She Likes Trains: Dog Days And Coming In Out Of The Rain Rain, dogs, entertainment, accidents, and the crazy Fullerton Engineer girl. Yes, all my engineers, I do know enough to come in out of the rain, I usually just don’t do it at the fullerton station. Three men of the Railroad “What are you doing out here?” The words float down from the cab pulling the late 608, clearly audible over the clatter of the MPI, its number unknown to me tonight, Friday December 17. Bobby looks down in astonishment, perhaps enjoying the spectacle of the Fullerton engineer girl clad in two red shirts, a mauve jacket, all covered by a blue rain slicker, my red and black back pack slung over my shoulders. The backpack holds the brand new blue pokadotted umbrella and my red gloves, but those aren’t present now, because the hat that sits half way back on my head, hidden from the observant gaze of the engineer Scooter calls the stock broker is adequate for the job at hand. “I love it!” I say, laughing, almost dancing in my delight at the energetic response to his crazy train meet. “You’re crazy!” He can’t get over it. “You need a hat!” “Right here,” I point to my head, sliding the blue thing forward just a bit so he can see it. “You need to be home and dry,” insists the married man with children, probably not believing that anyone would be out in weather like this just to talk two minutes to an engineer. He doesn’t know that Glenn once looked down at me saying “Are you standing in the rain?” Two different men, the same response. You’re crazy, Miss Fullerton Engineer Girl! Crazy! Maybe I am! Maybe not! I’m not the only one sitting out here in the rain watching the procession of freights and passenger trains determinedly passing through here. It is true that some have deserted the place, perhaps the less stout of them curled up under a bridge or in the armorie, in a cheap motel, in a nice home, anywhere but here. It has been raining steadily here in southern California since Friday morning and continues even now, Sunday night, and promises to extend its loveliness at least until Wednesday. It may be wetter after Wednesday, we don’t know quite yet. The Pineapple Express is causing all this, the snow level too high for the Cajon pass, so sweet magical Glenn, my Lancaster baby won’t have to worry about that. “have a safe drive,” I tell him on a voicemail tonight, Friday, later, after driving with Elena to In and Out burger for sustenance. “Glenn it’s shelly,” I am laughing, not nervous, not the least bit stressed. Maybe it’s because I know I won’t get him. Maybe it’s just because I’m still laughing at bobby’s response and I think my number one engineer has the right to know! He has the right to know, this man of immense property and animal ownership, three children, a grandchild, and his new racing adventure, that someone else, years younger, whose kids are much younger, thinks I’m crazy, too, just like he does. Two railroad men can’t believe I’m standing in the rain! “Go inside and get warm,” Carey tells me on Tuesday, three days before I stand dolled up in my rain gear. “I’m freezing,” I tell him, dancing by the locomotive. But no, I wont’ go inside and get warm. Toastmasters is fine, Mr. Cary Engineer, and yes, I’m cold! If I remember correctly, it is Cary who doesn’t like to be cold. He’s got his head out the window talking to me, maybe he thinks I’m crazy, too. Maybe I am! Maybe I amuse my three men of the railroad! Who knows what I do. All they know is that here I am standing in the rain! They must know I love it. I do! I cross the bridge on my way down to the east end of the platform to see who else braves the rain. “She doesn’t know enough to come in from the rain!” It’s Dave Norris, Kathy, Anna, Tim, and the foamers, Brett, Scott, Bob, Danny, Christopher, and some other names I don’t know. “That’s what the engineer just told me!” I say and repeat my story. It’s so amusing to me that I do call Glenn an hour later when I get back from In and Out and tell my story. “I was going to text you,” I say, “but you wouldn’t get the full effect so I’m telling you this story.” I got pretty into telling the story, too, even down to the warmth coming from the exhaust exiting the front of the locomotive. “I was going to tell him this was the warmest spot,” I explain to my number one engineer. I hope Glens miles. Maybe he just thinks I’ve lost my mind. Rain energizes me, especially when the temperature is right, there’s a breeze, and rain continually pelts the platform, the tracks, and those who are dedicated to the art of train watching at the Fullerton station. The computers that track train traffic for the foamers are shielded, far away from the drip line, a spot where water continually drops from the overhang. The station was designed with the dedicated railfan in mind, the awnings providing coverage where we can watch the rain and the trains. The trains still produce their mighty winds as they hurtle through the station on their green signals. If you’re too close you may get splashed, or Alicia, the computer might get splashed, anyway. “I’m at Fullerton on Friday night with the railfans in the rain watching trains,” I tell my engineer. “Have a safe drive. You guys have a good weekend. bye.” I laugh as I disconnect my call. I have to say that this is the most relaxed message I’ve left him. Usually I’m all balled up with anxiety, heart pounding, hands sweating, trying to speak my words with confidence and security, a perfect commercial I suppose for a really powerful deodorant that can handle anything! Part of the fun of calling Glenn is my extreme agitation, Andy would call it twitterpation, and maybe Glenn tonight notices the difference. Maybe he doesn’t. he doesn’t call; he never does unless I have a question. But he pays attention and he remembers. My engineer tucks all this information away, for what use I know not, but it’s there and I’ve told him. I remind him that he once responded in a similar manner. Yes, this is my middle-aged, teenaged adolescent railfan best! One of the foamers a few weeks back looks at another one of the group and announces with confidence: “you’re pre adolescent!” I’ve explained my state of mind for the last two years. I’m the middle-aged adolescent teenage railfan I say. They’re just responding to my own pronouncement, extending and even decreasing the age appropriateness to their own group. Guess I’m lucky they’re not calling me pre adolescent. Glenn probably just enjoys answering railroad questions, or maybe he’s enjoying the fact that he’s my first train engineer and I have a mad crush on him. bobby defends me to people who want to pull me away from the train, Cary wants to be a Toastmaster, John wants me to be there tomorrow, Rob the Extra on the 606 one time is appreciative because “it gets lonely up here” he says. IN some way, the middle-aged adolescent star-struck railfan is touching the lives of all these individuals. They sure don’t know how much they’ve touched mine. It’s all good! The teasing among this group is merciless. I haven’t been teased lately about talking to engineers or having a key to a motel in Lancaster. I get a break! I’m sure it won’t or can’t last long! What does last long is the excitement, the rain, the camaraderie of young and old, the experienced, the Internet train generation, the dusty magazine collecting generation, the middle, that would be me, interested in both Internet and magazine sources, and mainly interested in engineers who run the train to give me their perspective but combining all three for my own version of railfanness, gathering on a wet, rainy Friday night to eat, talk, and oh yeah, watch trains. Entertainment Choices “You must be hard up for entertainment!” It’s Robert, Ninjaless, she awaits her master in the car, he doesn’t want her to get wet because then she stinks and it takes forever for that to wear off, so he cruises the platform, making sure the person he says he would meet here is not here in the rain. It would be wrong of him, he says, not to show up. Apparently he thinks it’s okay if the person doesn’t show up but it’s not okay if he doesn’t show up. “Hard up for entertainment? This is better than TV,” I inform him. He laughs his lawyer laugh, more amused. Robert is an energetic man; passionate about his work, he says when I say once that if I gave my work as much passion as I poor into my hobby I’d be exhausted. Yes, he’s passionate about his work, I wouldn’t have hired him as my attorney if I hadn’t thought that, and I’m passionate about my work in some ways; I am a perfectionist. I want to do it right even if I don’t always agree with the logic behind what I do. But I am passionate about trains, talking to the engineers, learning how to run the trains without running them, and passionate about being out here in the rain, enjoying the machines with the humans who also find them fascinating. Tell me, did two trains colliding on a track five minutes out of Chatsworth do all this to me? Was it in my blood and I never knew? Is it my great grandfather railroad engineer who apparently was a player in the field of broken hearts? All I know about him is that there’s a picture of him holding me as a baby and he knew how to run a steam locomotive. Apparently his daughter, my grand mother, didn’t like him. I know I slept in a camper outside his house with one of his grand daughters when our family drove to Clovis, New Mexico to visit. Another one of his daughters, my great aunt, taught me how to make peach cobbler and how to carry baby wipes on a four day train journey. Is it my mid life crisis? Or am I just the middle-aged adolescent teenage railfan? Whatever it is, I’ll take it! Not Stopping on a dime A collective gasp of astonishment emits from the group as a train slides on the rails, its locomotive way past the signal, turning it red. Did he come in on a green? The foamers applaud the engineer’s clumsiness. We listen for anything on the scanner. Nothing is said. Of course nothing would be said. “Did that guy just lose his job too?” Someone wonders if he came in on a red. No, it was not red, when he went past it the signal turned red. It’s the new signal they’ve installed out here. The last car sits almost parallel with us across the tracks, number 3 to be exact. Usually the locomotive is positioned to our right, we can see its front, the cars extending down past us, almost to the other end of the platform. Not tonight. This train is on its way to San Diego. “You have a clear indication on Lap alma Main 2,” or something like that, we hear on the scanner. The train is out of Fullerton, on its way to San Diego and we’re still sitting in shock. We can’t believe the engineer put the train way past that signal. He was flying through here, maybe he did lose traction. Who knows. We weren’t in his shoes. I bet my engineer would tell me what happened. Or he’d say “I have no clue.” Once when I asked Glenn if Rob Sanchez could have possibly not known a freight train was coming at him he said “I have no clue. He was up there by himself.” Sweet engineers, all of you! One missed a signal, one goes past one, and one has no clue! All my Prince charmings! And I’d stand in the rain for all of them! Right know the foamers are applauding one of them, the other two are on their own. One is dead. One is in Lancaster getting ready to make a rainy trek down the pass and to his own bed. The next San Diego bound train pulls in, stopping right where it should, again drawing applause from the foamers. Freights pass. We alls tand; even I join the standing group tonight. I am in a mood. The usual calls go forth, “Swift” “Quality as advertised”, manifest trains, double stacks, tankers, flat cars, all headed for their ultimate destinations, some blowing their horns to signal they see us, some steadfastly ignoring the silly foamers who don’t know enough to come in out of the rain. What do you mean silly train crews? You’re the ones running the trains in the rain? We all know enough to come in out of the rain; it’s just that some of us get paid to be out in it and some of us just like being out in it. Dave Norris, kathy, Anna, and Tim have desserted us long ago, taking their Subway home to enjoy. They’re not being as courageous or crazy as we are, I suppose. Dave watches one more train then leaves, much earlier than his usual 9:00 Pm departure. The conhversation turns to converted Sd40s and Sd45s, the 8700s are converted, Bob tells us. They are the old blue Santa Fe locomotives we saw last week, the ones that Glenn probably operated before they were turned into 8700s. I’ll have to ask him. It’s on my ever growing list. The list is growing to include questions about different color signals, lodgings at away terminals, engineer gloves, personal protective equipment, PPE, track inspections during the rain, rainy day train running procedures. The questions are about the procedures for running the trains on days like today, or days like the one in January of this year when I spent about five hours on a train from SLO to Los Angeles, waiting for track inspections and writing on my laptop, watching the rain poor out the window. It was a fun day! I even have questions about the train brakes, a question he once answered in a two minute stop but that I’d like to address to a more in depth degree. They will all get answered in time; that is, if no one misses any signals. Tuesday, December 14, is the only other day I make it out this week. This is the day that Cary asks me if I’m going to go inside and get warm. In fact, I do go inside and get warm, and then trek out to Bobby’s train. Bruce is there that day. He eats bob and Janice’s French fries and then eats his own. The thing I remember about Tuesday is that I go down to the place where the church meets at the east end of the platform. The big trailor is there giving away clothes and food. I go out to see what there is and get two pairs of slacks and some candy and cookies and a various assortment of hygienic products. The pants end up being two very nice pair that can be used as work pants. I also get a red Christmas looking sweater that fits nicely and provides protection from the cold. So in a strange way I do get warm Mr. Cary Engineer. All my engineers are nice to me. They want to me to get warm and come in from the rain. I usually do both, eventually; just not at the fullerton station. Coming in out of the rain On both nights I leave late, on Friday night sitting under my nice new umbrella I’ve picked up from Vons. You see since I’ve moved to Anaheim it has rained significantly three times. This December series of storms is serious enough for me to take notice. Usually I don’t use umbrellas or rain gear, but since my avocation demands I go outdoors and I find that I enjoy being out in the rain, I figure I’ll prepare for it. I do think I will buy a warm jacket, but if I do that, then I won’t need it. In the meantime I have my umbrella, my nice blue rain slicker, my warm clothes, and my love. My converted Sd40s and 45s, my railfans, my switch keys, and my engineers. ON Friday, in fact, as I’m standing on the bridge, arguing with the rain slicker, trying to figure out how it works, I miss Cary’s train. Wonder if he saw me. Wonder what he would say about me standing in the rain. He’d probably ask if I was going to go inside and get warm. Cary, my number 2 engineer, remember, he helped me find Glenn once. Line up Mr. Former Southern Pacific freight engineer. “You know what freight engineers call Metrolink engineers,” Chris Parker says to me that night. “Bus drivers.” Oh no, no. Not in my eyes. They’re all engineers; all my engineers. Hard working guys with weighty rule books, PPE, switch keys, and vast years of experience between all of them! Line up! Dog Days Something else I have is the stories of those who sit in their own groups, I tend to make the rounds of those who sit in various spots. One of the guys I haven’t written much about is named Hank. He paints houses with Ray, the guy who gets arrested once for climbing the clock tower. Hank likes dogs. It seems everyone at the station likes dogs; the engineers have them; Glenn says he has six dogs. The old men who sit at the station in the afternoon feed and pet Skipper, Tom’s dog. Robert has his dog. Hank doesn’t have a dog right now, but he has stories about dogs. He had a mut, he says on Tuesday as I slowly make my way down the platform, organizing the things I got from the trailor and wondering where Dave Norris is. He’s at a Christmas party I find out later. But on this nightI learn about Hank’s dogs. He had a mut, he says, that always escaped the back yard. He wondered how this dog always ended up in a neighbor’s yard, flirting, it seems, with another dog. The dog, he said, would climb the fence and walk it like a cat. He was a playful dog. He would bite the water in the sprinkler system. He tells me this story and then says that I must provide him at some time with cat stories. “Oh, I have plenty of cat stories,” I say as I make my way out to take a bus home. Tom the cigarette smoker comes out. Curt is making his rounds. Both nights are quiet; uneventful. Railroad Realities The event of note this week is an Amtrak train hitting three people on the tracks outside of Commerce on Monday December 13. As it turns out, we know the conductor. He never gives anyone enough time to get on or off the train, it seems. We watch people get caught in the doors or people try to make their way over to his train when they should have been there already. You never know what’s really going on when you sit and watch; but this week he now has three days off work. When a train crew is involved in an accident, it gets three days off. Not a good way to get a vacation, and it’s never fair to the engineer. There are several stories going around about this accident. Norm, our BNSF engineers says he can’t work because they can’t switch the trains onto the tracks to get them out of the yard. The tracks are tied up, one of the foamers says later, because the body recovery crew can’t find one of the heads. The stories that circulate about this accident are numerous; they were taggers. They were on one track and jumped to another to miss getting hit by a BNSF train. They were instead hit by the Amtrak train. “Great,” says one of the foamers, “they jump out of the way of one train and get hit by their train meet.” Apparently there were four people on the tracks, someone got away, not sure I’m clear on all the details. Remember I write this from the Fullerton station perspective and I haven’t seen any articles in any of the local papers about the accident. The part about Norm not being able to work because the trains couldn’t switch is definitely primary source material. He’s the engineer; he would know what was going on. Now you know. It’s all a little messier than a woman falling off the locomotive; and it’s an old story. I guess when you hang around the train station you learn about the accidents that don’t make the paper. Fatalities seem to happen every six months or so around here. If a freight is sitting on a track for a while we almost assume there has been an accident. Sometimes the freight engineer will tell us what has happened, sometimes they don’t say anything at all. The thing is, when a freight comes in and the engineer tells us what’s going on, I’m usually on the other side waiting for another engineer. Rain, dogs, entertainment, accidents, and the crazy Fullerton Engineer girl. Yes, all my engineers, I do know enough to come in out of the rain, I usually just don’t do it at the fullerton station.
Copyright © 2010 Shelley J Alongi |