Storymania - Metrolink111 Love On The Rails by Shelley J Alongi

Metrolink111 Love On The Rails
Shelley J Alongi

OH the joy of communicating with a locomotive engineer, and the pain of it, too. Sweetness turns to opportunities for patience and problem solving; just like any relationship. We’ll work through it. And in all of it, love calls, the trains comfort, caress, and beckon. Come!
The Problem with Glen

Today, Monday November 21 is the monthly meeting of the Southern California Train travel group. Rosie is there but tonight she’s not catching the 608 home so I won’t have to show her where to catch the train.

“You see?” I tell her with happiness, “Glen got you safe and sound to where you were going.”

Tonight she and Chris are trying to get people together to ride the Metrolink on Friday with a coupon for four people at a cost of $29.00 for a round trip. I might be interested in trains but I can’t get on one just for the ride. There has to be something that draws me to it. It’s based on the same logic that says I can’t be just a tourist. I have to go to a place for a reason. I hope Rossi and Chris have fun getting people together to ride the trains. I buy dinner, I enjoy it, have a few conversations and then make my way back to the station. Most of the excitement occurs after Amtrak train 4 pulls out of the station. Before that, I have my own excitement to generate.

Making my way out of the Noël wood restaurant, passing through its outside patio on the way to the parking lot across from the train station, it seems none of its customers are brave enough tonight to experience the pleasant fall nip in the air. Cars line up for entry into the parking lot to enjoy dinner at Bourbon Street Cafe, the Sidebar Cafe, Noël wood or even the Old Spaghetti Factory. it so happens that the Spaghetti Factory sits just off the main platform for the Fullerton train station, allowing patrons to easily observe freight trains as they pass within a hundred yards or so of the picture windows that line the restaurant. the restaurant is also located directory across from Noël wood, separated by parking and Santa Fe Avenue, a little street with an amazing amount of traffic, requiring pedestrians on the best of days to be diligent about paying attention. Don't be texting and talking at the same time as some traffic comes in right from the main street Harbor Boulevard. It is a crossable street but there is no controlled light. The alternative is a longer walk around the block and a lot more threatening, if you're inclined to want to avoid the not always predictable traffic. the street isn't that wide but it does take some caution on both the part of the pedestrian and the driver. today I choose to take the short cut past the spaghetti Factory since I've already paid a visit to the Santa Fe Cafe to ask if Jose has any more glass coffee mugs with a red freight train and the Santa Fe logo that says the Santa Fe Cafe. I want to give this to Glen as a present but Jose doesn't have any mugs of that description. I'm not going to pay him for it today but he does say he will hold the mug for me when he gets it. when I talk to Glen in L.A. whenever that is I want to show my appreciation. He worked for the Santa Fe, he ran freight, I like red, and it is a pretty cup, probably the prettiest one there. It shows the sunrise over a mountain. It is picturesque, perhaps spanning as many years as he’s been railroading. This can all be my imagination but that’s fine, it is a fertile one and I am grateful.

I follow the path along the platform, saying hello to people as I pass them, Andy approaches. We stop and talk half way between the Spaghetti factory and the Santa Fe Café.

"They said you were at a meeting."

"I left early had to go catch my train."

"See glen?"
Andy says this with a smile. He knows I’m sweet on Glen. I wonder if Glen knows? Probably. He wasn’t born yesterday. If he’s a smart engineer, he might be a smart man.
"yeah. Have you met him?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like him?"

"Yeah."

"That man works too hard. Maybe broke aye he loves what he does."

"Maybe a little bit of both."

I agree.

"You should always have one question each day,” Andy advises.

“I do,” I assure him. “I have my list.”

"What is your question today?"

"Will you meet me in L.A. on Friday?"

chuckle.

"And if there's time I'll ask," I can't remember, have to think about this for a while, "did he work for Amtrak."

No, that's not the question but it was one of the questions I have; just don't know if it's the one I was thinking of asking today.

"That's a good question."

Andy is on a mission right now to talk to the conductor on Metrolink that goes to Los Angeles.

“I’ll meet you over there,” he says and we part for the moment.

The Riverside train pulls in, I walk past the patio where Bob and Janice sit. I don’t greet them though I’m sure they are there. The noise of the engine drowns out all my cues and we acknowledge that later, but for now it’s about two people meeting two different trains.

I find my spot, look to my left. I know we have fifteen or twenty minutes before my love on the rails approaches.

"Shelley, we're all watching," says Janice.

It's a ritual. Between 6:50 and 7:04 they watch me stand on the platform. tonight I pull my light blue jacket out of my bag it's nippy. I put it on, rearrange my yellow bag which has had a fresh laundering, rearrange my black fanny pack, fluff my hair, pull it out from the collar. I bet you they think I'm fluffing up for glen. It does kind of feel that way, sometimes. I'm getting a reputation as an engineer chaser, maybe I just think that’s my reputation.

“The more you try to correct it the more they think it,” says Dave Norris the guy who knows everything about the railroads and sits down at the west end of the platform. He and tom the school teacher are educating me for now. Tom tells me about engines and Dave fills in the rest of the story. It seems, however, that I’m making my own story, one unlike any other on this side of the tracks. It’s the story of a woman who fell in love with trains after the death of the engineer in the Chatsworth accident and my is it getting interesting.
“I just got a call,” Andy says, “Glen called out sick today.”

Oh my they sure know how to break a woman’s heart. He’s kidding, of course.

“I wouldn’t blame him,” I say, the awe-struck railfan who went and did her engineer homework. They just laugh and leave me to myself. I asked for this trouble they think, I can get myself out of it, or cause more, or just be my academic self. There is a bit of attachment I think. I think everyone knows that.

I stand by the tracks my cane on the safety line, looking to the left, listening. The train approaches. It's like the heralding of tidings of great joy, Shelley’s lovesick attachment to the railroad, or the engineer or both because they're integral to each other. Lately it's becoming about the engine. the train comes I step to the right, I catch the bell. It's a noisy engine.

"What's up?" now it's what's up that's his greeting. So sixties.

"Hey you have tented windows. Your favorite."

I think I confuse him. I repeat. Maybe he doesn't have tented windows.

"I've been running these 39 years I've got the hang of them."

He’s not annoyed, just stating a fact. I’ll buy that.
"They have cameras."

"Be careful," I say, not sure he hears me.

The problem with Glen this week isn’t Glen; it’s his locomotive. It’s a MP36 with a series of numbers, a sixteen cylinder contraption that makes noises sometimes, almost as if there’s a lose piston somewhere. I’m no expert, I won’t vouch for that, but that’s how it sounds.

“Cheap,” says Brett one of the railfans later, “because the motor company was the only one to bid on providing the motors for this locomotive. Tom the school teacher tells me that the noise might be related to something going on within the engine itself. You can take whichever opinion you like. Railfans are full of opinions.
Whatever the opinion or the cause of the annoyance, it all can sometimes make communicating with my engineer difficult. He repeats himself several times to me on several occasions this week but sometimes the words are still lost. I don’t particularly like that, I don’t like to repeat things because it wastes my precious two minutes. But Glen is worth the trouble; I’ll work through it.

"Are you taking that vacation day?"

"I think maybe I'll work on Friday."

the engine revs. Silly Glen cant you just take some time off? Are things that bad?

He sounds that strident cry for a bell. My love on the rails leaves. I learn later that the bell in the MP36 locomotives is called an e-bell because it is a prerecorded sound. The quality that gives the FP59 its sweetness is that the bell is a fully operational bell with a clapper triggered by air. Unlike the pneumatic bell in the FP59 locomotives which Metrolink and Amtrak both operate, this bell is more strident. It’s the defining feature. I prefer the pneumatic bells.

“I don’t know what he said,” I tell them. “I think he’s working Friday. He can’t make up his mind,” I tease, dropping into my customary wrought iron chair.

“someday,” Curt says, “the Metrolink is going to pull in, we’re going to see you, and then when it pulls away we’re not going to see you. He’s going to Wisk you away, take you into that cab.”

No, he won’t, not if he wants his job. After Chatsworth that might be dealt with more strictly and those new locomotives that I despise when it comes to talking to Glen, do have cameras. Someone might see. Now if they called in for authorization that wood be an entirely different story. That may happen someday, but today, no. Today it’s about the two minute dance, the always interesting conversation topics, the questions, and making train eyes with my first TE.

Where Did Bruce Go?

On the patio today I learn that Bruce missed train 4 last Friday. He was planning to take the train with his brother to Albuquerque. Bob informs us that he didn’t see Bruce r his brother on Friday. We’re all kind of worried. Bruce is a sworn regular; it is a bit of a mystery why he’s not with us today.

The things We Do For Love
Tuesday is a long day. I work my shift and then appear on the patio at the regular time. Bruce is here! It turns out that his brother was put into the hospital on Friday with swine flu. His brother is probably sixty-something. No train trip for Bruce. Luckily his brother is better. It’s the first instance of someone I’ve met getting the swine flu. Shirley, the car attendant on 784 puts my contact information and Bruce’s in her phone. Someone, she says, has to be able to get hold of you if we don’t see you. I’m the one who suggests they call me if I don’t show up. when I first started haunting the train station to exorcise my Chatsworth demons I wouldn’t show up for a month or so due to work schedules. Now that I show up everyday people expect me. I know there will be a time when I won’t make it all five days of the week. We will get very busy and I’ll work overtime, maybe. It’s nice to know someone is looking out for me.

Today, Tuesday, though, I’ve only gotten two hours sleep. I was so keyed up from last night, talking to the railfans at the west end of the platform, saying hello to the Southern California train group, talking to Glen, solving the world’s problems, and enduring all types of political views, helped out by the usual ice-cream and soda ritual after Glen’s train, that I don’t get to bed till 1:30 and then wake up at 3:30 AM. I might as well get up, I think. Hey my engineers do, so I can, too. I work a full shift, no one is particularly ambivalent or annoyed, so by the time I show up here, I’m ready for a nice, pleasant evening.

Tonight, before I sit on the patio with the evening crew, I go to the station, text Chris and my sister. Yes I can text message now. Scary isn't it? Fun, too.

"Don't you ever go home?"

Andy stands before us, he's back again. He says he's gotten a call from Metrolink to meet the 608 and assist a passenger across the bridge. The passenger has limited mobility and needs assistance getting off the train. So I'll have an extra minute with Glen, he says, smiling. The patio faithful tease me about Monday.

"You were fluffing up for Glen," Andy says, when I say I was putting on my light blue fleece jacket.

You see, I knew they’d think that, or at least say it. This is getting predictable. I relax, and wait, I don’t chase the 606 because Carrie is on vacation and I just want to sit here. Maybe later I’ll go over to talk to Carrie’s replacements. But not tonight.

The weather is perfect for meeting an engineer, though. It’s peaceful, warm earlier and now cooling pleasantly. This truly is my favorite time of year at the fullerton station. We are lucky to have such a place.

I go across the bridge, people do the same, no one asks me any silly questions or makes any absurd assertions. That won’t happen till Wednesday.

Tonight, Tuesday, I assume my engineer pose, waiting, expectant, hopeful.

Tonight Glen operates that cool locomotive with the synthetic, strident bell, the engines, sixteen cylinder, MP/36 model, obnoxious, sometimes, and a few feet longer than the Electromotor Division of General Electric’s twelve cylinder FP59. The FP59 is the one I refer to when I talk about the sweet sounds. The new ones, with cameras installed, a direct result it seems of the Chatsworth accident and its complications and consequences, sits on the track. Glen looks right at me.

"Hey."

"Hello Glen. How are you?"

I approach with confidence.

"Pretty good. Are you cooking on Thursday? Thursday is thanksgiving. Indeed I am cooking on Thursday.

"Yes," I respond to his friendly inquiry. Glen really is friendly. Mo told me this and curt suspected it from Glen's first wave though his response was decidedly non-vocal.
“I am going to my sister-in-laws.”

"Oh."

I Have to ask, not just because Rob Sanchez did this. I ask because I never know what I’ll find sitting in that cab.

"Are you cooking?"

"No," he firmly says, and then his words are lost in the rattle of the pistons in that engine, or whatever the heck is making it hard to understand him. His sweet, gentle words, are swallowed up in modern technology. Give me my sweet FP59.

"Nice," I twist the first section of my aluminum cane, my hands showing my agitation.
"Can we meet in L.A. on Friday?" I now ask, hoping I will understand his response.

No, I think is his answer, there's something about Thursday and a train, I don't know what he says. He pushes that throttle forward, I stand, my hand in waving position. I don’t' know if I say anything, I don’t' think I do; I just wave. It sounds like a no. But we shall see.
The Other Woman

Wednesday

Today is an interesting day. Two hours into my shift I'm let go on an early release because I've put my name in for it, needing to get to the bank to get cash, and needing to get cat food, sand, and a few food items for my money situation is nasty, precarious, a little frightening. It’s nothing I haven't experienced before, but I'm hopeful that things are going to work out and I know they will, I just don’t' know how yet. But the cats must eat and so must I. I'm so broke. that Tuesday I ask Jose if I can eat and pay him tomorrow. I'm lucky to have found a place that will let me eat with only the promise of payment. Monday I've paid him back for the meal I ate last Friday. I can't look someone in the eye and owe them money. Today is pay day and I'm dipping into money I don't have to feed the cats and buy a few things. A number of things have occurred this week to make my finances a little scary. We go through times like these and now is one of them. While things work out, there is a locomotive engineer to conduct a relationship with and someday I'm going to tell him just how much meeting him has helped me through these stressful times as well as helped me become even more connected with the trains. But now, he knows none of it and I'm off work early getting my errands done. A helpful bank clerk says he can help me with my checkbook when I make a deposit so there is hope leaving the bank I feel much better about things. Going home I decide to make a turkey. There are two reasons for this. the first one is because I need to relearn how to start my oven and second is that we have a turkey that was given to us in a Thanksgiving food box. This food will help through this hard time. I'm thankful for that on this day before Thanksgiving. I can also tell Glen that I cooked more than a green bean casserole, now I've cooked a turkey. I finish the project, get in the shower and make it by 5:30 PM, in time to pay back the money I owe, order another meal, and sit down at the patio table. Bob and Janice appear. The station teems with people catching trains, and today Amtrak is late more than once. Mechanical problems make several Pacific Surf Liner trains late and cancels one of them. Even Metrolink is running a little late today, mainly the north bound service to Los angels.

Janice gives me a bag of homemade cookies. If I have a favorite sweet treat besides ice-cream it is a cookie. I can pass on pie, cake, pastry, but cookies and ice-cream these are the nectar of the gods. Cuddled up beside the cab of an FP59 looking into the eyes of a locomotive engineer holding ice-cream or a cookie is my idea of heaven on earth. I know the real heaven is much better but on earth I'll take this one. Right now I’m not standing by a locomotive eating ice-cream. I’m sitting there talking bout work schedules, adjusting my yellow bag, discussing whether or not I’m going to go to Buena Park on Friday to see Metro link’s Christmas train. They put on a show each year on one of the cars and our turn comes on Saturday December 12. I say no I’m not going to the one in Buena Park I’ll wait for the Fullerton showing.

“Shelley says she needs a step ladder so she can hear him,” Janice tells Larry about me talking to Glen.

“Are you going to see Glen?” Larry asks. He remembers Glen’s name.

“Of course,” I say.

“I have a two stepper in my truck,” he says.

“No, that’s okay,” I say. I suppose I could do that but I’ll just work things out. If we were going to be together longer I might give it a shot, but not for two minutes.

Soon it is time to go over to Glen’s side of the track. I’m not sure which train is showing up as I head over, it may be the late northbound Metrolink but I go over there and approach the tracks. I stand with my cane on the safety line looking left.

“Go to your left, you’re close to the tracks,” some unhelpful person says. One of these days I’m just going to go absolutely nuts. But today I don’t. I don’t even acknowledge his words. I’m right here where I need to be. I look left, mark my spot. The helpful advice does not come again. There are lots of people here on both sides of the tracks. It is the day before Thanksgiving. People are traveling and for Amtrak this is one of the busiest days in the year. I’m not concerned with Amtrak today. I’m waiting for metrolink. Life is good.

My heart drops. The sound of that bell approaching signals that Glen is operating an MP-36 model locomotive. This means another communication challenge. If I ever break up with this engineer it will be his locomotive that does it. It won’t be a two minute dance, a rejection out of hand, a delayed meeting schedule, an angry other woman, it will be the locomotive, but wait maybe that will be the other woman.

“Hey,” I say after his second customary greeting. “You have one of these again.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You can tell by the bell.”

Yes, I can tell by the bell. This is perhaps the second time that Glen has acknowledged that I can’t see, the first one was when I met him on the way to catch train 403 when he asked if I needed to wait for Richard to put down the ramp and told me there were two steps and then didn’t help me down the stairs. He didn’t try to stop me from walking along the tracks. Smart man. And hey he did ask me if I was cooking on Thursday, he’s comfortable with the fact I can’t see. Maybe it’s intriguing to him. I never think of that I’m too busy being intrigued by him.

“It’s not a real bell,” he says. “It’s a synthetic bell.”

I think Denis from the Whistle Stop shop in Pasadena was the first person to tell me that. Now Glen reminds me and Friday I learn it again. I get the idea. It’s a not a bell.

“It’s triple 8,” he says, the number 888. “I think he says triple A. It’s Tom the schoolteacher later on who tells me that it’s triple 8. the locomotives 888 to 902 are new, my maligned MP-36s.

“You were saying something yesterday about Friday but I didn’t catch what you said,” I now tell him. “Do you remember?”

“Bad day,” he says. I know what he’s talking about. I nod and say “ok” he halts all further explanation.

The engine revs.

“Have a nice Thanksgiving,” says my locomotive engineer.

That synthetic not a bell rings. I smile.

“You, too,” I say.

He moves away. I’m the happiest girl in the world though my life is a bit stressful. And I will have a nice Thanksgiving because Glen toll me to do so. He’s the engineer. He calls the shots. He’s my love on the rails. If he says we can’t meet on Friday, then we can’t. If he tells me to have a nice Thanksgiving, I will. I am, at least for the moment, under his thumb, not a place I let myself get with anyone or anything. I smile and walk across the bridge, threading my way through people, back to my bag and my group. You have a nice Thanksgiving, too, Glen. See you Monday. But wait, maybe Friday, too. We’ll just have to see.

Glen Orders

Friday is a quiet night at the station. Traffic is holiday light, that refers to both automobile and train traffic. People do not congregate at the bus stops, on the platform, or in the café. The one man coming to provide music that night plays his guitar on the top ledge of the stairs which lead to the second story of the café (a place not for patrons but for storage), a spotlight shines on him. No one listens. The people who are at the station tonight are here to watch trains. I am here to meet one.

Before I meet Glen’s train, Howard and Clarita come out and persuade me to go inside the café where it is warmer. I sit on the patio, the chill wind making the umbrellas sag, their cloth tops whipping in the breeze. I decide since we are the only ones here that I’ll join them. Jose presents me with my double cheese burger (yes I have cash now though not much) and we talk about things. Most of the regulars are at Buena Park to see the Christmas train. We wonder who will show up.

“You’re her to see your sweetie,” says Clarita.

“Yeah.”

Ok I’ll bite.

“We couldn’t meet in L.A. today,” I said.

“It was probably a busy day there.”

No doubt it was. It’s sure not busy here.

“I just have to get another day off. We’ll have to work out his schedule. He tells me he sleeps in the morning.”

I take a bite of my burger. Dennis prepares the one man band’s spot.

“I sometimes think I sleep four hours in the morning at work,” I say. “I guess that means we sleep together.”

They’re one of the biggest teasers.

“Safe sex,” says Howard.

“Sure. Separate but together. Only thirty miles separate.”

Howard and Clarita are great conversation partners. They go spend time at casinos, they have grand children one of whom is saving for a pug puppy.

“Don’t miss your train,” one of them says. I look at my watch. There’s time.

It is worth noting, however, that today the trains have three cars, they stop down at the three car marker so I’ll probably need to catch Glen further down the platform. But the Ocean Side train 606 has four or five cars. So Glen’s train will probably have the same amount of cars since it is the last Metrolink to Ocean Side for the day. I’m prepared to meet him at either spot.

Howard and Clarita are leaving early they say. I guess it’ too quiet for them. Dan shows up and joins our little table. He’s gone shortly to walk the platform, his usual ritual when he arrives at fullerton.

Soon I go over to the other side. I pass the elevator. I guess there’s nothing to do except watch me take the stairs. It’s okay, it’s better than TV. I walk back, find my way over the empty bridge. No children line its rails peering anxiously down for trains.

“Curt!”

Scooter Boy is on the patio, he turns his attention to me. Soon he appears holding an LED blue light, a finger light. I guess he’s been getting the attention of engineers with that. Tonight he stands with me, the train approaches. I sigh. Not the e-bell again! But wait, there’s hope. As the train gets closer I realize it’s my FP59. I’m reconciled with my communication difficulties. Our budding relationship is saved, perhaps literally, by the bell.

“Finally!”

I don’t even give Glen a chance to say anything. I walk to the train, I notice that he doesn’t really set those brakes or bring the throttle down to idle. Tonight is a short stop. No train has lingered here this day for more than a minute. But it is enough!

“You have my FP59. My favorite.”

Didn’t he say something about locomotive 873 once? It was his favorite! Locomotive 873 is an MP36, no it is an FP59. There is talk about 873 later, the fact that it has been sent to the shop for rebuilding. It al has something to do with train design. I don’ think we’ve seen 873 for a while I’ll have to ask Glen about it.

“What’s up!” He sees me; not sure if he gets all my gushing about the FP59 but no matter. He’s here.

Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

What? Of course I did. You told me to have one didn’t you? Did I have a choice?

“Yes,” I say sweetly. “We watched people build machines to launch pumpkins!”

I’m referring to a show on the science channel where people build all kinds of machines to see who can launch a pumpkin the furthest. Catapults, air cannons, hypertension arms, sling shot style machines, it’s all there! Amusing nieces, eating, talking, watching pumpkin destruction, yes, my Glen, my sweet engineer, I’ve had a nice Thanksgiving.

“Yeah?” he says. It’s his standard response, dripping with meaning, sometimes just quiet. I think tonight he’s distracted. It is a short stop tonight we don’t have time for long stories.

“Did you have a nice thanksgiving?”

“It was okay,” he sighs.

Wow what was that all about? Domestic bliss? Family disputes? Nothing? Maybe it’s just his way of responding. Maybe he’s distracted by Curt’s blue light or the radio in his cab. It is a short night.

“Did you work either of the remaining two lines?” I ask. The Antelope Valley and the San Bernardino lines operate on Thanksgiving. Glen likes to work. Maybe he was thinking about that. What’s going on with glen?

Well, I don’t know, but I did what he asked me to do: despite being worried about my own financial things, I had a nice thanksgiving. Hey even Auntie Kristin’s turkey wasn’t dry. It was all very good.

“You have a good weekend,” Glen orders kindly, not responding to my question. I really think he is listening to that radio, “High ball Fullerton” someone says, I’m sure.

Well, you’ve got your highball, Glen. You have a nice weekend, too. I guess I’ll just have to do that, too! The engineer made me do it!

Glen pulls his train away and the quiet night continues. It is a night teeming with life from young railfans who talk about videos, computers, trains, and text message. Even I do that tonight a few times. Some of the railfans are going to Cajon pass tomorrow, Saturday for a day trip. A child dances on the platform yelling over the clatter of a freight. Out here, life is good!

This week, Glen and shelley have made it
! We survived the communication challenges provided by the MP36. I’ve obeyed Glen orders. Our relationship survived the invasion of the MP36. It must be love! Love on the rails! Trains, great conversations, sweet bells! What more could a girl attached to the railroad ask for? Now on to our next challenge. What will it be? I don’t’ know, but in all of it, the train calls, comforts, beckons. Come.