Conversations With Glen: Engineer Gold
Shelley J Alongi

 

Sunday January 31, 2010
7:15PM to 7:45 PM

Sitting in my green recliner in the living room, my black and white cat, Pearl on my lap I know I have met the railroad engineer of my dreams. Oh what a find. What a pure gold mine. They said I was digging for gold. I don't have to. It's right here shining through. There's gold in that there Engineer. Thank you, Glen; from the bottom of my heart I thank you.

Sunday is a crazy day. It seems like all day that I am racing against the clock. I get a late start at Office Depot printing a rent receipt, then there�s an appointment to get my nails done, church, lunch, look for a check, make a bank deposit and by that time it is 2:30. I text Glen and tell him I�m running late I�ll call at 4:30; then I call him and get his voicemail. After leaving a message I get on a two hour Writers� Division conference call and then I sit down on my green recliner. Holding my phone I wonder if I should make one more try. He can always say no and what would I have lost? Nothing. I would have tried and if he says yes oh what I would have gained! This anxious wondering and anticipating all starts on Saturday, though, when sitting in my dad's truck getting ready to go to San Diego. I am nervous. I want to ask Glen if I can call him and we can talk about trains.

�I get so nervous when I call Glen,� I tell my dad.

�You do?� he never says anything, just listens. Now as he goes into the car dealership to get his titles I hold my phone, agonizing. Will Glen say yes? will he say no? Will he tell me to go away? He could say any of those three.
:�Hello,� he says, it sounds like he�s eating something.

I�m determined not to be nervous; to take my self doubt by the hand and lead it away from my engineer; I can�t sound nervous he�ll not believe I have an actual list of questions about trains. Well, he probably knows I have some questions since I asked him about braking the train last Monday. I figure the only way, or perhaps the best way right now to get him to answer questions is to call him. This might fit into our schedule better and it gives him some flexibility He can go when he needs to and do what he needs to. I can call from home, write down the answers, and not be distracted by all the activity in Los Angeles or anywhere else. Yes I think for now if he allows it this would be the best way to communicate outside the cab of his locomotive. Besides in this relationship I don�t have time to fool around with getting approval or asking if something is okay. I draw the line or do nothing. That�s how I handle this, not because I don�t respect his time, only so I don�t stymie myself in the process; so I don�t� lose my chance. Here I finally have the attention of A locomotive engineer who happens to be a very nice man, I cant� lose this chance. It�s gold right here on the end of my phone.

�Hey!� It�s one of my standard responses. It�s what I say when someone should know my name. �Did you turn off your alarm today?�

�yeah. I did.� Glens� voice is quiet, midrange, definitely showing potential for expression; relaxed, kind, familiar, gentle, responsive. He knows who I am.

�Do you have five minutes?� My standard question when I don�t� know what to say, I guess, or when I want to tell someone I appreciate their time. I appreciate my engineer�s time.

�I have a couple,� he says, it sounds like I�m interrupting breakfast.

�We�re sitting in Irvine I�m going out to San Diego with my dad today, on his truck.�

�Oh,� ejects my engineer in his surprised manner, �cool.�

�My dad drives truck for Car max.� I try to steady my voice, not to drop sentences or make false starts. He waits patiently. �Glen doesn�t have a shy bone in his body� Mo tells me on Friday, but he does seem to have a patient one. I rattle on, hardly breathing, I don�t want him to interrupt me. �I asked him if I could go with him and he said yeah so I said okay let�s go. So I wanted to call and ask you if I could call you and ask about trains.�

Glen gets quiet; I�m starting to recognize that response though I�m not sure what it means. Does it mean he�s scratching that formerly red head of his asking who this crazy lady is or do I really want to talk to her?

�Tomorrow,� I say.

�Give me a buzz tomorrow,� he says gently.

�Tomorrow? Is there a better time tomorrow?�

�any time you want,� he says.

�Okay.�

�have a fun day,� says quiet, friendly glen, my tease. Weeks ago when I call him in the engine and he tells me I could get him in big trouble he tells me to enjoy my day off. He says the nicest things.

�You too,� I say cheerily, �okay?�

�Alright,� he says. It�s his favorite word.
We disconnect the call.

Every time I hang up with Glen I feel better. Usually prior to the call I feel very anxious, worried that he�ll think I�m overwhelming him. If I keep a few simple rules in mind I�m okay. These are my rules. I don�t call between 6:00 AM and 9:00 AM. Usually if I�m sending a text message it�s between 5:00 and 6:00 AM. Don�t call between 10:00 AM and 4:00 Pm and don�t call between 5:00 Pm and 9:00 Pm. Generally as a rule with all my relationships I don�t call after 9:00 PM anyway. I don�t know about weekends. So far Glen hasn�t told me to go away and I�ve tried to keep the conversations short. I appreciate his time I value his input, I want his opinions; his experiences matter to me. What will they be. I sit back in my dad�s truck holding my phone gently as if he is still there. I smile. So far, so good.

Now it�s Sunday, the conference call is ended, the laundry is put away, and Pearl is on my lap. If I�m going to call him, it will be now or never. When Glen�s phone rings I sit there with my heart in my mouth. It seems like that simple ring just goes on forever. And when he answers the phone I am almost paralyzed with anxiety. But here I am; I�m not sweating though my heart is pounding. Lately when I go over to his train my heart does its little wild dance in my chest. His first words every time ease me. I suddenly assume familiar ground. Today as we get involved in the conversation I find myself relaxing, warming to the subject, engrossed, enthralled, enraptured, informed, and surprised, too.
�Yeah. What's up?" he says quietly. I know he recognizes my number. A few weeks ago when I called him and he was in the engine, Tom the schoolteacher asked me if Glen had my number in his phone. I never thought of it; he probably did, I said. I guess he does. He knows he gets text messages from me. I guess not seeing him doesn�t let me know this information that he took his phone and put my number in it, or wrote it down. I�m honored a locomotive engineer has my number in his phone. I�ve achieved status.

"It's getting late," I say. I wasn�t sure this would be a good time. I�m always giving him a way out. So far he�s never taken it; at least not on the phone.

"My son is calling me in a few minutes. You can ask me."

Finally, on safe ground, knowing I have approval I ask my question. Today I�ve looked at my list to refresh my memory. I figured this one would e easiest to answer in a few minutes. I didn�t know where it would take us.

"When you're up in the cab what is the visibility range?"

"Sometimes you can see pretty far ahead. Sometimes you can't see ten or twelve feet in front of you.�

"On a curve?"

I guess I ask this because I don�t know when it is that he can�t see ten or twelve feet in front of him.

"No," he says. Sometimes it might be the part of the track, or the nose of the locomotive that obstructs visibility, sometimes it�s the cab car.

"How do you compensate for that?"

"There's no way."

"Miles and miles of practice," I say.

"That's it," he says. "If someone steps out in front of the Train, you don't know it till you go over that part of the track."

"It's not your fault.�

"People are just being stupid."

It�s interesting he should say that, because I�ve wondered about his attitude toward hitting people on the track. It seems during his conversation that he is passionate about the subject, but suddenly when he says �people are just being stupid� he�s detached. I wonder how many people have stepped out in front of his train when he can�t see them. I guess that�s why engineers blow horns; to warn people that the train is on the move and bigger than they are.

�When we get to Santa Ana I can see the signal beacon at Irvine," he says, pointing out the difference between not being able to see and being able to see with no obstructions. A quick assessment of the distance between the two station locations shows that they are located twelve miles from each other. I�m not sure how this translates into rail miles but that�s a pretty good distance on any day of the week.

Glen takes the conversation in a direction that I had only hoped for, not wanting to bring up the subject myself though I may have done it a time or two. I remember asking him why he sounded the horn just out of the station and letting him know that the horn reminded me of Chatsworth. Our second mentioning of Chatsworth was on New Year�s Eve when he said that a bad wreck out of Chatsworth caused Metrolink to shed its contract with Connex, asking Amtrak to take over the hiring of crews, a responsibility that he said would occur in June or July of this year. I will have to look that one up for sure. IN any case, now he mentions Chatsworth as a case for questions about visibility.

Alright so my number one engineer wants to talk about Chatsworth, does he? By now at this point in the conversation I am completely at ease, no anxiety, no pounding heart, no crush-induced stupor. Here we are talking about the thing that made me a railfan or at least struck my interest into hot pursuit of information. I don�t know if he remembers me bringing up the subject in our cab to ground exchanges but here he is tripping me up with it. Things with Glen always go better than I could imagine. In this particular instance I can�t believe what he�s about to say.

His name as senior engineer, he says is on the lawsuit filed by the BLET against Metrolink for the improper collection of data from the signal boxes. They were supposed to be sealed but weren�t, allowing access to them by people who I did not know. It was a matter of improperly followed procedure.� Rob Sanchez was text messaging, �there�s no way around that,� he says. �He was,� says the senior engineer, �out of control.�

�I know,� I say. �I�ve read all of them.�

The conversation shifts to signals. So, I admit to my engineer with thirty-nine years experience, I�m confused. Which signal was being disputed as red verses green. Was it Control Point Topanga? He called the flashing yellow, Glen explains. Yes, I know that. He didn�t call the solid yellow, he says. Yes, I know that, too. But here�s where my confusion has always begun. Was it the signal that was flashing yellow they were disputing as green or the C.P. Topanga signal?

�There are two signals before the Chatsworth station,� my engineer says without making me feel incompetent. It�s the C.P. Topanga signal they are disputing as red or green.

�The safety guy said at the hearing you had to pull 950 feet away from the platform to see the signal,� I tell him.

�there is a lot of evidence that shows that signal was red,� says Glen, and then he mentions the three people on the platform who said the signal was green.

"I went out and found them, Glen."

"You talked to them?" Glen said.

"yes I did."

"What about the conductor. I've been on Amtrak trains and he's not looking at that signal. How would he know that signal was green?"

"If he's on the platform he could see it. but if he's in the train he's just repeating it."

I know one conductor on an Amtrak train who said we had a flashing yellow at Chatsworth, so someone could see something.

I explain to him that I was told the Union pacific forward facing cameras caught Rob Sanchez looking down, not even at the signals.

�He wasn�t there,� he says, at least that�s what he was told. You couldn�t see the engineer on the camera.

�where was he?�

�He was there,� says the engineer. �Because of how they found him. He went out that side window and the engine was on top of him.�

�yes, I know,� I said. I didn�t tell him I had red the Ashman account. �The freight engineer put on his emergency braking system. He didn�t� do anything.�

�I know,� I said again. �I�ve rad the reports.�

The railroad engineer with all his vast experience and the middle-aged adolescent being teased by the station patio faithful about meeting an engineer fall silent.

�Okay so let me ask you this. I always wanted to ask an engineer this.�

The man who I waved at for three weeks before we started talking waits for me. I can�t believe this is happening but I don�t� look down. I�ve been wanting to ask this question for a long time.

�Do you think that he didn�t know a freight train was going to hit him?�

I must confuse him, he asks me to repeat the question. I do.

�I have no clue,� says the senior engineer. �He was up there by himself. I don�t� know.�

�Would you know?� I asked. I guess we�ll ever know. I guess the experienced engineer couldn�t even answer that question. How do you not know a freight train is coming. It�s not a hybrid car; it�s a six thousand horse powered locomotive, more than one in some cases, coming at you. Those are locomotives that bothGlen and Rob operated. How would you not know one was coming at you? The cameras, the text messages, they seem to indicate that he didn�t know.

�There have been cases where there have been false greens,� he says. But I don�t think even the senior engineer thinks that the signal was green.

�The signals have been the same twenty thirty forty years?" I ask about the placement of signals at Chatsworth.

"There were changes since I worked on it. The siding used to end at the station."

they extended the siding that Rob Sanchez was supposed to go into and wait for the Lees dale local 6512B. It wasn�t an answer about signals but it was interesting information nonetheless. I don�t know how long those signals have been placed as they are, but, according to the hearing, no one has ever complained about them. Engineers, at least, haven�t complained about them.

"I had a personal friend killed on that train,� Glen says when I tell him that it was Chatsworth that got me more interested in trains. �When I worked Moor Park I got to know a guy and he lived in Simi Valley. Mohr the girl who was standing with you she knew him, too."

I didn't ask the name. I didn�t think of asking that till later. I�ll probably ask him the name at some point. The thing that strikes me now is that I thought I had met an engineer whose history might not have been affected by Chatsworth. But I was wrong. Chatsworth, railroading, it�s all a small world. I wonder how much smaller the world will get before this is all over.

�they�ve tested us so much since chatsworth that I can�t wait not to work for the railroad anymore,� Glen says. I�m not sure if this is usual for him or if he�s just frustrated. �It�s not fun anymore. It makes it hard to work. And it�s all because of him.�
 
Had Glen seen the email where the BLE in a hearing where they said cameras were unnecessary in the cab. No, he hadn�t seen it. He didn� have a computer. Well, no he had one, but his son used it. Glen isn�t the type to use computers, I guess. I didn�t think he was the type of person to use them. He doesn�t always check his text messages. He�s not dependent on computers.

So you don't use it?�

�They're the worst things. We depend on them too much."

"They've opened a lot of doors for me because I can't see the print but they can be a pain. On the day that our system went down we couldn�t make reservations for two or three days. "We probably lost a lot of business that day."

"That's what I'm talking about. They have computers on the locomotives. If you tell the locomotive to do something then the computer tells it what to do."

"So if the computer goes down you can't move the train."

"Right."

"The computer," he says, "I had to reboot the computer once on the Starlight. When we were at Oxnard. We just sit there."

"So if the computer goes down you just sit there."

"Right," says my engineer. "And it's happened before, too."

He moves around into a different room. I hear him cough. I know, not because of the cough, only because of the movement that this conversation is just about over.

"I went to Chatsworth and found those guys. that's where I was coming from the day you guys held the train for me in L.A. I brought flowers. I had to get a ticket, the lady who deserves a gold medal I don�t' know if you know her name or not the one who works in the Metrolink office."

"Not off the top of my head I don't."

"That's how I found out your name."

I wanted to tell himabout Richard saying his name several times but he gently brings this convestion to a close.

"I've got to get," he says, reminding me of something my father would say. "We'll talk again." His voice is low and reassuring. I believe him.

"Okay,� I say, acknowledging his need to go. He did tell me he had a few minutes. I�ve gotten a half hour of his time, more than I hoped for. �Thank you. have a good day."

�Alright,� he says again. The call is ended but not before he acknowledges my interest.

I hold my phone. It is now that I notice Pearl is no longer on my lap. I can�t remember when she walked off and left me rapped in sweet engineer talk even if it is about a subject painful to both of us on some level. Chatsworth has taken the fun out of railroading for the engineer I admire. How ironic is that? The very skill I admire him for is sometimes tedious to a man who has been involved in this profession since I was a young child. I feel bad for him but happy for me. I walk across the room, my heart warmed by half an hour of this man�s time. I kno that even if he weren�t an engineer and I had met him somewhere that I would like him. Yes, there is gold in that there engineer and I haven�t had to dig for it. Here it is. Thank you, Glen, as that Metrolink employee said when he held the train for me. Thank you, Glen. Yes, from the bottom of my heart I thank you.

 

 

Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"