In Memory of Bobby

I've been a little off lately.  So what else is new when the weather stinks and a 'breezy' day has winds of 25 mph?  I can't ride off my frustrations easily in the 40 degree, sleety nasty conditions of the last couple of weeks.  It gives me too much time in front of my laptop when I'm home.  Not that that's all bad.  I get a lot of work done on the Tour and my team (which incidentally, I should be doing now...but am not).  So it goes...

In regards to the aforesaid frustrations...Sometimes, you get a kick in the teeth that just takes the wind out of your sails and makes everything look just a little bit less sunny.  Such was my return from a trip a week or so ago.  I'm really having kind of a hard time getting around the news of my old friend Bobby.

Bobby was my conductor last fall on a work-train that I held until they chopped it off for the winter and sent me back on the road.  We had an absolute ball on that train.  He was counting the days until he could retire after 40-plus years in this line of work and nothing seemed to make him stop laughing about the good times he had lined up at his new digs in Florida.

Every day for those few weeks with Bob started with his 'Country Breakfast' (coffee and a cigarette) as the sun came up over the ball park in the east.  Then he'd tell me the news on the sale of his house in Pennsylvania, then tales of moving truckloads of stuff down I95 and the ongoing work on the new place outside Daytona.  He was as giddy as a puppy and even though I knew I'd rarely see him after the move, I was glad to see someone getting out of the grind with all the ducks in a row.  He said the days were dragging but the end of the line was in his cross-hairs and I was happy for him.

We had an old NW bay-window caboose (or 'shoving platform' as they now call them) on that job  that we kind of adopted.  The 'boose was a concession to the fact that we had to go backwards for long distances with the rail train we were hooked to and riding the side of a flat car for miles in the rain was something Bobby flat-out refused to consider.  We used our down-time to sweep the old wreck out, bagging up years of accumulated trash, wiping the dust off the seats and plugging up the worst holes with duct tape.  I called it  Bobby's pimped-out caboose after we got is semi-presentable.

Nothing in it worked of course; the coal stove was long gone and the old box radio was gutted to it's electronic innards on the wall.  The bank of batteries was still in the floor but they hadn't had acid in them in years and the generator was probably seized anyway.  Regardless, it became something of a prize.  Bob said it was pretty cool that he began his career on a caboose and was now going to end it on one.  Even this long after cabooses were abolished from everyday service.

I even learned to handle a train with a cabin on it.  It's a little different running when you have to think about smacking someone around who's riding on the other end.  You can slap them about pretty hard if you're not paying attention.  The stories from the old-heads of getting tossed against the wall or having their lunch fly out the window were strong in my head.   That was one of the reasons cabooses disappeared...too many injuries from ham-handed engineers running the slack in and out.  The later versions had 5-point harnesses on the seats like a fighter plane.  Wiggling the tail on 100 cars must have been like getting hit by a truck.  But I figured it out and if I did hit him with the slack, Bobby never mentioned it.  He kept the rail-train crew chuckling all day long while holding court from his rolling office like he owned the whole railroad.  In some ways, it seemed like he did.

I met him soon after I hired out way back when and once he found out I had a Harley, we were friends.  He was our union rep. for all those years and managed to save my skin a time or two when I rubbed the carrier the wrong way as well.  Sometimes I wouldn't even see him for weeks but then he'd call and want to know everything.

Then he surprised me by jumping on a long-pool job with me.  We spent months after that riding up and down the track between New York and Pennsylvania with an assortment of trainees and miscreants who were qualifying on the run.  It was a blast.  The tales of the Bobby and Harold Show would keep me blogging for months but nobody would ever believe any of it could was true.  It was one hell of a run.

Eventually, he went off on other trains and I moved around as we all do in this trade and we only ran into each other at union meetings unless I grabbed a vacancy on his job for a week.  We stayed close though and whenever the madness would get to me, I'd call and shoot the breeze for an hour.  Then the work train came up and the stars aligned just right for the old road-team to have one more go at it.  I was tickled to be able to hold the job with Bobby, even though I knew it was only for a couple of months until he was old enough to take his pension.

He told me before he left that he was happy he had the chance to finish out his career with me as his engineer and he was glad we got the chance to work together one more time.  That meant more to me than he ever knew and I'll remember it well.  Sooner than I wanted to think about, he was shaking my hand for the last time as he headed south for his new place in the sunshine.  I never would have imagined it would be the last time I'd see him.

Bobby passed away suddenly last week at his home near Daytona.  He slept away in his bed which is a long stretch from how he ever expected to go.  Only a couple of months into his retirement that he worked so long to get, like turning out the lights, that was all she wrote.  He got to party with all his friends at Bike Week, sent them all on their way and then he was gone.  When I heard the news, another little bit of the good leaked out of the world.  I still haven't figured it out.

We all know that fairness doesn't enter into these things and sometimes fate is one cruel bastard but it leaves us who stay behind to wonder...why him, why now?  Nobody ever knows their time but how is it that the cards played out the way they did?

As my favorite author, Ernest Gann said, "...by what ends does a man ever partially control his fate?  It is obvious from the special history of our kind that favorites are played, but if this so, then how do you account for those who are ill-treated?  The worship of pagan gods, which once answered all this, is no longer fashionable.  Modern religions ignore the matter of fate.  So we are left confused and without direction.  Let us admit, then, that the complete answer may only be revealed when it can no longer serve those most interested."

I for one, wish I knew.  But until I do, he's a good man gone and I'm proud to have known him.  We'll get through the hard time somehow because he always did.  We might even end up laughing about it.  He would.  He was my friend and all I'm sure of is that I'll miss that man.  And it'll be a while before I get some of the wind back in my sails.

So here's to you Bobby...I'll whistle for you in the night like I do when I think of all the others gone before. It's a long, long line you've joined now Brother; hold me a place and we'll do Daytona when I catch up with you next time.

A Bite Sized Post...The OCS

I'm still here gang.  Really.  I've been tapping away at a little memoir from this past summer but it keeps getting longer and longer without coming to a Happily Ever After quite yet.  To spare you the tedious slog through a ridiculously long post, I've decided to chop it up into bite-sized chunks that will hopefully be a little more palatable.  My first attempt at a serial I guess.  It still may take a while but at least it'll look like I'm doing more than getting distracted by YouTube every time I light up my computer.  The summer has gone to frost but I promised railroad stories...


I planned on doing this post right after the fact but the fact is, too many other misadventures cropped up around the Wayward Home in the mean (really mean) time. Let's just say it's been an eventful couple of months and get on with it.
The old blog finds itself getting pushed to the back burner more than I like between working all the time and...well, working all the time. That being said, I'm finally putting fingers to keys and getting it done before the facts fade into fiction and this becomes just another well-embellished rail tale.

Here then, after much delay is the story of the OCS.

Day One

In early August, my local Road Foreman of Engines approached me to run the Office Car Special, the infamous OCS train.  For those less connected with the railroad world, this train is sort of a hotel/conference center/restaurant on rails.  It's used by the carrier to haul officials touring the realm or on other assorted corporate gigs stratospherically above my pay grade.  The Kentucky Derby comes to mind...  It's actually a rolling resort with its own chefs, stewards, security detail and mechanical forces. They don't call it 'varnish' for nothing as a trip on the thing can hardly be classified as 'roughing it'.  On this outing, it would come into my charge equipped with four spiffy "F" engines, sleeper cars, a diner, observation cars etc. but more importantly it would also contain the CEO of our company and a long list of notables viewing the railroad and politicking.  No one on the passenger manifest had less than three initials after their name, most beginning with VP of something or Chief Officer of something else.  Tacked on the head end is a boxcar loaded to the doors with stress for the crew.  No pressure.

Having heard more than a few horror stories about what a nightmare this train can be, I was somewhat reluctant to take the bait even though I was intrigued by the idea of running the old "F" units at least once in my career. Challenge of something new aside, I remembered that it is commonly known as "The Punisher" because almost everyone who runs it gets punished in one form or another.  It also has other less-than-inspiring nicknames such as "The CEO"...short for Career Ending Opportunity.  What had I gotten myself into?

Adding to my indecision was the fact that I know almost nothing about passenger train operations except what I've picked up from various rumors and hearsay. I'd never pulled anything behind me in 14 years that could outright fire me if it didn't like the ride.  Flatcars rarely complain if I run the slack in and out too much. This was another ball game. The train is not equipped with dynamic brakes so everything has to be done the old fashioned way...put on the air and drag it.  At least the brakes are a standard freight setup, not passenger so at least it looked familiar. Something else to think about.

The deal was done when I came to the conclusion that the only way they were going to give me my requested time off for the Tour de Cure was to cave in and take the train. Something about one hand washing the other...

As is my usual mode of operation, I fretted about it and called everybody I could think of for advice or at least a heads-up on possible career moves if I got my silly self fired off the thing. I hoped I could figure it out well enough to avoid the worst but with so many big names aboard, the odds seemed less than ideal. I bought a lottery ticket just in case.

The whole event was scheduled to take three days so I took a midnight call and kissed my wife goodbye until Wednesday.  I got a glimpse of coaches and idling engines as I drove in the parking lot, hoping it wouldn't be the last train I ever ran.  The first order of business on our arrival was to deadhead the train without the officials aboard to get it in position for the big show. A couple of guys minding the store would be our only passengers for the first leg.  Walking out with my grip to load up I found it waiting, looking shiny and intimidating. I fired up another 'B' unit for the climb over the first hill and tried to settle in. It really isn't that much different than any other train from the right seat. Same old familiar EMD control stand, everyday radio and head-end box but that sure is a funny shaped windshield out there. So far, so good.

A fly landed in the ointment about a mile into the trip. The CP dispatcher dropped the bomb on us that one of their freights was stalled on the back side of the hill and it would be 'a while' before they could rescue it. "A while" in railroad parlance could be anything from an hour to a week. The hours indeed started to pass as our time on duty inexorably ticked away. The RFE paced and worked his phone. Eventually, a monstrous bag of junk freight and intermodals in the charge of a relief crew slid past us clearing a path over the hill. Shortly thereafter, we finally got the ok for launch from Minneapolis to leave town. Hurdle number one.

The trip up wasn't actually too bad. I spent some time getting acquainted with how the thing handled and feeling out the brakes.  Nothing was smoking much at the bottom of the hill so I guess it was ok. The sun came up in our eyes just like it has a million other times heading up north and I almost relaxed a little. I know the ups and downs pretty well so it was just a matter of getting the timing right.

The real fun began again once we got to our crew-change point to hand off to the Pan Am guys taking it on to Massachussetts. We were scheduled to chop up the train so our new compadres from New England could put their own set of fancy power in the lead along with an office car or two. No big deal except we were now short on time, the dispatcher was on her first day solo and there were officials from three railroads trying to give orders and look official.  On top of it all, I was starting to fizzle out from the all nighter. I finally retreated to the cab while the assorted bosses tried to out-boss each other and come up with a workable plan of attack. I was too tired to argue.

After a suitable interval of snorting and hoof-pawing among the leadership, orders reached my radio and the move got underway. Of course, it immediately changed and confusion reigned. I guess the job briefing was a little too brief but my conductor had it figured out anyway.  I had an idea what we were trying to accomplish so I just went slow while the mess sorted itself out. Patience as they say, is a virtue.  With time on our hours-of-service now down to almost zip, we set out to turn two of the four engines and all the sleeper cars and get it parked before we blew up. It was almost a photo-finish but as the clock ran out, we shut it down and tied it up where we were supposed to be almost like we planned it. Hurdle number two.

We were dropped off after the festivities at a pretty high-zoot (for a train crew anyway) hotel and then abandoned to fend for ourselves until the following afternoon.  Airline crews would probably consider the place slumming but it was a couple notches above our usual digs.  I'm not used to a hotel room with a couch, a coffee table and more than two towels in the bathroom but it was nearby and the carrier was paying so who am I to nitpick? I collapsed for a while but the bright sunshine was too much to allow for any serious sleep so I eventually wandered out to find my conductor and locate some dinner. We hooked up with a band of CP officials that happened to be stationed in the same hotel and wound up having a pretty good time chatting and yukking it up at the expense of our employers (figuratively speaking...we don't rate a corporate credit card). The CP road foreman who would be riding with us on the train was most reassuring in that he figured he'd get fired just as quickly as I would if anything went wrong so at least I'd have company filing for unemployment. I finally realized that I was about running on empty from lack of meaningful sleep so I called it a day. I don't even remember turning out the light.  Tomorrow we'd do it again.