She Likes Trains: The Stairway To Locomotive Heaven
Shelley J Alongi

 

The metal staircase of American Locomotive Company 98, OErm 1956 curves upward, Jeff the executive director, Kimberly the one who has helped this day to occur, Dick Dane the engineer, Rick the brakeman, and I stand at the bottom, the engineer and Kimberly step back, leaving me to explore the entry point. It has taken two years to get here, this is what my engineers do everyday, this is where they go when entering from the outside to run their trains. Now, it is my turn as a spectator. Today I have one more thing in common with those who garner my admiration. I get to climb those stairs and enter their sanctuary. It is the next step on my adventure into trains. It is my own stairway to heaven.

Saturday April 30 was a beautiful day, perfect in its southern California splendor, an ideal day for traveling to the Orange Empire Railway museum. The museum dedicated to the preservation of old railway engines and cars stretches for ninety acres in Lake Paris, California, a place it seems that most of the railfans who frequent the Fullerton train station know about. Even my favorite engineer knows about it. �You mean 98?� he asks me after the happy event of riding in the cab of Orem 1956, i.e. American Locomotive Company, 98, an RSD1 occurs. Yes, this is it; he has identified the one I get to investigate with all its history, its service in Iran during World War II, its testing of safety devices for the Department of transportation, and its eventual residence here since 1983, providing a host of enjoyment for a budding new generation of adult and child rail fans. In 2008 when I was traumatically introduced to trains it was an eventual goal to end up in the cab of a locomotive, though this is strictly prohibited by current commuter systems. It is still my dream to end up in a cab on a commuter or freight line, but everyone�s dream must start somewhere and first steps are always good. The last two years have seen my developing passion for meeting and talking to railroad engineers to get their stories, but it wasn�t an engineer who got me into that cab, though it was certainly one who ran it.

The day started out well, with a tour of some of the museums most prized pieces, the echoing of the footsteps in the car houses, climbing through the ATSF post office car number 60, looking at all the racks that once held the mail as it was delivered from town to town, exploring the knuckle couplers and links and pins that connected freight cars to each other and to the engines whether they were three foot gage or standard gage.

It is the story of the persons running the trains that have connected me with the machines. It has been this way since September 12, 2008 when a Metrolink train plowed into a Union pacific train, revitalizing an interest that had only been sparked years ago by my first journey on the Coast Starlight, and the making of friends in my twenties who were sworn rail fans. A proposal on the benches at the Fullerton train station in 1991 by one of those rail fans did not lead to marriage, but did serve as an interesting backdrop to my flaming interest in trains and an interesting piece of trivia to any engineer sitting on track 3 at that station. It is this revitalized interest, sparked by a still fully unexplained connection made through that tragic accident that led me here on this beautiful day in April.

Exploring the car houses holds further potential as I did not see everything on that day. It was the ride in the locomotive cab that was my high point, and maybe no one ever wanted to get into a cab that badly. It was Kimberly who helped set it up. My interest in trains peaked her curiosity leading to her involvement at the museum. That involvement led to this day and the article published in the museum newsletter. Sometimes it is outside forces that help me accomplish my dreams. I�ll take it.

This locomotive, now painted dark forest green and orange, representing the colors of the museum, is seventy years old, built in 1941, seeing service in the extreme desert climate and mountainous terrain of Iran during the Second World War. It made is way to Pueblo Colorado where it served as a test locomotive for safety devices till it came to the museum in 1983. All its axles are powered, putting it in the D class or road switchers. Locomotives go through a sereies of reclassifications and at this writing I�m unsure as to where it fits in the military classes of the day. But it is here now and it awaits me.

Lunch having ended on the beautifully landscaped lawns of the museum, a signature sandwich from Vons, quite tasty, chips, water, a gentle breeze, temperature in the high eighties, we wait to make our way to the station, the bell from the Acne traffic signal gently punctuating this ideal day. Finally, watch hands showing or flashing 1:00 pm, Kimberly, Jeff, Gordon who has been our guide, and I make our way to the railroad tracks, the gentle clatter of the six cylinder diesel electric engine greeting us. We shake hands with the engineer, Dick Dane, and Rick, the brakeman, and make our way to the stairs.

The metal staircase of American Locomotive Company 98 OERM 1956 curves upward, Jeff the museum�s executive director, Kimberly the one who has made this day occur, Dick the engineer, Rick the brakeman, and I stand at the bottom, the engineer and Kimberly step back leaving me to explore the entry point. It has taken two years to get here, this is what my engineers do everyday, this is where they go when entering from the outside to run their trains. Now, it is my turn as a spectator. Today I have one more thing in common with those who garner my admiration. I get to climb those stairs and enter their sanctuary.

Handing my red monogrammed St. John�s Bay bag over to Kimberly my friend because I have not yet developed the dexterity exhibited by train crews who escort their railroad grips up stairs and through narrow walkways, I explore my surroundings. Finding my starting point, the first step about eighteen inches from the ground, I make my way up into the cab. Who has climbed these stairs before me? What were their stories? Now I join those who climbed them seventy years ago, adding my own story to their�s. I take a moment for a photograph. Now I stand at the top of those metal stairs, to the left, bench seats, to the right, the control panel, the window, the engineer�s spot.

My engineers sometimes tell me they have trouble seeing out the windows, and it takes two to run this train today since visibility is not possible from the left side of this train, so perhaps despite blindness and someone�s always futuristic view of technology, perhaps someday I will run that train. In the meantime I�m happy to let those I admire take on the responsibility. Today I�m here to observe as a learner.

Part of learning how to run the RSD1 is knowing its control panel. This machine is run by the engineer, not the computer. Engineers tell me the control is gone from them now, they tell the engine what to do, the computer does it. This machine is run by the engineer. I ask now if I may explore the control panel. Finally, I sit in the small space, the throttle and lever for reverse or forward on my left, levers for dynamic braking for the cars and independent braking for the locomotive on my right, cord for the horn stretching across the top, it is only a start, but now I can more easily visualize my engineers running their trains even if the computer does the work, and the setup is vastly different.

The radio calls the engineer into service, I leave my spot, perhaps sitting here for three minutes, but for here and for now, it is enough. It is me sitting at the controls of a machine whose history since its beginnings and in all of its forms has fascinated me and whose operators seem more than willing to share their knowledge. Today I gain a bit of my own, though I am by no means an expert. Today is the start of another journey, one that has roots in tragedy and promise for even more adventure and the learning of more stories.

Now I return to the bench seat, observing in silence. We wave goodbye to the executive director and Gordon the man who has given Kimberly and me such an informative tour today. So this is what it�s like waving from the cab, looking down on the fascinated fans on the platform. I imagine for a moment one of my engineers waving at me. This is the bird�s eye view. This is the fun part of the job. I smile.

The ride isn�t long, but it is enlightening. The throbbing of this diesel powered freight carrier, the gentle rocking, something that some tell me can devastate an engineer�s kidneys after years of operation. My number 1 engineer once tells me that the newer locomotives produced by Motive Power Industries, bounce. Now I know what he means. The engineer and the brakeman confirm the signals. We approach the crossing and then back the train to the Pinacate Station, the place where all train rides here start and end. Dick the engineer waves to a pedestrian, we stop because of some pedestrians in danger, the brakeman, Rick, tells the engineer there is a pedestrian, he can�t see out of the left side of the train as it backs to the station�s Much like the conductor and engineer do on the bigger railroads, they call out signals, confirming with each other the indications. The horn blows, and we are here.

This is a defining moment for me. Finally, a dream has become a reality, leading to my next adventure. Kimberly and Dick descend the stairs, leaving me to make the final descent. It is easiest to back down such a steep, narrow stair case and the last step extends over the railroad tracks, causing one to extend the leg outward in order to end up on the platform and not the tracks. Dick, standing to the left, warns me of this hazard. I hold on to the rails with both hands, my right arm is still not completely recovered from the injury it sustained in February and I am not about to fall unceremoniously onto railroad tracks.

�I did not wait two years to get into the cab of a locomotive to fall on the railroad tracks,� I say good naturedly.

The engineer, as many of them do when I make coments or observations, responds with a laugh of amusement. I step down, facing him. I extend my hand. He takes my hand, his covered in leather gloves. It occurs to me that now I have shaken hands with my second engineer, this time a little less traumatic of an encounter than my first one, here now on the platform at the Pinacate Station, is the ending of the first cab ride, hopefully with many to follow.

From here, we learn the FRA rules, we learn how to run the locomotive, and all leading to many more cab rides, hopefully, someday, one with my number one engineer. But every dream start somewhere, and thanks to Kimberly, we�re on our way to the next adventure.
  

 

 

Copyright © 2011 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"