Storymania - She Likes Trains: A Hundred Engineers by Shelley J Alongi

She Likes Trains: A Hundred Engineers
Shelley J Alongi

You never know how things are going to be on a certain day and maybe on September 12, 2008, everyone hoped all would be well in the railroad department. It wasn’t. On that day, two trains collided due to engineer neglect and caught me, as I said, two days later, in the crossfire. The uninitiated will say what does that have to do with me? Well, as I like to say, everything and nothing. And because of Janice marsh, it may all be about a hundred engineers.

“Glenn, it’s Shelley.” It’s time for another voice mail. I can’t text this one. It would be too long and too complicated. This is something he has to know. He doesn’t have to respond. He doesn’t have to call me back. He just has to know this stunning news. It’s Sunday February 12, I’m standing somewhere at the station, away from the hustle and the quiet yet sometimes all pervasive freights and the people and the too loud public address system. I make my way through the tunnel, the archway, out to the front so I can get a semblance of privacy, though maybe track 4 tonight is a better place for my news. It’s quiet except for maybe the homeless who sleep there at night. I don’t know who they are, but I’ve spied the blankets under the benches. Valerie knows who sleeps over there. Right now, none of that matters. Having just come from the patio, standing at the fence talking to Peter, Bruce and diesel Dave, I have to call my number 1 engineer and leave a message. I reply to a voicemail he left me that’s still on my phone. I don’t think I’ll ever take those messages off my phone or the texts off the screen. They’re there in perpetuity. Tonight I stand here out by the parking lot, a little stunned. I continue my message. I explain that I have to tell him something. I always say that, it’s either I have to tell you something or I want to ask you something. Those two phrases are my signature preambles to whatever is interesting to me at the moment. He takes it all in stride. Mo once said he was rattled by me. I would be honored, but my single word response to that is, Hardly. The voicemail waits patiently.

We’ve had another death at the station, I tell him. And the reason I’m telling you this__how can I tell him about all the drama this news holds__well, she’s the one who came and showed me where you were in the cab. I always used to stand under the stairs, I wasn’t quite sure where you were. It’s not that I don’t know how to locate a train, I was on it many times before endeavoring to meet all my engineers, but I just wasn’t sure of the lay out and where he was and I figured I’d figure it out eventually, but I only have two minutes, I can’t learn everything I need to know in that short amount of time. I continue telling him that she was the one who walked over to see you and she’d always ask if you talked to me. No, I would tell her, he doesn’t have to. It’s enough, I know his name. For me it’s never enough, I know so many names, so many interesting stories, but none like his name or his story. Well anyway, I tell him I just wanted to tel you that. I know we’ll talk some time, I just wanted you to know what happened.

I can’t remember my words exactly but that’s the gist of what I tell him. I don’t sound too nervous tonight, calling him always just puts me into fits of anxiety, what if he just tells me to go away, and well I manage to have survived the moments for the last two years. He hasn’t told me to go away. I’m a little less nervous now. I wasn’t so nervous when I met him at Union Station but the phone calls just bring out all those feelings. I’m so interested in running the trains that I have this response, though, thank God, it’s becoming less pronounced. I used to stand there and wonder how to approach him. It was Janice who solved my problem.

IT is this week that we learn of her death. It rings with import for me. She was my introduction to all my engineers and all their stories. She will be sorely missed. Rest in peace, Janice Marsh.

Today, February 12, Sunday, it’s not a train wreck that grabs my attention. Standing at the wrought iron fence that surrounds the patio, Bruce and Diesel Dave and Peter sit around the last table, the one in the corner between the two sections of fence where I’ve spent so much time.

“Did you hear about Janice?” Bruce says.

“I talked to her two weeks ago,” I inform them. Sometimes I don’t think Diesel Dave is listening. I have to repeat myself two or three times. Who knows why I have to do this. She spent the last two months having and recovering from bladder cancer surgery, I inform them.

“She died,” says Bruce in his casual manner.

I stand frozen to my spot, jaw dropped. She died? I told her to let me know when she’d be down at fullerton again, I would make a special effort to command see her. I had asked in our last conversation if she needed anything. No, she said, her daughter would come and take Bob to the store to do the shopping. She sounded good, a little hazy perhaps due to pain medications and surgery stresses, but she carried on a good conversation, she knew who I was. I had heard she was in surgery and hadn’t called till that day two weeks earlier, a Monday I believe it was. Now, standing here, I was glad I had made that call. I’m the kind of person who likes to call people and check in on them, just say hello, see how they’re doing. All the technological advances available to us make it possible for me to keep up in so many ways. Tonight, standing here, I listen to the conversation but it goes over my head. I don’t remember if the conversation was about trains or people; probably a little bit of both, especially with Bruce and Peter in the mix. None of it matters. I’m stunned into silence, the super hero bag slung over my shoulder, probably a screaming freight behind us.

Janice’s claim to fame, she says earlier one time in the group on the patio, is introducing me to Glenn. She did do that, though I’m the one who left the note with the conductor saying I was out there just wanting to say hello to him. She showed me where he was in the cab, and started the cupids, she says. Cupids? Way better than that! It was gold! The bestest engineer, ever.

She doesn’t only show me where he is, I take my reference point from the bell, but she inspired my first call to him by telling me on New Year’s day 2010 to call Norm our then BNSF engineer and ask how he was doing since he had taken time off for medical procedures. If I could call him, I said, well, then I guess I could call the one I most wanted to talk to. They’re both still around, they both tell me stories, but the one who started it all is no longer with us. We will miss you, Janice Marsh. Rest in peace.

I don’t sit much with that group anymore, I’m off train chasing. And maybe that’s her fault, too; we can blame her for me chasing the trains, meeting the crews. I’m still quite shy about it, but I’m trying my best. It takes patience, little star struck adolescent railfan, but it’s being done.

Janice introduced me to one engineer and now on Friday February 24, I spot another one. I don’t make train 642 very often these days, going home to run errands after work, and typing transcripts has kept me away from the station. Sometimes I’ll make a foray, arriving later to talk to the people on the platform and indulge in checking out the scenery on the freights, too. In addition to making note of the types of cars on the train, whether empty or loaded, reefer, tankers, flat cars, auto racks, hoppers holding grain or some such substance, and others I’m missing, I refer to scenery as the people running the trains. If I’m checking out the scenery on freights I’m usually wondering about the people and the stories. And I’m always wondering about the locomotives. I just think they’re all kind of cool.

Sitting by track 4 on Friday February 24 between the locomotive and the end of the second car, the engineer whose name I think I know does not realize any of this. He comes down the platform and I wave.

“What did you do with Eddie?” I ask him. I don’t know if Eddie is on the train tonight, he is not far enough down here for me to tell and so I don’t know if he’s there or not.

“Me and Eddie,” he says, hurrying off to the end of the train. Okay, he didn’t hear my question but he answered two of my own. Eddie is here and this one is the engineer. I also have an idea of who he is now so I can make return trips, pass the rolled blankets on one of the benches that lines the platform. This placement right here is a good spot for meeting the engineer, I think. Two years ago I hardly knew where to find Glenn, his was the only train I could make, and now, here I am looking out for another one and sitting on the benches on the platform that we watched being built. Now they’re building a covered walkway from a new parking structure to the platform on the north side, but today I don’t make it for any of my north side meets. I only have one, and am trying to make another one. But tonight it’s mostly about the south side of paradise. The meet with this engineer is short but I know who he is now, I’ll work with him. Wonder if that’s Janice’s fault, too?

Before I make this train meet, I make my way over the bridge, having arrived in time for 708. As usual I didn’t make that one; I haven’t gotten his attention yet. I haven’t tried very hard, I’m usually just getting there, or I just haven’t been there. He doesn’t really know to look out for me and I don’t try very hard. Sometime I will. I’ll ask all my other engineers who he is. I know his name, but maybe it’s changed by now. He doesn’t see me because I don’t always make that spot, I stand back a little, it’s a very busy train, the only time I ever got close to it was when Glen was there or some of the other guys asked me where I was going. I did me two of the extras on that train. Tonight I try to make it but will have to wait again. I make my way over to the five car marker, I haven’t seen Carey since last week when he told me to have a better weekend. He always says that. Now, a week later, on a comfortable night, people streaming behind me, still, to the cars in the parking lot, I wait and watch. Amtrak 785 comes in, and now here’s a freight, and then, here’s the distant approaching engine. I know right away I don’t like it. Carey's train pulls to its spot. It’s the dreaded MPI, don't know its number, that awful bell, and the music to my ears, the click of the opening window. I walk up to the edge, caress the window frame, I haven’t done this in a while.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Carey always says hi. It’s his usual greeting. Bobby says “Hey, Shelley.” Glenn says, even when he calls or I call him “What’s up?” Carey just says “Hi.” I’ll take them all.

“I don’t like this one,” I say.

“yeah?”

“The MPI I don’t like it.”

He acknowledges my dislike of his engine. Ok this isn’t going anywhere fast. I change tactics.

"I was here on Tuesday" I say, "But I missed your train."

"So I heard!" His voice rises in excitement, it’s one of his endearing qualities, besides his basy barking laugh.

"How did you hear that?

"Your friend told me," says Carey. I've been talking to Carey for about two and a half years. He's sandwiched between Bobby and Glenn in terms of seniority so when he stays on a line I guess there aren't many who can take his spot.

"My friend?" I say.

He's talking about Bruce. Some call him the platform superintendent. Bruce is an interesting character, mentally challenged, and harmless. He knows everyone, always asks the same questions. Was this engineer late? Was this train on time? On time, that's his favorite thing to say. Or he'll say "It's Sunday night you're not supposed to be here!" Or, "Bobby was late." "Carey was on time."

"Oh he's not my friend," I say, though I certainly don't dislike him. He's a station character and he does go and greet the Amtrak crews, and knows some of them, and some of them treat him with kindness, others don't. Its the usual. Bruce doesn't seem to hold it against anyone. So now he's the subject of conversation tonight.

"He told me," Carey says.

"Oh, Bruce. Well," I say, smiling, "I don't know if half of what he says is true or not!"

Carey always surprises me. Tonight he turns his head and just laughs into the spacious interior of that private lair. It’s not a chuckle, it’s a full on laugh, almost out of control, heart warming, a moment that stands out because of its simplicity in a week full of new information tinged with a bit of sadness.

Carey turns back to me. I laugh. I love to make my engineers laugh. It's always just fun. The squawk of the radio ends our time, I step back from the safety line, and we part company. But it's a warmhearted moment, because we all know Bruce, the character, and it's all in the rhythm of the station.

Maybe Tuesday, February 15 is another milestone in Shelley’s railroad journey. It’s the day I’m referring to when I tell Carey that I missed his train.

In the early evening of Tuesday February 21, I get out of a blue car and head up the ramp at the west end of the Fullerton station, railroad grip full of cups and whatever else I think I need. This would be, once again, the super hero bag.

As Gary, my ride, pulls away, I make my way toward the Santa Fe cafe. Car alarms blare, and a bearded man hails me by saying "They're honking at you!"

This would be Dave Norris, the other forty year veteran of the railroad. We stop and talk. Tonight I have information for him.

Well, I say, let's go sit down and I'll tell you the crew base and change places for 7 and 8. I’m here tonight for two reasons: to find out the status of bobby on 608 and to tell Dave the answer to the question the very nice man who runs trains 7 and 8 gives me online. Trains 7 and 8 are part of the Empire Builder, the route encompassing five states, utilizing six trains, 7, 8, 807, 808, 27 and 28, extending from Chicago to Seattle. The route traces the steps of the Lewis and Clark expedition, going through Illinois, North Dakota, Montana, Orgon, and Washington. I learn this by going online to the Amtrak web site. Once again I’ve done my engineer homework.

Yes, another brave engineer, this time one with Amtrak, has extended the scepter. Subsequent investigation divulges some interesting information: he is the same age as Glenn, and they both have a son with the same name. I’m not sure if they know each other, but in my world, those similarities are enough to link them together as my adopted engineer family. I have adopted another one. Tonight marks a milestone for me because I was the one with the questions, two years ago I hardly knew how to spell Amtrak, let alone the names of the routes. I’d been on the Coast Starlight, the Starlight, as it’s called by train enthusiasts, or the Star late, it’s other nick name. Here I am getting ready to give information to the forty year train watcher. Me? I’m the new kid on the block. I’m in the zygote stage of railfanhood and here’s an engineer giving me information so I can give it to the man who has educated me over the last three years.

We sit at the west end of the platform between the planters and the Santa Fe café. I drop my bag and dig through it, a task I’ve affectionately dubbed Treasure Hunting.

This is going to take work, I say, I can't remember all this. Simple if you do it or if you used to be a 4.0 graduate. But I don’t run those trains. I'll leave that to better engineering hands, admiring from a distance.

Now in the pleasant coolness of the early evening I fish around, treasure hunting and find my notes.

I look down, telling him the crew change points. The conversation grows intense, covering old freight routes, time tables and where to get them, possible crew change points, and suddenly, a train appears on track 3.

I sit back, hands on my knees, the damaged red nail polish glimmering, the train engine across the tracks idling, the horrible cadence of my unfavorite bell carrying to us across the platform. What train is this? Metrolink, Dave says. Ok. I glance at my gold small watch. It's not time for 608 yet. What train could this be? The train pulls away leaving the curious in silence. The Amtrak comes and leaves and soon it's time to go to the other side.

I make my 608 train meet, and learn that he hasn't heard anything and assumes he's staying on this run. I say maybe I should get some information so I can tell him if there are any deals on the Disney cruises since he wants to take his kids on one. I should just ask him for a phone number like I did with Glenn. But I’m not so brave tonight. I don’t want to lose a second engineer, though I never really lost the first one. Eventually I will lose him but not before I meet a hundred other ones. Tonight, me and the stock broker engineer, that's his nickname, part company, I cross the bridge, come back and talk to the former Knots Berry Farm engineer, the collector of switch keys. He gives me a Union Pacific key ring, one that makes its way onto my lanyard, for now. I ask him about getting one a few days earlier and he has found this one at the museum. I now have Santa Fe and Southern Pacific tags. I guess I collect logos like I collect engineers. I want a logo for all my engineer railroads. I guess I’ll have to find an Amtrak one now. They do have some things I want. My interest in trains is in the present and the future. I don’t want model train layouts, I want things that represent the people I meet: the stories, the names, and the memories. I love talking to all these guys. I love learning the stories, even of those I’ve never met and the ones I will meet.

Later, we relish in the glorious presence of four freights including the slab train and then finally, it's time to leave.

Getting to my house I go online, get caught up, do whatever, and call it a night.

As morning breaks, I rise, perform my morning rituals, grab my bag, say goodbye to the kitties, and start the mile walk to my bus stop. It is only then that I, making a fairly good clip down Brook Hurst realize, the mysterious train on the platform wasn't so mysterious at all. It was Carey's train, 606. I was so involved in my conversation, listening, trying to decide what to do from here, that I missed my other train meet, my regular, the one who told me where my favorite engineer was when he went to the 91 line two years ago.

So this could only happen to me. Gold nuggets from one engineer, wait to see if I'll be talking to another engineer, and missing one. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the people I wanted to meet from the very beginning are all lined up and tonight I've missed one. Oops. Well, two out of three isn’t bad! Poor Carey. We’ll get him next time. Sooner rather than later.

Friday is our next time and he already knows I missed his train. I guess I’m getting known around these parts. It’s all fun; it’s all about people, and it’s all Janice’s fault.

You never know how things are going to be on a certain day and maybe on September 12, 2008, everyone hoped all would be well. It wasn’t. On that day, two trains collided due to engineer neglect and caught me, as I said, two days later, in the crossfire. The uninitiated will say what does that have to do with me? Well, as I like to say, everything and nothing. And because of Janice Marsh it may all be about a hundred engineers.