About the Author J. D. Santucci (a.k.a. "Tuch") began his railroading career in 1978 as a trainman on the Missouri Pacific. After a round of lay-offs in 1985, Tuch embarked on a railroad odyssey, working in many different situations for different roads. This column tries to explain some of the nuts and bolts of the job and also demonstrates what we have to deal with on a regular basis within and without the industry. Tuch currently works through freights out of Chicago for Canadian National/Illinois Central. ©1999, 2003-2007 JD Santucci. Logo ©2002 The Railroad Network. By J.D. Santucci

March 5, 2003
Before we get started with this week’s lesson, I thought I would take care of a few odds and ends of my own. The beautiful bride and I enjoyed a great vacation in North Carolina this past week. It was really good to get away, see some friends and family and even attend a wedding. Good friend and fellow railroader (and Hot Times subscriber) Don Woods and his beautiful new bride exchanged vows and are now husband and wife. Don’t know if the lovely Christie read the "Life of a Railroad Wife" column or not, but she has been with Don for several years, so I think she knows what she has gotten herself into. I thought I would take this opportunity to publicly wish them well and also many happy years together.

I even did something on this vacation I really do not care to do, fly. I’m still not past my fear of flying, but I guess sometimes you really have to do what you don’t want to do. But I don’t have to like it. At least I didn’t act like a raving lunatic on the plane, so I guess that is something.

"And now for something completely different."

I have all sorts of little bits and pieces of railroad amusement. Unfortunately though, these piece and parts are too brief to entitle the privilege of an entire column. So today we are going gather up a bunch of them and throw them out here for your reading pleasure.

I have mentioned in the past how railroading can be difficult on marriages. Many railroaders have been involved in multiple marriages, only in most cases, only one at a time. A good friend told me of one case where a guy had wife and family on both ends of the road. Somehow he not only balanced them, he successfully kept both wives and families from ever knowing about each other for years. That is until he got one son from each marriage a job on the railroad, each working in their respective hometown. At some point son A wound up in the home terminal of son B. They noticed they had the same last name and began to discuss this fact.

During the course of the conversation, it was learned their fathers had the very same name and worked at this railroad. Within no time it was then discovered they had the very same father and his deep dark little secret was soon exposed.

Busted!

I have enough trouble trying to keep track of my life with the beautiful bride. How in the world this guy managed to balance and support two families is really beyond me. I’m also trying to figure out how he managed to support two families simultaneously.

One guy I have worked with over the years has been married to and divorced from the same woman some five times over the years. Five times to the same woman! Here’s a guy who really knows exactly how to ruin a perfectly good divorce and do so in multiple. I wish I could be his lawyer.

We are forbidden by the rules from carrying firearms while on duty unless our job duties require them. (While this doesn't really tie into marriage, many marriages have involved shotguns.) In the transportation department there are no duties that require us to need them. Well, let me rephrase that, there are no duties in which the carriers see fit for us to carry firearms. Only the railroad police have duties requiring them to pack some heat. However, I have known probably hundreds of railroaders who have packed some sort of gun. Considering the neighborhoods we have to operate through and some of the things that have happened out here, it only makes sense to have some sort of assistance.

I believe some railroad officials are not so worried about us shooting ourselves or perhaps each other, they are terrified we will go postal and shoot them. Of course I have worked with and for a few railroad officials that have a justified fear of this sort of treatment. And while I certainly do not condone or encourage such behavior, had they met this fate it is not likely I would shed a tear upon learning of their demise.

I worked with a guy at one railroad whose train was stopped in a high crime neighborhood. While they waited upon a favorable signal to proceed, a couple of the neighbors brought forth a boarding party and climbed onto his caboose. Of course they were not high profile in their appearance, so this Conductor and his Flagman were caught somewhat by surprise when this boarding party appeared. And being there were no working locks on the caboose doors, there was no way to prevent them from entering unless you standing watch for such intrusions.

The boarding party leader walked up to the cupola area, looked up at the two sitting in their chairs and suggested they climb down and present his party with their valuables as a sort of welcome aboard gift. The Conductor graciously declined stating he had "nine good reasons" why he wouldn’t come down. Again the boarding party leader made his suggestion and again this Conductor reiterated his nine good reasons not to. The party leader then decided to offer some persuasion to the Conductor. He climbed up the ladder to the cupola to strongly urge the Conductor to reconsider his decision. When he reached the top he discovered the nine good reasons, the business end of a nine millimeter handgun. Upon making this discovery the boarding party leader called for a hasty retreat and they all exited, stage left. No gifts were given and no invitation to return was extended.

On the lighter side, one afternoon in early 1987 in my CCP days, I was working the Hawthorne-Markham Transfer job. We were heading back to Hawthorne in a snowstorm. It was really coming down and everything was quickly going down the tubes.

We got held at Clark Street on the ICG for the afternoon Metra Rock Island District commuter train curfew. We would get held here for some two hours or more almost daily if we showed up here anytime after 1600 hours. This day would be no exception.

While sitting here biding our time and discussing various topics railroaders discuss when held like this, one of my co-workers observed a couple of guys in the parking lot below having a snowball fight. They had just tied up from their jobs at the printing press located here and were just having some good clean fun. We all decided to join in on their fun, only we figured it would be much more fun if we did so unannounced. We all made a bunch of snowballs first while out of their range of vision. With that done we undertook our ambush. We all barraged them with snowballs. You should’ve seen the look on their faces when they started to get clobbered from above.

They put up the valiant fight but it was no use. They were out gunned and out supplied. It really paid off to have such a cache of ammunition built up before we began our attack. They finally surrendered and made a run for the safety of their automobiles. Railroad 1, civilians 0. And to think the CCP paid us for this bit of fun.

There is a superstition that you should never operate your locomotive with the coupler knuckle on the leading end open. Many years ago some of the old heads told me it was bad because you might couple onto a tank car that was on the main track. It could be a hazmat car and bad things might happen should you slam into it too hard and it couples up. The likelihood of this happening is pretty remote, but I suppose it could happen.

Others have told me that should you collide with an automobile the open knuckle could cause the cars to get hung up and then be dragged along with you as you are trying to stop the train.

In any event, I take no chances. I always close that front knuckle. Why tempt fate?

One evening while working the Heights Run local on the MoPac, we had a sixteen axle flatcar in our train. While it was not loaded with any lading, we had a rider (escort) accompanying it. He rode up in the engine with us and then joined us when we went to the restaurant for dinner.

He told a very interesting story that he heard from the railroad he had just come from with this car. Apparently this was a situation that took place on a well-known western railroad involving a Trainmaster who was pretty sneaky and rotten. This guy seemed to pride himself on hiding in the weeds and catching people violating rules. Not major infractions, just little, splitting hair issues. He chose to make them all into major issues though and had a reputation of being just a no good SOB.

One evening in the fall of that year he was doing his characteristic weed watching vigil. A couple of Car Inspectors discovered him hiding there. This Trainmaster was unaware that he had been discovered. These two Car Inspectors snuck up behind the guy threw a jacket over his head and then proceeded to beat the daylights out of him. He was then dragged, jacket still over his head, and shoved into an open boxcar. They smacked him a couple of more times for good (or bad) measure, yanked the jacket off him and quickly closed the boxcar door and latched it, locking this Trainmaster inside the car. They then fled the scene.

Being that it was autumn, the days were warm and nights cool. This was one of those days. As the sun disappeared from the sky, the temperature plummeted. All this Trainmaster had for protection from the elements was a windbreaker.

The story went on that this guy was discovered several hours later by another Car Inspector who was working the track along side the one this car turned jail cell was located. This Car Inspector heard screaming, yelling and banging coming from the car. He opened the door and discovered this Trainmaster, bloody, beaten like an egg, very cold and just about in mental collapse.

Word was when all was said and done, this Trainmaster recovered after a stay in the hospital. Apparently, while convalescing he assessed his entire present situation on possible future. When all was said and done, upon his discharge from the hospital and release back to work, he decided being an official was not part of the future for him. He exercised his seniority and went back from whence he came, another terminal far away in the Midwest.

Those involved were never captured and convicted of this act. Pretty much everybody had a pretty good idea who they were, but nobody gave them up. I guess this Trainmaster must’ve been quite the rotten individual as not a single soul felt any compassion towards him and his episode.

Now who says crime does not pay?

One night while at the Wisconsin Central, I was heading to Chicago with a train. The cab light on the Fireman’s side of the cab was acting up. It would flicker on and off every time we hit a rough spot or something. The Conductor became fed up with this problem and decided to see if he could affect some sort of repair. He borrowed my screwdriver and began to take the light fixture apart.

He seemed to be doing quite well when we hit another rough spot. All of a sudden there was this beautiful, brilliant flash of electric blue inside the cab, then a cry of pain. The light went dark and I heard the screwdriver hit the floor. I quickly deduced this was not good.

I asked the Conductor if he was all right and he told me he thought so. He found his lantern and turned it on. There was a huge burn spot on the cab ceiling where he was working on the light. His hand was also covered with a black stain. He flipped the switch on and off a couple of times and the light actually worked. And this time there was no flickering either. Don’t know exactly what he did, but aside from nearly killing himself, he did manage to fix the problem.

Then he began to search the cab for my screwdriver. He found it and observed the results of his handy work. Better than half of the slotted head on it had been burned completely off. Apparently, he made some sort of contact with something and completed a circuit. When this circuit completed, it acted like some sort of welder and must have used the head of the screwdriver as a welding rod. Whatever it did, this homemade welding rod seemed to create a bead of some sort that resulted in the repair acting the same as a soldered joint. This impromptu arc weld fixed the problem with the light, as it never acted up again.

I saved that old screwdriver for years as a keepsake of this guy’s efforts to both make repairs and survive while unintentionally trying to kill him self while doing such. Every time we worked together after that, I always pulled it out to remind him of his little escapade.

And so it goes.