight route, three separate times, it took me to hell and back, you can read about that in �Looking Hell in the eyes�, and it took me to paradise, gave me drama, almost unbearable pleasure, tears, many of them, laughter, lots of teasing, academic satisfaction, and now, it takes me into the middle of an engineer and conductor�s banter; all because I wanted the stories of the people who run the trains, all because I�m still a little nervous or shy about approaching those people. It got me to be casual friends with a very nice man, initially because he has run trains for three railroads starting in 1970 when I was four years old, the same year � I started driving the big trucks� my dad tells me. Now I think I continue to go to this man for answers just because he�s a nice person; he says so himself, just ask him. �That�s why she married me,� he says about his wife. My railroad journey has brought me great opportunity, great advice �watch the errs� Glenn says, or �Don�t stress; deal with it!� Maybe it�s brought me human relationships, every time I turn around I think about someone I�ve met during one of the many chapters of my life. This chapter is bringing me lots of things on many different levels; it�s about the stories, the technical aspects of the locomotives, the fun people on the platforms chasing trains with their cameras, the woman who cooks for everyone on the platform on occasion, and it will bring us, Lord willing, to New Year�s 2012. I am determined to be there awaiting the first train of the new year the rr grip following me holding me full of homemade cookies. It will be a fun night! It�s a journey into the past, present, and my future, wherever that brings me. I still don�t� quite believe I�m so fascinated by all this, I tell David once on the planter by the railroad tracks. I just accept it, I don�t question it, he says. I know what he means. I almost married a railfan, I was proposed to on the benches by track three, long before I was into trains. He has left this earth now for a better place, and we�ve lost his brother, too, one who frequented the station much more than I. So I just accept it now, shake my head and move on. Let�s go, I say, hoisting the super heroe bag to my shoulder, let�s go and see where life takes us. I like to make things happen, but I don�t think I would have ever made this happen. I will make summer, happen, though, and I�ll tell you all about that next time.

On Monday, it is time for the southern California train travel group�s monthly meeting at Know wood. They have met a week earlier at Ruby�s Diner in the Streamliner lounge, situated near the Orange Metrolink station. I knew a man who lived in one of the rental properties across from the station, I take the train back from that station once several years ago. It is a set of tracks, a Metrolink machine, some stairs and a street and railroad crossing. It is the place hereunder tells me once he saw Mo exhibiting her usual vim and vinegar, Mo, the late Mo, that is, the one who shows up one night to tell Glenn something and says �Boo� to me. �I didn�t tell you this� she says and then tells me Glenn owns two houses and that his daughter and wife lives in one house and he lives in the other house with his son. Ok so what�s so secret about that? I know people who own two houses. Hey if he�s got the money, the time, the headache stamina, the energy, personality, and desire for all those complications more power to him, I admire the man even more. But they are his complications, I have enough of my own. Mo miller, the woman who told me Glenn asked if I knew he was married. No, not at first, but I assumed that in any case. �Don�t let it bother you,� he says when I ask about it 21 months ago now. He hasn�t let it bother him. He�s just either available to talk to me, or not. Works for me. She�s part of my railroad journey, too, it seems, a journey that is now three years and three months in the making. Oh we had a model train around our Christmas tree as a child, we had a railroad engineer in the family, a steam engineer, we went on a train in 1978, my first trip, when my number 1 engineer was running freight for the Santa Fe. I don�t� think I ever owned a train set, I think I played with the one around the Christmas tree, but I don�t ever remember owning one or wanting to own one. Heck, I didn�t even know that one of the girls I Used to go to church with had a conductor for Southern pacific and then Union pacific for a father. I remember swimming in their pool once, and spending the night with his daughter, and going to camp with her, but I didn�t� know what he did. I found out less than a month ago through a Face Book connection, and so now here we are, I know someone who worked for my avocation and who said he could answer questions when he could. He doesn�t always check Face Book, he says. Fine with me, I don�t either, just when I�m tied to my computer looking at trains, writing about then, something else, or whatever brings me here. This is another hairpin turn on my railroad journey.

I remember when I would sit on the patio with the railfans wanting to talk to Norm the BNSF engineer? I may have told you about that in another journal entry probably two years ago now. Well I text message him on Sunday and ask if he�ll tell me engineer stories. He�s retired from the BNSF now. He says he�ll tell me stories. I got his number because Janice, in 2010 wanted me to call him and see how he was doing since he had taken time off for some medical procedures. I did call him that day and then I called Glenn, the call that almost killed me, not because of him, only because of my anxiety level, something that must be close to what pleasure feels like, maybe they�re the same thing. He hasn�t run away, either, he always says �we�ll talk again� or �I�ll have to talk to you later� especially when I�ve just awakened him from his contemplations of Metrolink nightmares and maybe days of glory on the Santa Fe. I�ve got a plan to meet him in L.A. to get his picture and share some of my writing, and maybe steel him for an hour along with a friend of mine, delivering him in plenty of time for his sleeping duties. I will let you know how that goes. There�s that aspect of my journey, too, just trying to meet these guys. It�s all been very exciting if sometimes a little daunting.

This Tuesday night, November 29 I have determined to meet the crew from the Laguna train. It has been in operation since July, 2011. I remember when I stood talk into glen and he pointed out to me where they were laying the new track. Now here it is and I�ve met one crew on the angels Express train, now it�s time for the next one.

�I�m going to go meet those guys,� I tell Dave Norris and the others at the east end of the platform on Monday. I know that after I meet Carey�s train, if I go across the bridge, I won�t go back so Stay over on that side, finding a bench near track 4, awaiting the train. It pulls in, almost to the wall, squeaking badly as usual, not sure if it�s the art of break applications or just the consist itself being noisy. I know there is a very squeaky locomotive, 895, but this is the whole consist not just the locomotive. The cab car goes toward the wall, never quite hits it, of cause, just snuggles up to it, I sit further down, waiting. People pass me, rolling backpacks, talking on their cell phones in multiple languages, sometimes it seems to happen all at once. The cool, balmily refreshing breeze comforts the red and green sweater, the one I�ve pulled out of the bag, the one the cat hasn�t claimed as a bed, at least not yet. I sit there, my bag in my lap or next to me, waiting. Here comes someone with jingling keys. That has to be the conductor or engineer, maybe, not sure. I know as a child I was always fascinated by the conductor�s key ring long before I was interested in trains. I remember in July 2010 sitting in the caf� car on the train to Los Angeles, Matt he conductor talking to Lynda the car attendant. I signaled him to come to me.

�Can I see that key ring? I�ve always been fascinated by it�ll�

he takes it off and puts it on the table. There are switch keys from rural rail roads in case they need them, a cabinet key, and I think that was it. I�d have to read my journal entry again to remind myself. But it seems like every train occurrence here now has a memory for me.

�Are you going south?� he asks me. Usually I get annoyed but tonight I think, wait, this is my ticket to paradise, I should answer the question, maybe it�s not the conductor Or maybe it�s the engineer? They have an hour break so anything is possible.

�On this side,� I say.

�If you�re going south there�s one more train, 608, that comes in here in a few minutes.�

I glance at my watch. It is 6:50.

�I know,� I now explain. �I always come and talk to that engineer.�

�Oh,� He says with recognition, �Bobby then.�

�Yeah.�

�Tell him to get home on time.�

�I will tell him, I say.�

�I have to go catch this train� he says as the other train comes in on track 3, the other Laguna train or something I never remember what it is; I�ll have to ask him. It�s not 707 or 608. A long time passes. I sit in the pleasant evening, the auxiliary power hums on the Laguna train, two freights pas behind me. The place I sit lines up with track 4, the wall built to separate track 4 and 3 paralleling track 3. I�m not quite sure why they put that wall there, but they did. The freights pass us, the usual rhythm of the station blends with the freshening breeze, the cool early winter night. Around us, the evening grows quiet.

Soon the conductor comes again, I wave.

�Tell Bobby Eddie says to get home on time,� he repeats.

�Where�s the engineer?�

�Hiding. He�s in there,� he points. �He�s hungry right now,� he says.

The man probably hails from a Spanish speaking country, he is pleasant, extroverted, outgoing. I haven�t met a conductor yet who�s not outgoing; one called me Princess, the others just leave me alone, except the one on Glenn�s train who asked me if I was taking the train. If I were taking the train I�d be down there taking the train, not standing down here talking to the engineer. Oh that was good, one of the three times I had to apologize to the engineer, but never the conductor. I don�t� like apologizing. Anyway, this one is no such trouble, he�s just protecting his crew. Patience, little star struck adolescent middle-aged railfan. If I�m patient I always get what I come after.

�I�ll tell him,� I say to Eddie the conductor as he goes back to his train. They leave in about forty minutes. By the time they leave I�m across the tracks an by the time they return from Laguna to make their final run to Ocean side, I�m gone for the night. I�ll have to wait till the next time. But the story isn�t over yet. I learn the engineer�s name. But that�s for later, but not too much later.

I sit for a few more minutes, enjoying the fact that I�m just sitting here and I don�t have to get up to go to work tomorrow. I can sleep till 7:00 and then it�s off to Disneyland with my friend Kimberly, yes the one who was the Harvey Girl. That ended sadly because the railroad museum asked her to leave because of the felony on her record, caused by her husband, something we won�t get into now, just to say that shortly after that I began working weekends and that has significantly cut down on my involvement with the museum. I am qualified to be the conductor on the trolleys, but I haven�t been there to work on them. Someday I may do that; though I have developed a great distaste for the director. Yes that would be part of my railroad journey, too, and I don�t deny the museum�s existence, it is good for the perpetuation of train knowledge. Gary is a great instructor, very passionate about his work, Steve the rules class guy is great, too, he gave me the copy of the general code of operating rules for the train, the 2011 addition and the Union pacific transition guide. I learned a lot while I was there and we talk about it sometimes, but I haven�t made a trip to that museum since August, 2011. Never mind that, it has been a rather eventful three months.

I notice that it is almost time to go to see bobby on the 608, so I get up and make my way to the tracks. It is strange being here on a Tuesday. It is my Friday and so for a strange few moments it feels like Friday. I swear the people talking across the tracks are the foamers, but no, they�re just another group of people watching and waiting. The GE Genesis pulling 4 comes through, stopping and loading, somehow unannounced by the agent, or did I miss it, and I think it�s an extra Amtrak the one that usually comes on Friday. By the time I get over to the other side of the station, track 1, I remember today is Tuesday, not Friday and my Genesis locomotives, I think there are two tonight, the number varies between 2 and 4 on any given day, the one with the cool prerecorded bell is gone. I make my way to the caf�, talk to Wendy, buy some diet Pepsis and an ice-cream sandwich.

�What does he look like?�

�He�s bald.�

�He�s an older guy.�\

No, he looks like he�s in his twenties. He has a tattoo on his arm his sleeve covers it.�

We�re talking about the man from the orange trains.

�He�s younger,� she says.

He has� been by here; she�s leaving in two weeks, the next time he comes in here she�ll get his name.

Now I tease mercilessly, the one who used to be teased by the patio faithful about talking to the engineers, teases this time. I�ve decided to just like it; I used to be bothered by it because I really am interested in running the trains, but this is railroading, Dave says, the stakes are a little different, I think. There is a difference between thee younger and older engineers, the older ones in my own experience are much rougher in their grammar, not their language, though Glenn can get a little rough in the language department. No matter, I�m used to it. I�m not easily offended, or put off by such demonstrations. What I mean is that the grammar is less educated, the younger ones are more polished, it may just be the individuals, it may just be education, but no matter for me anyway; they have the information this educated college graduate wants, and they�re friendly, too. One of the patio faithful asked me if I was a gold digger. No, I said, no no, these guys might have money but judging from the experience of one engineer, they�re broke, too, and besides, all the gold I want is in their heads. I don�t want their money.

Some of the younger ones aren�t so friendly, I think, or they just don�t� know what I want, it takes me a little longer and honestly my schedule has changed so drastically that I don�t get there to talk to them. I do have an advantage, I suppose, or an ice-breaker, you might say. If they ask me if I want the train I always just say that I came to talk to them. Some respond, most do when I tell them that�s what I want. The Metrolink stops are so brief that you can�t really talk to them very long, but if you�re persistent like I am, and show up at the cabs often enough you get interactions. I�ve been talking to Bobby for a year and a half or so. Carey has been there, too at least two years. It took me a year to talk to Norm, the retired BNSF engineer, some of the extras remember me when I get to them lately, and now maybe a new one will talk to me.

But now, before the description of the famous man from the orange trains, and the next part of my Fullerton station adventure, Bobby pulls his train to the marker, and I run to catch him. I�m too far down, but I make it, waving You�ve got the right one!� The right one refers to my purring EMD, of course. On Monday I tell him that the retired conductor talk to knows his dad. I tell bobby his name. �Oh, I used to work with him,� he says. Today, I look up.

�Eddie says get home on time?�

�What?�

I repeat, pointing to track 4. �Eddie from that train!�

�He always gives me a hard time.�

I laugh, dancing.

�Tell him he�s a rookie!�

I laugh, oh dear, now I�m right in the middle of a fight, Kimberly says later. It�s a funny fight! I think they like each other. Now I�m right into the middle of it.

�I don�t know the engineer�s name,� I now say.

�Dave.�

�Who?�

He gets the high ball, he puts his head out the window, yelling the name again as the train pulls away. I laugh with delight. We�ve come a long way from sitting on the patio two and a half years ago wondering what the names and stories of the engineers were to this. One engineer puts his head out the window yelling the name of another engineer to me as he pulls his train away to the orange subdivision. How romantic! It�s part of what I like about talking to these guys. They�re so giving!

I remember when Carey told me where Glenn was. Glenn told me that another engineer, Rob, took Bobby�s place on 608, but then Bobby was back and I haven�t gotten my chance to meet Rob.

�Do you know Harvey?� Glenn asks me when I call him after a fatality on his train in January. �He goes to Ocean Side.� He had taken time off to help Harvey move so missed the fatality on 221. What a nice man. So even Glenn tells me the names of engineers. Like I said, they�re all so giving.

�Shelley!�

This time they�re not hailing me from the cab, it�s Dave on the planter near the Santa Fe caf�. Tonight there is a church group that sits down at the east end, they feed homeless people there, I�ve been down there a few times and still want to help provide food for them. I want to do it when the day off is Tuesday for me but we�ll see. Maybe I�ll just start doing that now anyway. The group pushes the regulars out of their spot and they come down here where I first got my start dreamily sitting down here, afraid to wave. Remember those days? I wave sometimes now, but I do more talking than waving, except when these freight guys come through on a green, getting the heck out of Dodge, as I say. We sit down here, talking tonight, about trains, actually do minion them, signal testing from Conned or the lack of it. Glenn was hired by Conned before Metrolink went to Amtrak for crews. On Monday, the train travel group, none of them in the industry, talk about Amtrak�s proposal to take some of the San Dingo trains away, the Pacific Surf liners. Sometimes Glenn refers to them with their old names. He tells me that metrolink wants to take over the service, I haven�t read that anywhere yet and I haven�t read the proposal for the reduced service to san Diego. The consensus on the platform is that the people making the decisions don�t know the market here. Those trains are packed most of the time if not all of it. That�s the latest concern, I guess. Someone says we�ll get high speed rail when Amtrak hits 110 miles an hour. A little sarcastic? Probably. High speed rail isn�t my forte, seems like my forte is meeting people who run n the trains and getting their opinions an boy when you get on of them in the right mood it�s a gold mine! So maybe I am digging for gold. Somehow I don�t mind railroaders� opinions. Railfans? That�s another thing entirely. I guess I�m classified among them but I want to be the one who gathers the information from e sources, it� another reason for my extreme interest; my journalism and history tendencies have met their matches.

But for now, we discuss Conned and somewhere in there, locomotive classes. Wally and Doug come along, it�s a small good group; no one dominates the conversation. I don�t even remember if they tease me about the bag. A freight comes and sits, waiting for another one, and then an Amtrak. We talk bout Taylor and how Union pacific tore up the yard and now metrolink uses it as storage for their locomotives, but only the south end of the former railroad yard, where my retired SP conductor worked. I remember Glenn telling me he was at Taylor once though it�s not called Taylor anymore, just by the old heads. I�ll take it. We talk about sidings in Norwalk. I swear I remember lying awake at night hearing these loud slamming noises, they must have been coupling cars but I don�t even know how I learned that. I remember walking over a bridge once when a train came, but I don�t remember what train it was, I think the bridge was over firestone, we were walking to meet my mother for lunch at her job. It just shows how much I have to learn, I suppose. So it is a good night, and I leave around 9:00, Wally asks if I want a ride home. I decide to take him up on it. I�ve been here and almost done what I need to do. Now I just have to make one more contact with that train. Patience little star struck middle-aged railfan. Patience.
Let�s go, I say, hoisting the super heroe bag to my shoulder, let�s go and see where life takes us. I like to make things happen, but I don�t think I would have ever made this happen. I will make summer, happen, though, and I�ll tell you all about that next time.

 

 

Copyright © 2011 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"