Metrolink111: All The Engineer You Need
Shelley J Alongi

 

Intrigued engineers and just how do you pronounce chatsworth?

Train Meet
Today, Tuesday, September 22, I'm not planning to go to the Fullerton station but I do because instead of getting off at 3:00 pm, I work three hours past my shift end time. I decide to drop by the station for an hour or so since I need to unwind and the cats seem to be fine without me. Besides, I can use a good wave at an engineer and so since Glen's train is coming in I'll go over to the tracks, stand there and say hello. Only one man asks if I need the train. No, I say, I'm just waving at the engineer. Upon learning this and saying "well everyone's got to have some fun" he then proceeds to tell me the following story. His wife gave him the silent treatment and he Wanted to know how he could get her to give it to him again. This causes a lot of Laughter. It has the makings of an old joke, most likely the tale has been around a while and adopted by many to fit their particular situation.

Soon after he leaves me to myself, the guy across the tracks, sitting on the patio, a regular Southwest chief rider, heckles me saying he's all the engineer I need. He makes me smile with his insistence that he's the answer for my engineer interest. He's not an engineer. He's just a flirt. Maybe engineers are flirts. Well, I don�t' know about that, maybe so, maybe not. What I know is that I'm standing beside track 3 waiting for Glen and right now that's the only engineer I need, especially with my interest in memorializing another one. Sometimes I amaze myself at the lengths I go to in order to bring that to pass.

The distant clang of the bell signals Glen's approach. His hand brings that restless, big breathing train to a precise, clean stop. Standing there, wondering if he sees me, I wave and listen to the air brakes hiss. The engine idles. It does seem to breathe. A steam engine from a purely sound perspective seems alive, like a woman, says a train fan I knew years ago who has gone to his reward in heaven. I don't think the big diesel engine sounds that personal, it just breathes like a thing wanting to move.

Glen's train, metrolink 608 blocks the heckler's view of me. Here I stand so close to the engine I can touch it, indulging, frolicking even in my private, quiet moment with a locomotive engineer. He sits behind his window, perhaps seeing me, perhaps waiting, listening, talking, I don�t' know because I don't have a scanner. Here on track 3 on this quiet uneventful two minute stop at the fullerton station, in my head at least, he's all mine and sad to say for my heckler across the tracks, Glen is all the engineer I need. Soon his conductor gives him a high ball and he switches on the bell, I imagine he waves goodbye though he may not, though I certainly do, and he is off, taking his loot with him. I stand facing an empty, shiny track, listening for the last vestige of bell and engine, but no horn. The Metrolink trains do not blow their horns through the fullerton station. I do not know why. I only know that here we stand silent, cool breeze, empty, shining rail, my private moment ended. It has been a good one. I'll take it.

I take the stairs and go to the other side, returning to the waiting group of fans on the patio.

"Did he speak to you?" Janice asks me.

"No," I say, returning to my chair. �He doesn�t have to.�

Religion Fullerton Station Style

Soon after this exchange, and when the southwest chief leaves the station, so do bob and Janice. The usual Tuesday night crowd at the other end of the station waits for the bible study, the food, and excitement occurs there. An older man appears to have a seizure of some sort and so someone calls the paramedics. curt meets the crew with their first aid kit and accoutrements.

People slowly gather at the tracks. Someone mentions the Ernest Hemingway novel "A Farewell to Arms." This isn't the most socially sophisticated group to gather at the tracks and no one seems to have read it.

"I've read it," I announce. I'm usually the silent observer not saying much, only taking note of everything going on around me. I'm not curt who is everywhere on his bike looking for bottles and cans and meeting absolutely everyone, but I observe nonetheless

and tonight I'm here just to learn what I can about what goes on at this end of the platform. The police make regular visits to this end to clear out homeless people who sleep here at night, but right now it�s only the group, the food, and the bible study about to begin.

Right now a baby laughs and cries. Crystal, in conversation with Curt, makes all kinds of assertions about social issues, none of which make a whole lot of sense. She glibly suggests that people moon the president. I'm not sure why this is discussed. it just may be that that's what she wants people to do. I don�t' think mooning the president would get a very good reception, but hey, these days, in this country, you never know what will get what kind of reaction.

Part of the draw for so many homeless or maybe even just simply poor people for the Tuesday night bible study there is the food. Cake, chicken, water melon and candy are the fair for tonight and I must say with my schedule and getting home late, the shortness of funds in the bank account, I do appreciate the chicken and the watermelon and even the cake though I'm not the world's biggest chocolate fan. I enjoy it along with everyone else and we wait for the next adventure.

the bible study gets started. Joshua is not the world's best singer or guitar player but he's brave and perhaps here by the tracks with these people it doesn't matter. they don't sing. They don't participate. Instead, they simply listen. during the message I quietly slip away and curt shows me the short cut to the bus. It is time it seems for me to go home and get ready for another work day. I sure have had fun today. My next adventure here will occur on Friday.

A Different Perspective
Before Metrolink train 608 gets in on Friday I walk the platform, discovering Nick and his son Joe who energetically looks for trains.

�Is it an Amtrak or a Metrolink?� Joe wants to know. He dances furiously across the platform, scanning anxiously.

Nick explains that Joe loves trains and that in order to give mom some peace and quiet he takes Joe to the tracks to look for trains. They drop a few pennies on the tracks. They wander the platform looking for freight trains, too. It�s always fun to see a child�s delight in trains. Maybe it rivals mine. Lilian said once that perhaps one of the reasons that Rob was so interested in helping teenage railfans wows that he was drawn to the fact that they were so intrigued by the whole idea of the rails. Apparently Rob was intrigued if you believe the article that said he counted cars in Santa Monica. That is an obscure reference in an article I�ll have to look up again. Joe sure is intrigued by trains and you know I am. Some would argue, of course, that it�s the engineer. Well, it is an engineer that got me interested in trains; the one who was intrigued by people being intrigued? Wonder what Rob would think of me? I�ll never get to ask him.
  
Today while waiting for Glen�s train I experience my first question about whether or not I�m looking for the train. I�m not looking for the part of the train they think I�m seeking; I�ve already found my part of the train. I�m perfectly happy, as you�ve discovered by now, standing right here where the action is. Bob Marsh would argue with me about that. Engineers might even argue about that. In my mind this is the place to be; the quiet place where you can see what�s going on and not have to be right in it. Why should the engineer care if someone is trying to find the train? Well, maybe he cares because he has a kind heart, but unlike the conductor, he only has to carry us to our destinations. He does have to show personal responsibility and pay careful attention to his job and to me that�s just as important as the conductor�s role in executing the safe operation of the train. The conductor gets to be the front of the house guy, dealing with passengers, issues, baggage, questions, oh and maybe even people looking for the train.

After Glen leaves I go back to the other side where Chris joins us later. The band is set up, chairs line the fence. Larry picks Bob up from home and brings him to the station and so now they wait. The Southwest Chief comes and we go out to the middle point of the station, watching, commenting on the music, observing the hubbub; baggage cart, people checking tickets. The train moves away and I decide I�m hungry.

Curt shows up somewhere and I decide to ask him if he wants to go to the Spaghetti Factory with me. I don�t eat at the caf� today because Denis tells me there�s egg salad in the egg salad sandwich. What? I asked him if there was anything that came with the sandwich and he said egg salad. Ok tonight I take my money elsewhere. I go to the Spaghetti Factory and order bay shrimp spinach and artichoke dip. I don�t� like it. I prefer the agenda. The spaghetti with sausage is good and so is the salad and the ice-cream. Curt shares my bread. He looks at the list of restaurants, when they started. It seems the Spaghetti Factory got started in 1969. The eating over we go back outside and Chris shows up ordering a sandwich and beer from the caf�. We make our way up to the bridge where somehow we have a discussion about all the wrong ways to say Chatsworth. I�m not sure how we do that, but we do and we have a lot of fun doing it.

�I�ve only had one thing to drink� says Chris to our response that we can�t even talk right now. I haven�t had anything to drink. I only drink Italian soda and iced tea.

�Yeah right,� says a passerby on the bridge. It sure is fun trying to mispronounce Chatsworth. I guess when you deal with Disney guests all day you�re entitled to say Chatsworth any way you want.

The evening goes on, people cross the bridge waiting for their train to San Diego and Los Angeles. Music drifts up to us from the raucous bands on the caf� patio. The place is alive with children running, excitedly looking for trains, women and men talking on the cell phone or to each other. No doubt across the parking lot the hubbub from the Slidebar Caf� mingles with all the other ambient noise. Occasionally a freight comes through, but as the evening marches steadily toward a close traffic becomes lighter. We make our way off the bridge and I call a cab, Chris takes the 43 back to his home in Costa Mesa. Once again another day in the life of the fullerton train station comes to an end. Glen is probably home sleeping, something I should be doing. Maybe he�s not sleeping. Maybe he�s with his wife and children, or grandchildren. Maybe he�s out being raucous like all these others celebrating the end of a work week. Maybe they don�t have people who stand at their desks or construction sites waving, but Glen does, so he can laugh at that, or shake his head as if to say hmm I�ve seen that all before. Perhaps like Rob he is intrigued. I am intrigued and some would argue over weak coffee or just good company on the patio about whether it�s the train or the engineer that intrigues me. Whatever the response and whatever Glen�s doing tonight we�re all headed for the end of another day and another week. So far it has been both a good week and a good day. Can�t wait till the next one.

 

 

Copyright © 2009 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"