Storymania - She Likes Trains: Taking The Engineers Heart by Shelley J Alongi

She Likes Trains: Taking The Engineers Heart
Shelley J Alongi

“Welcome back from vacation. I will call in two weeks. More questions. Take care number 1 engineer.”

This is the only text message I send to Glenn this week. The header says that it was delivered to his phone on January 24, at 9:58 pm. I know he got it. This week is quiet in contrast to last week’s accident and psychological and emotional roller coaster. This week is quiet at the station but that doesn’t mean it was less eventful. It’s the week of the disappearance of the bike, the new name for the dog, the ice-cream indulgence, missing the bell and making bobby, the stock broker engineer laugh. Yes, Glenn is back from vacation, the Antelope Valley line is quiet this week. Even the San Bernardino line, plagued regularly by delays, seems to be restful. Maybe it is a quiet week for everyone. Quiet does not mean uneventful. Uneventful is good in the train department. It means that the trains are mostly on time, and people have enough sense or emotional stability to stay off the tracks. There is a change in the schedule and no opportunity to buy the switch keys this year. But maybe it’s just time for the contemplation of different keys, the railroad bag, the taking of the engineer’s hearts and more stories.

This week I have Time to pause and reflect on just how I got here and where I came from. I always say that I want to learn the engineer stories. There is also the stories of the railfans that sit here on a regular basis. It seems that the people who come here and watch trains have had people in their past or their lives who were or are interested or involved in railroading. I don’t’ know how Glenn got involved in railroading. I assume he comes from a railroad family since he married into one, but I don’t know that for sure. I know that Dave Norris who comes originally from Tulsa had a grandfather who worked for the railroad and he said he learned about railroading from an operational standpoint. He is the one who said he moved here forty years ago to watch trains. Whether he has a thing for cars and race cars I do not know. Many who sit here enjoy a good car conversation even going so far to bring up the spotted past of Mercedes who stakes its latest advertising on its claim to have a reputation for no compromise. “The best or nothing” is its latest slogan, one going back to its founder, so claims the commercial on the local radio station. Whether or not that is true is in question by those who sit here and remember that Hitler had a Mercedes. Yes and didn’t he? One of the mainstays around here seems to be the condemnation of everything political here, always pointing out the skeletons in everyone’s closets. I suppose between the winking lights of freights flirting with our sensibilities some have to express their opinions on local and national politics. It’s either that or their latest medical treatments. One of our regulars, Jim, a retired school teacher, has recently had a pace maker installed and spends a great deal of time discussing it with Larry, the guy who worked for the oil companies earlier in life. Later he comes and asks me if I want to feel it. I’m game so he pulls back his jacket and shows me where the small little square metal device is sewn under the skin. I’m always intrigued with medical hardware, having my own, I suppose from two prothetic eyes to a titanium pen in my right shoulder picked up from an injury in Florida back in 2001.

While he discusses his heart adventures and the argument about whether he’s going home or to rehab, an argument which he wins by the way, Mo, the frog lady discusses her current unhappy physical condition, allegedly attached to something she ate and how to react to it. I perch on my wall, my small bag beside me, my red and black back pack full of canned corn, and soup, oranges, granola bars, and diet sodas. The crisp pop of the tab responding to the pressure of my inserted thumb lends its gentle sound to the ambient noise, blending into the regular audio occurrences that have become familiar around these parts. The jingle of bells as they are moved about as I zip and rezip the bag blends in, people disembarking from Amtrak trains make their way to the parking lot, rolling their wheeled contraptions across the brick-lined path. The clink of the wheels mingle with the click of high heels and the blink of red, green, and yellow signals, all fighting for recognition amid the clatter and rattle of cars over rails, and the purring of the F59 engines.

There is a show of its own going on here; someone’s baby cries, someone talks on a cell phone down the platform, and I perch on my wall against the cage, just having completed my biggest ice-cream indulgence since who knows when.

Arriving early on Friday, my third trip to the station this week, I plunk down almost $9.00 on two ice-cream treats, a Baby Ruth, and two diet sodas. The infamous vanilla cones covered in chocolate and nuts, its creamy goodness comforts my week of arguing with computers. It beats arguing with 22 cats I suppose, but I don’t’ know. By the time I get to the station I am convinced that I’d rather argue with 22 cats than our clunky slow, annoying system at work. Maybe everyone feels this way about their jobs. Maybe by the time the man whose wife owns 22 cats turns off his alarm and opens his eyes and shows up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to run his lovely train on Monday morning he’s ready to argue with train traffic and such, but today I am here on my perch after enjoying the ice-cream treats and ready to trade the perceived slowness of our system with a good rowe with 22 domesticated kitties. .

“It looks like you might have an engineer in that bag,” Dave Norris says as I reposition the backpack, almost smacking Mo in the process. She deserves being smacked by the bag some days. I suppose that’s a perfectly subjective statement. Dave’s comment is in reference to my earlier statement that if I buy a railroad grip it would be useless. But I would pack an engineer into it.

“I could feed one out of here,” I say in response. And I guess I could.

I pack that bag with everything I need to get through my days at work and my trips to the station. But how did I get here exactly?

You know the initial reason: the collision of a freight and a passenger train on September 12 2008 is the thing that got me here. It turns out I did have a family member who worked for the railroad, and I did have friends who were train fans. From the church going, piano playing and singing college graduate interested in stories, picking up little tidbits of knowledge about lots of things along the way, and making incredible friends, to this, working a full time gig, having two of my own kitties, walking two miles a day or more, looking for a new church that’s closer to me, an opportunity to make even more friends, and now perched on a wall with lots of new acquaintances dreaming of a bearded and mustashed engineer, or sitting up in a locomotive cab and absorbing the information from all of those who want to discuss politics, I guess it’s just part of who I am.

Lately I feel myself recovering from my latest trauma. I feel myself in the mood to throw a party somewhere. My mother made an interesting comment once. When she showed up at my piano recital in 1994 she looked around the room and said “these are my daughter’s friends!” Many of them were my friends. Many of them came to the recital to fulfill a class requirement. I really can feel a return of my former energetic levels. I don’t mind my living situation so much. On most days I don’t mind my job though I have to admit that I don’t talk to many people at work. I find most of their attitudes negative and I don’t always agree with management, but it is a good job, the benefits are great, and it allows me to come here and enjoy my latest avocation: trains.

It is here on Friday that I discover that there will be one thing missing from my railroad experience this year: that is unless I trade shifts with someone. In order to accommodate my desire to go out and do different things I have told my schedulers that I’d rather work morning hours and end my shifts by 5:00 pm and now have Fridays and Saturdays off. When I get burned out on a job I find that changing my schedule helps quite a bit to restore my energy level. I suppose I am lucky to have a job where I can change preferences if I wish. After working at a place four years I’m hoping I can have early shifts. I prefer earlier morning shifts, even though I’m a night person. I think my perfect shift would be 11:00 PM to 7:00 Am. But we don’t have one of those shifts so I’ll just find one that works. It doesn’t mean I’ll always get my way. It just means I’m sure going to try!

I find this will allow me to do a bit more train travel. I need to go to Chatsworth and make some more connections, to reestablish old ones. Maybe I could meet Glenn in LA.? We’ll have to see about that one. I’ve gotten so much more from Glenn than I could have imagined. He has been the perfect engineer, but you knew that. I promise to all of you who may read this in the future who know Glenn, I don’t have him packed away in one of my many bags. Not yet anyway! He can stay where he is and give when he can. I’ll not try to steel him. I’ll just admire him from a far. It’s the best way. And he is awesome!

In the meantime I can hopefully reestablish a regular schedule with my 608 and maybe, just maybe, I can meet another engineer, one on the 708 and then go sit by the tracks on the west end and meet the engineers taking their trusting passengers to Los Angeles. We’ll give that a shot, too. I am lucky, as I say to Dave Norris later, to have a full time gig. For here and for now it is enough.

Before all this happens I will miss the railroad show. I’ve been debating whether or not to buy more switch keys. I would like to buy more but I would like to do some research first. Dave mentions lock and signal keys this week so there’s another avenue to pursue. On Monday I walk up to the planter with Robin from the Southern California Train travel group whose meeting I have finally been able to make after a three or four month hiatus. I sit at Noelwood this Monday evening taking in the conversation about race cars and sometimes trains and then we head back to the station. Bob who takeds number 4 to Riverside every meeting notices my gold key, the one from C&NW. I try to remember what it says.

“A switch key,” Dave pipes up sitting on the planter, alerting me to his presence.

“Yes I know but I’m trying to remember which one it is.”

Robin misreads the n as a V because the writing is so antique. I finger the differing thicknesses of each key and think about each emotional connection. I mention in an earlier journal entry that I want to by more keys but I think what I really want to do now is buy that railroad grip and then investigate more keys and more railroads. Guess I’ll just have to wait till August to buy more keys. I’ll just try to arrange my schedule that week so I can make the show. I can go online and buy old keys, but I don’t want to buy them online. I want to touch andfeel them and talk to the people who sell them. I want to make my own decision about which keys I buy and not pick them from a group of keys online, though I might want to read about them online.

And then there are signal and lock keys? How cool is that! But first, I’ll buy the four pound railroad bag and make it weigh more when I find something to put in it. So I guess this week I’ve learned that there are more keys, something I knew but didn’t consider purchasing. It is illegal to sell switch keys that are active now due to terrorist threats and such things. So I guess that means I won’t get any Metrolink or BNSF keys from any of my engineers. Guess I’ll have to take their hearts instead.

What has been taken this week has nothing to do with hearts, at least not directly. The same night that bob asks about the key I take my position on the planter wher I first began my journey into the life of Fullerton’s railroad station. I take a deep breath having successfully made it through another Monday. It is an early day as my shifts go. My new schedule doesn’t start till February 6. But they have given me an early shift today and by 5:15 or so I have made my way to Noelwood after telling someone who thought I was too close to the tracks that they made that assumption for me and have a good day. Now I sit here as number 4 leaves carrying Bob with it and making the others disappear to their various engagements. Dave Norris sits here, it is a quiet night. I’m not sure why he sits here though he does say that he hopes to find Kenney here to find out the latest on Peter, the train fan who knows every crew’s name. Apparently he has tried to hurt his mother and has been admitted to a facility for observation and treatment. We do not see Kenney tonight, I suggest that he probably got a ride home from someone in the group. He usually takes the train to Los Angeles after the meting but tonight we do not see him here waiting for the train. Curt now slides up on his bike with news. The mystery bike he has gotten from the train last week has been taken! Apparently the taxi driver saw two Mexican guys cut the lock and take the bike.

“So the bike with the lose seat, the broken one is stolen?” How much can this be worth? I don’t make it a practice to steal bikes so I wouldn’t know such things,but it is interesting that they took a broken bike. The taxi driver doesn’t call the police. The person who cuts the lock and drops the bolt cutters damages the wheel of another bike, a bike that turns out to belong to Van, another notorious character who usually stays out at the bus docks. I’m not sure what he does but no one likes him. He is kind of annoying. I’ve asked him to leave me alone several times. I’m sure he has his own story, but tonight it’s all about how the person who cut the other lock on the bike damaged his bike in the process. Van appears and starts a diabribe on who took the bike, demonstrating the cutting motion and how it should have been done so it wouldn’t damage his property, like a thievg is really interested in preserving property. Give me a break! He goes on and on about how Curt is naļve and he shouldn’t have left it there or should have put the lock through the wrack a different way. Dave responds with grunts of ascent on occasion. I sit silently not encouraging the conversation knowing that anything that is said will encourage a new rant and I don’t want to hear it after five minutes. The combination of his accented English along with his obsession with this idea and his constant use of the phrase “here’s the thing” interrupts my serene contemplation of freights and their handlers. Itdoes however answer the question of what has happened to the bike that appeared from the car of 785. It has been taken. Wonder if we’ll see it again.

Tuesday is a short night. I arrive at the station exhausted from an early day or just because, who really knows why these days. I have decided that I can go home and be tired or I can go to the station and just deal with it. Later on that night, the temperature dropping significantly, and as I eat my chicken sandwiches and oranges, Diesel Dave says he is leaving and so I ask for a ride home, much earlier than I would have departed had I kept my regular schedule. It is a wise choice to go home early, and I return on Friday with all my vigor restored. However, before I leave, I make bobby on the 608, laugh. I always make this engineer laugh. I hope I make his day. He probably needs a laugh with two little girls and a house payment.

“Hey Shelley!” he calls to me out his window. I have missed the bell! It makes me laugh, too. I keep misjudging where the train stops and always have to run over to the window, the process gives the engineer a chuckle. I guess I’m just enthralled with the purring engine, or I’m not paying attention. I promise to do better next time.

Number 4 is behind him today, he says that number 4 waits for 707 at Buena Park. Buena Park is the tation just before ours, the one I had forgotten existed on my first Metrolink train trip in 2009 when I met Glenn, a trip I took after almost two years of not being on any type of train. Whenever 707, the train that goes to Los Angeles from RiVerside is late, everyone asks where 4 is. I don’t care about 4 so much. I guess I’m just the Metrolink girl. We’ve decided that Bruce is the amtrak guy and I’m the one who talks to Metrolink engineers.

I make a promise to this Metrolink engineer this week, one that has nothing to do with making his window. I tell him that the Disney cruise ship Wonder is in port. I will check if the Disney ships will be out here next year because I suppose as a matter of course I should know. He wants to take his two little girls on a Disney cruise. I suppose he can look for himself but no matter, I’ll look for him. I’ll help one get involved with Toastmasters and I’ll help another one find information about a Disney cruise. I wonder what I’ll do for Glenn? We shall have to see. It’s more about what he does for me and I always tell him he’s the best.

I don’t see Cary at all this week due to running errands or just arriving after his train leaves. If I’m off work by 5:30 I don’t make his train. If I’m off work by 5:00 pm there is a better possibility of making that train meet. The 708 still remains a hit or miss possibility. We don’t want anyone to get hit, but someday I’ll meet an engineer on that train. It will be a good meet. I just know it.

The crowning jewel of the fullerton adventure this week is the reemergence of Coco, the four month old black lab. Coco has a new name now. Her name is Helo Hatti, a Hawian name, though I don’t know why they picked that name. It is obvious that this dog gets a lot of attention. She loves it. She plays with her other friend, Jezebel, the fox terrier, and just takes everything in in her dog way. Helo is going to be a companion dog for Anna who works with the fish and game department. She goes to court this week. She tells us a story of a lawyer who keeps asking if she remembered helping “my client” out of the kelp when they arrested him for having a short fish. There are lots of rules to break in the fishing department and I guess the judge says to him that since he had a fishing license for a long while he should know how to measure fish. I don’t’ know whatever happened to the lawyer. The man had a “failure to appear” on his record, something which the lawyer didn’t know about and showed it in court. Anna always has interesting stories to tell about catching restaurant owners with the wrong catches, or finding people who don’t remember wen they were born because they’re lying about their age and can’t do math quickly enough to come up with their wrong birth year. This week it’s all about the lawyer and the client who was helped out of the kelp, something that he thought would sway the judge in their favor. He was cited.

She holds Helo’s leash, telling the story, and then lets her examine the ground, the people, the tracks, her new surroundings. She’ll take them. They go off and walk the area, and time moves along.

Two freights come along and kick up their mighty winds. It is almost 10:00. Dave is cold now and decides it’s time to go home and shortly afterward I depart for my digs in Anaheim. It has been a good week.

I make one more trip to the station on Saturday, not a regular occurrence for me. I must needs go to Fullerton to run errands and so I stop there since my plans include a birthday dinner with my father and nieces and sister and brother-in-law. I drop off my tax papers with my dad’s wife, enjoy quite a good steak dinner, and before that, sit in the café, enjoying a ice tea and talking to Denis. Denis is working again on the weekends. It is a quiet, brief trip on this pleasantly warm Saturday. Doug shows up, bob sits at the table watching freights. We talka bout how I locked myself out of my apartment at midnight early Saturday morning with only my phone, the keys and quarters in the house and the laundry in the machine. A stroke of luck caused me to push open the door, it hadn’t closed completely, allowing me to complete my laundry at 2:00 in the morning after all. I should have extra keys, we decide, but where to put them is the question. I know from hard won experience that any extra keays need to be pinned to my clothes, like a school girl. Well I guess I am s chool girl when it comes to trains. I am the Fullerton engineer girl. Sometimes making contact with the engineers makes me feel like a school girl. Instead of me taking their hearts, maybe the engineers have taken mine.

“Are you staying out of trouble?” I tease bob who sits waiting.

“I’m not getting into any trouble,” he says. “We’ll leave that to you.”

I guess I am trouble, in a way. Returning to my former energetic self I look forward to meeting more trains, contemplating different keys, taking the engineer’s hearts, and learning more stories.