I Spent A Week There One Night

Somewhere in a far away land in the 1940’s....

 

“Rat-a-tat-tat” came the sound as a hand laid a rap on the screen door as it reverberated and rattled against its framing. Steps could be heard making their way for the door shortly afterwards. “Just a minute.” The unique knock could be that of only one but yet familiar person.

 

Of the stops on his route as a railroad messenger boy, this was one the few stops around town he enjoyed if not looked forward to. The Mister of this house was never one he had to chase down. Young Frank just out of school would often have to wade along riverbanks calling out the name of some brakeman trying his luck at the local fishing hole or stick his head in the doors of local stores, barbershops, car shops, pool halls or eateries to see if a conductor or engineer on his call list could be found. If an employee on this list couldn’t be found, it meant starting back over at square one with another exhaustive search for the next pulse holder. It could be a troublesome puzzle to put together but it was a matter of first come first serve with no predictability. “Why wasn’t I called?” The counter question was “Why couldn’t you be found?” Luck of the draw for better or worse.

 

Frank got along well with most of the flock under his steed. The job was an eye-opening experience for him. One minute he seemed shy and too immature for his job yet other moments he could out foul tongue many of the local tavern patrons and charge into places that they, let alone angels, would fear to tread.

 

Interrupting a family picnic could either be pleasantly cordial or could end with a volcano of cursing if not the occasional fist throwing by the recipient and dodging by the deliverer. He was just a mere delivery boy but because he was the first representation of the ball and chain they signed up for, he caught more than his share of flak. Though sympathetic, his face represented an intrusion. It was deciding whatever face he had to wear at any given moment that could be taxing more so than the long walks around town out on the hunt for another name but he was slowly adapting to the terrain in which he found himself deployed. He wasn’t bipolar. His job just had a bipolar atmosphere and outsiders were clueless. Maybe they had no idea just how lucky they were.

 

The worst for Frank, however, was the search for none other than one Walter Baum, a man who cared little for a rigid organized lifestyle of living by the clock. This was a man who lived by his own conceptions and if there were misconceptions in between then playing the victim was his preferred escape route no matter what side of the fence he was on at any given moment. He wreaked of stale cigarette smoke, flat beer and any other odorous trademark of the places where he called home in the concrete and neon jungles. To Walt paying rent meant spending money on bills which he saw as an encroachment into his frivolous lifestyle. He said fun was all that concerned him most. It appeared instead that he wanted to forget something.

 

The smell of repulsive body odor was just a small glimpse to his self-indulgence. Some of the local homeless would feel a bit better off than to be victims of the circumstances that this guy needlessly put himself through. The career he held was as unpredictable as he was. Walt was a well known drunk around town and to locate him for a call meant going to shady parts of town searching the local bars. If not in one of the local sipping troughs, his claim to fame as a ladies man could be waining. This then meant a trip to the obscure whore house in search of him nursing his self inflicted wounds at cost. The hollowed out walls Walt called home seemed to host the finest recent graduates of the nearby Pine Acres Correctional facility or at best their future clientele. One could be certain that many graduates would go back for further enlightenment.

 

Walt somehow intermingled with them and yet was never caught up in his cohorts lawless shenanigans and sent away to share bunks with them. Some claimed he was a mediator amongst them yet given his exploits many would beg to differ. Walt played the devils advocate for his own interest. He always seemed to have a ready supply of greenbacks or the name of some local eye candy on hand to dissuade a messenger boy of “having found his presence” so he could continue living it up. Many others in the town had kept their noses clean and their hopes aspired to hold down a lofty job at the railroad but found themselves toiling along in less glamorous jobs as they couldn’t fit through the eye of the needle. So many wanted that chance but the tidal wave of applications trying to get in watered down their efforts. Yet Walt had it made and seemed to have cared less. His grace was he stumbled in on the right day at right time. Whether he was sober or bored that day when he inked his name on the dotted line we’ll never know.

 

Sometimes his drunken incoherence upon being encountered made putting him on duty a bad proposition. This could go on for several days on end. Walt wasn’t a particularly bad person but he had different ways than the other railroaders of coping with the effects of the job but his methods caused his reputation to extend beyond himself him a bit. Back at Felix’s place with a home he and friends had built board by board and brick by brick things were different.

 

“Well hi there. Won’t you come in?”

 

“Mrs. Loretta, good afternoon to you. Smells like a nice dinner you have cooking. As much as I’d love to hang around until dinner is served I’m quite busy today.” Loretta glances down at Franks small satchel at his side bristling with envelopes awaiting delivery.

 

“Oh heavens, I would say so yes!”

 

Frank double checked the writing on the envelope that read...

 

“F. T. Strawbridge

217 Sycamore Street”

 

He handed it to Loretta saying “It’s the Beltmoore. He should be home in time for festival Sunday. Could you sign here please?”

 

Once a signature was received on the company crew call roster sheet, Franks job had been done. He couldn’t ring the doorbell and run leaving an envelope at a door step no matter how much he’d love to do so in most cases. Passing the buck to another blindly would have been better than Christmas or at best rivaling a sinners prayer. The employees signature was required as this showed they were alive, functioning and breathing enough to sign their name thus signifying their acceptance and acknowledgment that they would report for work. In the 27 years of the Strawbridge calls, there was never an issue. Loretta’s signature was as good as gold in place of her husbands.

 

“If you happen to have any leftovers I’d gladly accept them at the festival. Hope to see you and Felix and the family there.”

 

Mrs. Strawbridge waved a farewell to Frank who left for his scaling of the town for another name on the roster and closed the door behind herself. She ambled back up to the bedroom to find Felix sitting at the edge of the bed groggily rubbing his eyes and yawning as he said “Well let me see the prize winnings today. Only Frank has a knock that sounds like a fat kid tiptoeing through a field of crunchy dried out daisies. Loretta, I do believe if you could learn his knock you could awaken my dead carcass to attend church with you some mornings. By the second day of his knocking, I knew it couldn’t be anyone else aside from him. Any other knock would have bored me into a deeper sleep.”

 

“Well, they are putting in the new telephone wires just a few blocks away. The storms last week took a lot of the phone lines out. Hopefully, ours will be back in service next week. Seems weird seeing railroads using crew call boys again. I’m sure as they make more and more headway poor Frank will have to find a new line of work. Maybe he will enlist in the Navy. He said he had been thinking about it and their motto ‘Join The Navy And See The World’ had appealed to him.”

 

“Dear. Doing what he’s doing right now....he’s seeing things he wouldn’t see no matter how many times he sailed around the earth. Especially if he gets out looking for Walt.”

 

Felix reached for his glasses as Loretta handed him the envelope oblivious to the plight of the one who delivered it. He asks how her day has been as he opens the envelope and pulled out the paper. Atop it was the company logo of a 5 pointed star representing the 5 states served by his employer's rails. He giggled softly as he wondered what a Jewish Star of David for a logo would look like being the “Starlight Route” recently bought a connecting shortline in an adjacent state bringing them up to 6. His great grandfather would approve.

 

“The 136....” Felix said to himself in puzzlement.

 

“Felix he said the Bigbee Turn.”

 

Felix glanced up at the ceiling then to the floor as he struggled to put two and two together from his just awakened slumber. The railroad gave their trains numbers but the locals and railroaders gave them names to better understand their whereabouts and “where’a’to’s.” Rarely did the numbers mean anything to the outsiders so the namesakes helped things along.

 

“Well, that won’t be a bad nights worth of work. Just hope the rain holds off until the morning. Those crossties and roadbed were already beyond sponge stage from soaking up the previous week's rain.”

 

A distant train whistle blew and from the sounds of it, it was not the one Felix would take the helm of. Another shouldn’t be heard for another few hours giving Felix no sense of urgency. A look at his orders on the paper confirmed his thoughts. Frank wouldn’t knock too soon and yet even though his on duty time was a few hours away the tempting thought of another hours rest would do little but result in useless tossing and turning.

 

“Well come on down and I’ll put some coffee on for you. Madeleine and the kids are here. Little John has been raving all afternoon how he wants to see his pa paw. He wants to hear some of your ‘tales from the rails’ “ Loretta says laughingly.

 

“Glad I didn’t want another nap,” Felix thought to himself in light of the circumstances but was glad of the news of company before work.

 

After a few moments, Felix came downstairs into the kitchen as his wife and daughter sat at the table with plates already in place. The grandfather passed a tall grandfather clock, an assortment of pictures of his honeymoon, vacations, family and of fellow Marine Corps buddies continuing past well-crafted hand made in America furniture from a shop just down the road a piece. His grandson and granddaughter giggled as they played with Felix’s cocker spaniel, Wendy. Felix poured a cup of coffee and sat at the head of the table as a light Indian summers breeze flowed through curtains in an opened window.

 

“Kids, come on, s....”

 

He hushed Madeline’s command bringing a puzzled look to her face. There was no need to rush right into the early dinner. Time was available for talk and catching up.

 

“Shhhhh, let 'em play a little longer.”

 

She smiled and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, fingers resting along her cheek while looking at her father as her black hair rested lazily on her shoulders.

 

“So, how've ya been dad?”

 

A glance over his glasses as he sipped down his coffee and crossed his eyes caused the two women to burst into laughter.

 

“Ahhh come on pa. Surely it hasn’t been that crazy!”

 

He placed the coffee cup down and let out a giggle.

 

“Nah, all is well. Just been busy lately. There’s always something to do around this place. Always something needing tending too. Just trying to do my part to keep your mother from being run ragged.”

 

Loretta smiled as she got up and walked to the stove and began bringing dinner to the table.

 

Felix glanced in his wife’s direction and back over to Madeleine. “So how’s life on your end?”

 

“Fine...fine...” said half-heartedly.

 

“Audrey and John have been doing well in school and the new job is going well. Mr. Wallace gave me a raise and says I can work all the hours I want if need be. With the holidays coming up there’ll be no shortage there. He and his wife have been most generous. They’ve been understanding and working around my night classes. I only have one more semester.”

 

Glancing over at the two youngest, Madeline continued. “They have seemed to accept it a little. While they were in school last week, I....”

 

Her soft red lips began to quiver as she began to fight back a sudden unexpected tear. She told Felix in a barely controlled sob, “I miss Donnie so much.”

 

Loretta eased to her daughter's side to lightly console her and to shield the glances of the two littlest ones in the room away from their mother's condition. Their laughter continued as Wendy ran back and forth across the living room unwittingly diverting their attention from their grief-stricken remaining parent caught in the snares of a seemingly empty questionable future. For the moment Wendy was welcomed comedy relief.

 

“I lay in the bed at night reaching for someone who isn’t there and stare at the ceiling or out the window at the stars at night. It seems no matter how deep I bury my head into the pillow the kids still hear my sobs. They come in asking me what is wrong and I don’t know what to tell them. Its been almost a year now and no matter how much I pace the floors praying for an answer or seeking hope I just come up empty handed. Why the hell did...”

 

Madeleine drifted off into even deeper tears.

 

Felix extended his hand across the table to Madeleine, taking her grip in his, he softly kissed and softly squeezed her hand rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the top of it.

 

Regaining her composure yet looking into the table as if into an abyss she softly said “Mom...dad...your help the past year has meant so much to me. Thank you.” She was afraid to look up and make eye contact for fear of another rush of sudden emotions.

 

Felix leaned back and took another sip of coffee. “Maggie....that help will continue to be there as long as your mother and I have breath in our bodies. We can’t begin to imagine what it must be like with Donald gone. But rest assured our help for you will never cease.”

 

After a pause, Felix opted to Maggie, “If you need to there are two empty rooms right up those stairs there behind you. I seem to recall one once being yours and the other one belonging to that knuckleheaded brother of yours. If you need to, you, John and Audrey are welcome to stay with us. Your mother and I have already discussed this. If it’s to help shoulder the burden of your loss or if it just feels right....you can stay as long as you want or need to. With your brother gone, my erratic long hours and days away from home...and well...now with Donald being gone...I’m sure you could both use one another’s company...”

 

Madeleine slowly raised her head looking up at her mother and over to her father. “Thank you. Things are ok but we’ll see. Thank you for a safe harbor.”

 

Assured Madeleine was ok, Loretta went back to prepping the dinner table as Felix got up to let Wendy outside. The children filed to the table as Felix came back to have a seat. The time ticked on.

 

After dinner was finished little John walked over to his grandfather gathering all of his work gear. He said nothing but watched intensely as Felix slipped on his work shoes and grabbed his shiny leather satchel containing rule books, time tables, forms, pens, pencils, one days worth of clothes and several outdated but interesting copies of National Geographic. About that time Madeleine came to gather John. John looked up at his mom. “But pa paw was going to tell me a story.” Felix winked at his daughter and nodded.

 

“John, I tell you what little buddy, I have to get down to the station and be ready to take a train out. So sadly I won’t have the time to do that but...”

 

Felix dug into his satchel and pulled out a new cellophane wrapped copy of The Little Golden Books “The Little Engine That Could” and handed it to John who shrieked with joy jumping up and down. He had bought it some time ago and was keeping it ready for just such an occasion.

 

“When pa paw can’t be here to tell you any stories perhaps mom or grandma will see fit to read you a few pages from this. That sound like a pretty good deal little fella?”

 

Madeleine held her arm out as John ran to his mother's side while Audrey was already on the other side. Felix wrapped them all in a hug as he excused himself to grab the last of his things. Loretta escorted them out as Felix fills his thermos with coffee. He glances out the window looking out at the ensemble of his family huddled together at Madeleine's car. Looking on as his family went about their business while work kept him frustratingly away at arm's length was nothing new. This was a scene he had repeated time and time again in his career. Yet Felix had just as well learned long ago to accept it. Luckily the family did too. Others weren’t as fortunate or conscientious. He turns his focus to gathering lunch from the suppers leftovers. Madeleine looks into the window seeing her fathers silhouette. She kisses her mother’s cheek and drives away.

 

“My word! You ate enough to sink a battleship earlier.” exclaimed Loretta as she closed the door looking on at Felix placing one piece of fried chicken after another in his lunchbox.

 

“What has gotten into you lately? Have you gotten a tapeworm?”

 

“Dear I would think at 49 my tapeworm days are quite well behind me.”

 

The couple looks at one another across the length of the kitchen and laugh as they walk towards one another. Loretta takes her man in her arms in a deep embrace.

 

“Do you think you’ll be back in time for the festival this weekend?

 

“Oh, I should be. If all goes well I should be back home tomorrow night around 10 or 11. When does that thing start again? I can’t remember.”

 

“10 Sunday morning.”

 

“Ok. I should be able to.”

 

After a deep sigh and kiss on his wife’s cheek Felix puts on his hat and grabs his thermos, lunchbox, and satchel then heads out the door in an exchange of I love you’s.

 

Felix starts down the sidewalk with this work and personal belongings for other means along with extra baggage in his hands as he walks to the depot a couple of miles away in town.

 

DuPlois is home to about 17,500 and its largest employer outside of the railroad is the old Westinghouse lightbulb and fixture facility. Both run 365/24/7 except holidays and both equally kept the town afloat as they dueled in noise making through out the little towns concert and brick blocked walls. Most of DuPlois offerings lie along the stretch of Highway 25 called “Main Street” that runs east/west before swinging back north at the edge of town near the river. Either side of it more or less could be shoppers galore. Jewelry, clothing, home redecoration and sportsman stores and the like along with book, musical instrument and record stores held things down a bit. The pleasant stream is rippled a bit by the mortgage and loan offices. Even after most of the businesses have closed for the day potential prospectors can be found window shopping. Felix would usually allow himself an extra few minutes time in his walk to work to gaze into the displays in the shop windows and loved doing so after many had closed as to not have to deal with a pushy salesman or eager loan officers preying upon ones hardships only to bury them further. Commission has to be made somewhere somehow. Sometimes he deliberately contemplated using a fly swatter to keep the pushy at bay. The parking meter maid plying the sidewalks felt the same vibe only glancing at his reflection in the shop widows to break his monotony to see if his foot bouncing kept things slim and trim. While most of the goings on around town could be heard at local bait shops, the bus stop, the depot, some hair salon or any given church steps, this was the financial epicenter. To Felix it felt like a cesspool.

 

The bell to the courthouse clock makes its announcement that it is 1:00 pm. Felix stops and pulls out his railroad issued pocket watch seeing its 12:57 pm.

 

He grumbles to himself “Next week it will be off by 4 minutes. Maybe by this time next year, it will be 24 hours off and I can claim an unearned payday or send a replica of myself in.” Tucking his watch in his pocket he walks into the local diner across the street.

 

“Bob lemme have two sandwiches. One ham and one turkey. Both all the way.”

 

Tommy Dorsey’s “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You“ plays on the radio as Bob ask “Felix how are things down there on the R and R?”

 

Felix giggles at Bob’s sarcastic monicker. “Anything but rest and relaxation that’s for sure. Since we acquired the Noxapater & Northern back last fall it’s been hectic. Hopefully, things will even out soon. And they are starting to. Not complaining much. The extra money has been nice indeed. Just glad we aren’t stretched as thin as we were.”

 

“Yes indeed...” Bob slowly says as he finishes wrapping the last sandwich in wax paper putting it in a brown bag.

 

“That’ll be 3 and 2 5 there Feely.”

 

—————————————————————

 

Felix slides a chair up to the large round gray wooden table located in the break area after placing all his belongings off to the side. If you were joked about and laughed about while being able to take the heat, you were in and welcomed to the table. If you weren’t you were either an unknown, an isolationist or a woeful man who had been excommunicated from their circle. Getting kicked out was easy. Getting back in was almost impossible. At the round table there was no score keeping for the card games but in stature and loyalty which earned you a seat there.

 

Having a loose tongue, having assed up on the job over and over, not heeding and utilizing the advice of old hand railroaders, showing less than stellar work ethics, betraying a fellow rail brother, trampling over others to become a company man without earning approval and respect beforehand...these were grounds for expulsion. It sometimes took years to get a seat at the table but a moment of stupidity could result in your seat being little more than a mere season ticket. To sit there was a privilege not lightly given. You better be a trustworthy soul that could be counted upon in ethics, ability and mentality. Passing the company pre hire exams was one thing but this was another beast entirely. Proving yourself in the field was harder. A seat would be waiting for you if you got it right. A satanic caricature of Mickey Mouse laid painted in the center of the table. Mickey held a pitch fork in one hand and an unfurled reversed facing scroll in the other that said “Before you sits the highest order of the lowest of the low. Where the crossroads of aptitude and attitude meet.” Impaled on his forked tail was a caricature of some smug man who could have well been a company official. Maybe it helped keep them honest by way of becoming a source of one another’s entertainment or enjoying each others comradeship.

 

The air was thick with smoke from Lucky Strikes and Chesterfields, the pungent smell of King Edward cigars and Prince Edward pipe tobacco. The sound of click and clacks not of the rails but of balls on the two pool tables just behind them could be heard along with opening and closing Zippo’s. Never mind the playing of dominoes and dice rattling in between. Any gaps in sound were filled in with the shuffling and dealing of cards. The clacking of cue balls were usually made by the outsiders with no place to go. Their table was the pool table. This area was located next to the wash and locker rooms, the constant sounds of shuffling feet from those coming and going from them rounded things out even further.

 

One could have been forgiven if they mistook the scene for a shady dance hall or watering hole. However this was inside the regional railroad's main depot that rested on a central division point of several rail lines converging upon it. A sign with the company logo had a statement that said all was fine and well with the arrangements so long as money never changed hands in the act of gambling or affected company operations. On the bottom edge of the sign were some rather tactful statements written countering other corporate points of view. The masses would have revolted if management had tampered in kind with dear old Mickey.

 

“You gonna draw sometime today? By the time you get around to it, I’ll be drawing my retirement.”

 

George shrugged off the comment and continued looking around the table at others conquest deciding methodically what move to make next.

 

“George...honestly...why don’t you go over there to Herb The Turd and take him up on a game of chess. That may be more up to par with your slow speed taking all day to get something done.”

 

“Bill, do you mean just here at the card table or at on the job as well?”

 

The table erupted into laughter but that quickly ended when George laid out a straight flush.

 

George smiled widely with a toothpick on one side of his mouth and a cigarette hanging out of the other. George could be a bit aggravating to work with because he seemed to assess everything about the job. But when it all fell together he could build up or break down a train rather well.

 

“Well, guys that’s it for me.”

 

Around the table sat railroaders of various crafts and capacities. It wasn’t uncommon for a few retirees to drift in and hang around as if the depot were a VFW post. This evening was no exception. As George walked out looking to see if his train had arrived the eyes around the table gazed over to one of retired hanger on’s who’d occasionally stop in to hang out with their former brethren.

 

“Ellis you sure spend a lot of time around here for someone who said they wanted no part of this mess when they started drawing their pennies.”

 

“Pennies are right!” Ellis challenges in a gruff bark.

 

“You pay in a dollar and by the time you retire it may as well be a few pennies that you get back.”

 

“Awww hush Ellis! No one at home wanna hear you bitching anymore? You’ll run off the new hires with that tone. If you haven’t heard we’re short-handed as it stands. If you run them away I’m gonna make your retired ass mark back up on the board!”

 

“Yeah, Elly. Why aren’t you at home anyway?”

 

“What for? All I’ve got is that naggy baggy wife of mine and 6 kids....well it was 6 when I last counted.”

 

“And you wonder how she got that way?!”

 

“Ok boys. Here here. I know just the thing for him. We need to take up some money for poor old down in his luck Elly. What Elly needs is a television. He needs some entertainment. By gosh, if you put a TV in that house maybe poor 'ol Margret could get a break from childbearing.”

 

The room exploded with yet another round of laughter. Felix took off his glasses to wipe away the tears from the result of a hysterical direct hit to his senses. Even Ellis couldn’t help but chuckle at the proposition.

 

Dale who launched into the comical tirade looked over at Felix exclaiming “Man down!”

 

The atmosphere around the depot and roundhouse could have an almost prison feel to it. Not in the sense of being locked up. But in the sense of the large concrete and cinder block walls, easy on the eyes green paint though dimly lit, the heavy smell of oil and warm electrical cabinets humming providing power to the adjacent mechanical building.

 

There were however the foremen, yard masters, train masters, division and district superintendents who may as well been wardens. Understandably a screw up from someone underneath their wings would result in stress. They couldn’t be an everyone everywhere at once person. They had to have faith in their troops in the field. But the troops in the field had to have faith in them. So long as things were an equal measure there was no argument. Gilding the lily.

 

But it seemed some among the upper echelons were either power hungry and loved to smear their positions in the faces of the ones they guided or tried to brow beat them to their benefit losing touch with reality along the way. A fantasy land pedestal. The higher up you were the more weight your voice had. A broken olive branch meant little. There were plenty among the ‘foremanintendents’ who were all too happy to convey their sentences upon others. Some were fair, some seemed to have been spawned from Satan himself. Others amongst their rank claimed God was showing off when he created them. Resentment and hatred ran rampant on both sides of the wielding swords.

 

“Anyone here want to clue me in as to what that means?”

 

Oliver Pope took a draw off his pipe then pointed it to the door leading to the yard office. Felix glanced over and looked above the door to see written in blue chalk..

 

“ARBEIT MACHT FREI!”

 

“Well Mr. Pope, I have to say I’m at a loss on this diatribe.”

 

Pope walked closer and pulled out a note pad and jotted the phrase down.

 

“You guys can write all the sinister comical messages you want. Have your laughs. But when I find out what this says in Latin you had better hope for the sake of the pen weasel that this isn’t an anti-company statement. ”

 

“I’m sorry you can’t pat Dale on top of the head like a loyal follower but he gyrates like a fish out of water when playing that tune” retorts an on looker.

 

Yet another round of united laughter filled the entire room in opinion as the door closed behind a fuming Pope. Their disdain ejected him. His persona was shot down again.

 

“You’d think being that’s in the same vein seemingly of his managements role model. Surely he ought to know what it is” Felix quips.

 

 

Dale ends playing “Ride Of The Valkyries” on his harmonica as Pope removes his presence. Felix shakes his head cutting his eyes away from Dale.

 

“I really don’t get that guy” Felix says looking at the floor.

 

“He’s like one of those people who won’t take a bite off of their plate unless the T.V. or some radio show is on. They’ll even stop eating until some commercial break is over then go back to putting some steak or greasy cheeseburger away.”

 

Dale looks at Felix as if watching a leaf floating down a river.

 

“Some people just don’t want to do anything unless they have some sense of entertainment for their entitled ego.”

 

After trying to come to terms with Pope’s latest flared ulcers or at least flared ego the duo of Felix and Dale leave from the table and walk over to the bulletin and train order boards. Above it is the company clock with the official railroad time displayed which is in use across the railroads of the nation and beyond.

 

Felix looks down at his pocket watch and over at Dale as he checks his wristwatch then up to the company clock.

 

“Yep. The county courthouse is off a bit.”

 

“You too eh?” prods Dale.

 

“I noticed that earlier on the way in..”

 

Dale nods in agreement as they both turn for the yard office. They hang around waiting on the clerk to return. Frank is back for a short break in his evening searches. He assures the duo that the other 3 who’ll make up his train crew were notified. Of them, one’s pending presence is still questionable.

 

“Hey guys, what can I do for ya?”

 

“Yeah just here to grab the work and train orders for 136. Any idea where she’s at at the moment?”

 

The clerk walks over asking the dispatcher the last logged position. “Yessir at Cogswell.”

 

They turn and head back for the roundhouse and walk outside

 

Two of 136’s new crew, Desmond and Stan walk up to Dale and Felix as they get out of Stan’s car.

 

“Anyone around here seen Walt? 136 is about 10 miles out.”

 

Felix pokes his head in the break area as Stan gives Walt’s last known whereabouts.

 

“When we passed the Red Rooster he was standing outside with some fellas. Looked like he was having quite the time too. He seemed in no hurry but heck you can’t ever tell with that guy if he’s gonna show or not. How in the world ol’ scumbag gets away with what he does is beyond me!”

 

Desmond offers his take. “He had to done seen some executive or boss doing something they ain’t sposed to be doin’. Good lawd, maybe quite a few of skeletons in the closet he be done seen. I notice though each time he be act up, they like they be scared of him or something. Ain’t no way anyone else would gedda way with that sort’o stuff. Ain’t no way. There ain’t no way.”

 

Just as Desmond brings his insight to a halt, Walt’s distinctive laugh and cackling could be heard behind them as he came up joking wildly and loudly with a couple of the baggage handlers.

 

The three men turn to look as Walt carries on with his cajoling with the guy trying to get the bags in the baggage car but being hindered.

 

Almost having arisen from the ground at the trio's feet, Pope seemed to turn every shade of red possible. He looks Walt up and down who’s far from dressed for duty holding up others going about their work. It seemed as if Pope would self incinerate into ashes and blow away at any second with wind that carried carried away the smoke from Dale’s pipe who’s eyes were widened like watching an approaching tornado with no where to flee.

 

“Walt! Get the hell over here boy and leave those men alone. Stop holding up my trains. You’re holding up those men and your scraggly butt is far from ready for work!”

 

Walt snaps his head around with a confused look on his face as he walks up stopping arms length away in front of Pope.

 

“From the smell of things I can’t decipher between your stench between from an unwashed ass or the alcohol on your breath escaping from your pores that you’re ready to get at it.”

 

Pope glares intently searching for further reasons to humiliate Walt deeper for his own enjoyment.

 

“Mornin’ the Pappy Pope. Do you see a kid out here? I don’t. Who ya think ya yellin’ at like that?”

 

“You got a problem with authority? You looking for work?”

 

“Well...I got a problem with those with a silver spoon up their butt. I have a problem with brown nosed, backstabbing cutthroats who played others like a fiddle to get where they are. Authority. No. No problem with authority here. Authority figures? Anything is plausible.”

 

Felix shouted as he sprinted up “Walt! Knock it off!”

 

“Pope if you wanna chop things, why don’t ya take your butt over in those woods there. I’m sure there’s an axe ‘round here somewhere. See if you can figure out what wood to chop out there instead of here! You might even make some friends with the local wildlife. I’m sure some of your forked tongued relatives are slithering around in there.! You sorry m...” The words only ceased so Walt could land a plop of tobacco browned spit at Popes feet.

 

Pope looked down in an embarrassing horror to see if his white polished shoes were browned then gazed slowly up to Walt.

 

“If they chew spearmint they are catholic. If they chew wintergreen they are Methodist. If they chew peppermint they are Baptist’s. If they chew cinnamon they are Pentecostal. True fire warriors. The lazy they just chew fruit flavored. A mindless wild card . If they chewed any of it while they were in school they were backsliders. So Pope? Do ya think you’re a real man chewing gum or do ya wanna dive headlong into hell with some Beechnut chewer? You don’t have a soul ya sack of shit. A cockroach chewing on shit is more noble than you are! Show us who ya really are Pope!”

 

Felix slid between the two just at the first millisecond of the pause before the duo’s riled minds could send signals to ball up let alone swing a fist.

 

“Walt! I said knock it off. That’s enough!”

 

Pope folded his arms together angrily glaring back and forth into Felix and Walt’s eyes looking as if a bloodthirsty wolf, the very semblance of what Pope was.

 

“Lemme tell ya what stank ass. I’m tired of your flippant ass attitude and flippant ass work ethic! You’re like a cockroach. Unpleasant and unwanted, you pop up out of nowhere! I dunno if squashing you would put you out of your misery. It damn sure would put me out of mine! So help me if you delay another one of my trains you’ll be kicked beneath pan handling breadline hell. From the looks of things a monkey could do your job.”

 

The whistle of 136 blowing for the crossing just north of the depot calmly quieted the dispute.

 

Felix grabbed Walt by the arm leading him away to the depot's platform.

 

The others watch as Pope walks away fuming. Desmond with his slow heavy Mississippi drawl testifies to the others, “See there. Say I ain’t toldja. Ain’t no way. Ain’t no way.”

 

As they and others look on in shock and disbelief, others adored the episode that exploded before them. For whatever it was Walt could get away with and why was of no concern to them. They relished that Pope was getting his position made fun of, was being called out to light and more so not behind his back but directly to his face. Pope was known for throwing a fist to assert his alpha status and getting away with it but compared to Walt, it was no contest. The Pope’s best would have been nursery rhyme compared to anything Walt would have done just for mere starters. Walt wasn’t going to be shamed like some kid who had to explain to his parents why he chose shit himself to avoid the gym class he disdained.

 

Most of the train service crews equally despised both of them but to choose sides meant leaning towards Walt who was the wildest amongst them who’s tirades were true and honest. Pope unleashed his upon the undeserving or to weed out the ones who cared little to placate his inflated persona. This event didn’t need the judge, bailiff, and jury. Both were labeled as being lower than whale shit the deepest depth of the ocean. Seeing the Pope hunkered down was better than a cold beer on a hot summers evening to the on lookers.

 

Dale walks over to the duo to get things underway as the thunder subsided. Playing cards with apathy had to be done by someone. Differences aside there was a job to be done.

 

“Walt, go on and get ready and we’ll go over the 136 while you do that.”

 

As Walt heads inside Dale cuts his eyes to Felix and mutters quietly himself, “Take a bath while you’re at it.”

 

“If his mouth doesn’t get him thrown outta here then his hygiene certainly could.”

 

“For all my late night soul searching and daily misunderstandings I still could always come up with an answer for my short comings if I stared them down enough. To me that man is a damn enigma at its finest.” Felix ponders aloud to himself as he watches Walt slide back inside a doorway hoping privately that the man is too naive to the self imposed torture he creates for himself.

 

“Maybe he’s just hiding or running from something” Dale sighs.

 

“Yeah no point in blaming myself if he won’t face his demons. Hell at least he’s here. Guess that’s good enough.”

 

Dale slowly takes a draw from his pipe as he looks over the paperwork and train orders as Stan, Desmond and Felix head over to the previous crew of 136 still holding down their post. They go over what work is left and what the evenings trip will lay out before them. Felix talks to Harold the fellow departing engineer and head end crew. Walt should be present but as so typical he’s busy with other matters.

 

After a few moments their huddle breaks as one group heads for the train and the other heads inside for home. As soon Harold opens the door leading into the break area there’s the sound of loud upset voices and the like.

 

“What in the....?”

 

“Harold, what is it?”

 

“Feely, you ain’t gonna believe this.”

 

Felix sticks his head around the door and looking across the break area into the washroom stands a butt naked Walt scrubbing himself with a bar of soap from a waist high sink with wet soapy hair and no proper way to rinse. Felix drops his head and sighs deeply.

 

It begins to dawn upon Walt that he’s the center of attention.

 

“Walt! What in the Sam Hill are you doing?”

 

“Dale said for me to take a bath or I could lose my job. All the showers in here are full. Just doing my part.”

 

Walt looks around at the passerby’s.

 

“Any you got any lizard green? Lustereen?”

 

“Listerine Walt!”

 

“Yeah. That stuff. Uncle Dale said my mouth was a problem too.”

 

———————————————————————————

Once all were aboard Felix knocked off the brakes after the signal to proceed was given.

 

From both sides of the locomotive cab, Walt and Felix in unison call “Green board” after having gazed at the tricolored lights for several minutes anticipating their next move.

 

The sound of hissing air fills the cab only for its last remnants of protest to be drowned out by the sudden guttural roar as the engine digs in to move its burden. Felix doesn’t rush things on as a patient hand beats an eager hand any time. Even if it holds together it will scarcely move any meaningful inch. The engine bucks and slips momentarily. Felix is as careful and understanding with the throttle as he is with his own Loretta. Finessing is key. Overdoing things will just break the train apart causing delay and extra work.

 

A steady stream of smoke and sparks quickly exit the exhaust stacks as things get more vocal yet still slowly responsive. Walt leans out the window looking backwards for any signs of trouble. The two locomotives give their all as they dig in and claw forward. The gut hitting throb sang deeply as the organized chaos began to put on its show. The slack between cars tightened as wheel after wheel began to move. The snap of draft gear, couplers snapping together, clacks of wheels hitting joints and hollow booms from empty cars in the train began to fill the air. The parade had begun. The metal snake is coming to life.

 

Felix kept an eye on the ammeter only adding further fuel to the caged beast as the needle dropped comfortably away from the red. The snake was writhing.

 

Stan’s voice comes over the radio, “Rolling on the tail end” as Desmond can be heard mumbling in the background. The ace in the hole had been found. Old Sure Hand had done it again. In all of his years of getting a train out and over the road, Felix never busted a train in half no matter the territory, standing still or with an ill handling train. No one train was the same but Felix knew better than to be over eager or just plain stupid with his hand at the throttle. He never felt he had an image to upkeep nor did he ever dabble in competition with others among his rank. He was just that good at what he did.

 

With knowledge in hand that his train is in one piece Felix notches out the throttle a little more. His eyes dart from ammeter, the track ahead and speedometer while slapping the bell ringer in and blowing for the crossing just south of the roundhouse. He tips his hat at a few lookers on standing in a trackside parking lot. Any kids who weren’t watching were aspiring of other careers. To the kids who looking on in awe, these guys were their heroes. All the comic book heroes other kids emulated were nothing compared the rulers of the steel beast. They were their masters of the universe. Somewhere inside they couldn’t wait to grow up and shine the rails themselves.

 

As the train reaches 10 miles per hour Felix notches back on the throttle and holds at 10 as they waddle out of the yard, engine swaying side to side along with the occupants of its seats.

 

Felix notices a stick of blue chalk.

 

“Who’s is that?” as he glares at it rolling around on the floor.

 

“Beats me!”

 

He looks over at Walt frantically feeling around outside of his pockets to see if his blue saber was still there.

 

“Walt? You got some kind of an itch or something? I told you about picking those bad apples hanging around Eden.”

 

“Feely....just put your hands back on the steering wheel and drive.”

 

“Pope said you’re handy work was written in Latin. We didn’t tell him any different.”

 

They both smirk as the train rolls out of the yard.

 

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Once the tail end of 136 clears the confines of the yard at DuPlois, Stan’s voice comes over the radio giving confirmation. Once that staticky crackle goes silent Felix leans into the throttle gaining momentum for an eventual climb down the rails. Despite pulling only a 51 car train, any momentum would help as Felix would have to battle an ascending S curve a few miles out of DuPlois which began a gradual dive at the other end tapering off into a long straight flat run for most of the way.

 

Behind the 136 is the pride of the company, their passenger train The Bluebird but known as the “BB” for short to many. More than one celebrity and a handful of Presidents had ridden the BB as the train was renowned for its class, luxury and service and none of the companies other passenger trains held the prestige of this torch bearer.

 

Any other time the lowly 136 would have waited for the BB to depart DuPlois and slither out behind it. However a delay a few towns back had it running far enough behind that the 136 was told to make Elmstadt siding and hold there some 40 miles away as the BB should be catching up by that point. It was all up to Felix.

 

Felix pulls one more notch into the growling beast as his train enters into first leg of the S curve. As the snake threads itself through the steel ribbons Walt again leans out the window looking back to the rolling wheels behind him for any signs of trouble. Just as the train curves into the other direction he tells Felix all was well. Felix begins toying with the air and throttle, manipulation of both as needed as his train starts it’s decent downgrade.

 

Felix looks back at his train anxious to see the caboose come out onto the straight away onto the flat straight away. When he turns back around there will be more throttle and no air brakes for the rest of the way until Elmstadt siding.

 

“Stan? Y’all hunkered down back there?”

 

“Yessiree we are.”

 

Felix throws the throttle wide open. With the BB breathing down their back this is the stretch that will give the 136 the rare opportunity to run at speeds reserved purely for company varnish.

 

Before their target siding lies the town of Elmstadt proper. As a coincidence 136 just happens to be polishing the rails at the exact same time the tardy Bluebird otherwise would be.

 

Before the station lies a curve with where a highway crossing runs interference.

 

Being a Friday evening the station platform is jammed with eager passengers ready to leave the confines of small town life and head for the concrete and neon jungles or just simply getting away or even further to put something behind them hoping to find another something somewhere beyond. The Bluebird was their savior for better or worse.

 

Almost on cue the grade crossing lights at the highway began to flash their message as the bell began to testify its warning. The passengers rushed to the edge of the platform to ready to board their savior.

 

Instead of the BB that would be slowing as it rounded the corner they were greeted with a speeding freight.

 

Felix laid into the horn blaring against the onrushing wind as the train roared around the curve drawing a bead on the station and platform. Before anyone had any scant chance of rushing back, the 136 descended upon them as if a beast sprung loose from the depths of hell. So much for their savior.

 

Walt looked back as they sped past in concern for the masses safety but laughed hysterically.

 

“Walt? What’s so funny?!”

 

Struggling to regain his composure he replied to Felix’s inquiry...

 

“In a swirl of newspapers and hats blown off heads I do believe I saw every shade of underskirts there could be from all those dresses flying up! It looked like the paper boy exploded in a clothing store!”

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

After having allowed the Blue Bird to stampede past them, the 136 ambles on into the low evening light as it arrives at Phoenix Creek to make pick up and set outs for a nearby industry. Stan and Desmond climb down from their perches into the thick oppressive humid summer evening to begin their first part of work as fireflies dance aimlessly casting their lights into the nearing darkness. After a few minutes a man, woman and their daughter come out from a tent in the woods and up to the tracks looking up to the cab of the locomotive.

 

Walt steps down from the engine and turns looking up as Felix hands down a bag full of food taken from home by himself and others among the crew. As Felix follows Walt, the small family walks closer. Walt passes off the bag and a $20 bill from his own pocket.

 

“Guys we really appreciate it. How we’d made it without you we don’t know. We hate to ask anymore of you considering all you’ve done.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. That’s what we do.”

 

Ben’s wife and daughter carry the care packages back to their tent as he and the others look on. Its a half lit area thick with trees and heavy kudzu and on days like today with heavy clouds, one could never know if it were just after sunrise or just before sunset unless they had a watch. For those among the woods here, telling time was set only by campfires set to cook the 3 daily meals and at best just once was a moment too few and far between. That was only when time meant the most to them. Smelling only fresh blooming honey suckles instead of sizzling bacon or boiling stew let the crew of 136 know that their offerings had arrived at a needed moment. The fireflies floating in the light breeze were about the only clock available letting one know nightfall was just around the corner.

 

Ben had been a fellow rail brother who lost his job with the railroad. With 7 years of service on the rails, he was never late, performed his duties with excellence and without grumble. For two years in a row right up to his termination he was deemed best employee on his district. One day as he reported to work he was fired and no reason was given. The matter was a mystery to everyone. Having lost his job and fallen on hard times during an economic downturn, he was unable to find work of any meaningful kind and looking further abroad was impossible. One by one the dominos fell until he and his family became squatters roaming the land. Eventually they ended up living along the tracks with a few others in search of work.

 

During a late night switching move, Ben creeped up out of the darkness upon Desmond and Stan. Looking for food and seeking employment he was desperate but his approach scared the two workers so bad they stuck him down beating him until he questioned aloud with a voice familiar to them if this is how they treated all rail brothers. Realizing their mistake and shining their lanterns upon him, they stood him up and brushed him off amongst a flurry of apologies. Shoot first and ask questions later had became the law of the land in the area riddled with economic woes and shady dwellers. They knew of Ben from another local railroad but in the inky darkness he could just as well been another over eager panhandler ready to make off with their wallets.

 

From that night on the crew of that nights 136 made a vow to look after him and the others as best they could. They were a source to Felix’s sudden tapeworms and gained his unopened army tent stollen on a dare during his stint in the Marines for their homestead. Ben would help them with work secretly along their route in order to meet what he felt were their charitable contributions. They never asked or welcomed him to do so but his persistence prevailed. Worried some railroad officers would notice an extra man on the playing field, they had a reason for their reservations. Ben however knew when to become a phantom. That along with his skill built their trust.

 

“Ben, why don’t you come down to DuPlois and talk to Murray about a job?”

 

“I don’t feel like that life again.”

 

“Do what?! You do pretty good at it.”

 

“I’m only trying repay your kindness.”

 

“We’ve told you that you don’t have to. Kindness is doing something without expecting a pay back.”

 

“Well still...”

 

“Still what? You wanna keep living like this? Why don’t you go try.”

 

“Because of Pope! That’s good and damn well why. I couldn’t put up with what y’all do.”

 

“His time is coming. That’s for sure.”

 

“Oh bull crap! You know how long that’s been said? I’d rather count nails in a burlap sack for 50 years than to have a step on step off job on his railroad for one night. He’s a snake and has blood on his fangs. If you want to call them hands then I’ll leave that up to you. One day y’all are gonna see it”

 

“We can’t support you and the others forever.”

 

“I’m not asking you to. There’s just no way I’m coming out there. A man has got to know his limitations and I know mine. Pope has smeared my name and no other railroad will touch me. If I got a gig with y’all I’d kill him the second my eyes saw him. I’d be a boundary he wouldn’t want to reckon with. Maybe hiding in his shadow is best for me.”

 

 

(Continuation & Editing Pause. This reading is posted here merely for the benefit of personal friends and family and if you’ve stumbled across it out of boredom please overlook my meanderings. It’s just a simple writing exercise and nothing more and written totally on the fly as the whim to do so strikes me. It’s not presented in it’s final form nor is it meant to be a professional writing by any means. If you enjoy it so though far I’d love to hear your comments even if I end up mortified by them ; )

Done