Tales from railfans and railroaders
Despite cold weather and long hours, a young engineering trainee loved “working on the railroad”
I started my 35-year railroad career as a Conrail Engineering Management Trainee on a sunny June 15, 1977 at Williamsport, Pa. Only eight days before, I received my civil engineering degree at the University of Delaware. During the in-between time, I bought a car, packed some clothes, and said goodbye to friends and family. I was ready for this new adventure that I had dreamed about since I was 7 years old: working on the railroad!
I spent the remainder of 1977 in many departments installing ties, inspecting track and bridges, installing signal bond wires, riding trains (I was in heaven!), performing track inspections, doing paperwork (even this was exciting), surveying, and of course, drinking coffee. The latter was an ever-present part of the daily routine, and knowing the best places to get a cup on the division was paramount.
As part of the program, our trainee class took trips around Pennsylvania to visit the engineering department offices in Philadelphia, the hump yard at Enola, the rail-welding plant at Lucknow, and the locomotive and car shops in Altoona. On these trips, we swapped stories (over beers at the hotel bar) about our territories, skills acquired (how many hammer swings did it take to drive a spike fully into a tie), how to make out an expense account (what did “Excelsior not available” mean?), and “characters” that we worked with. Even after six months, I awoke every morning looking forward to “working on the railroad.”
I finished out 1977 heading home to spend Christmas with family and catch up with friends. By News Year’s Day, I was chomping to get back to Williamsport to resume my “railroad career,” even though I was just a trainee.
During January and February 1978, Williamsport experienced two blizzards that piled up snow caused by winds blowing it into tall drifts, and temperatures staying below freezing day and night. You know what this meant on the railroad: Bring out the snow-fighting equipment! In the words of Kent Dorfman, a.k.a. “Flounder” from the movie Animal House, “Oh boy, is this great!” I could not wait to get assigned to snow-fighting duty on a plow or flanger. That dream started to fizzle when my first assignment was riding with a contractor in a pickup truck as he plowed the snow off of the many grade crossings in Williamsport. But it got a whole lot better!
After the mid-January snowfall of close to 20 inches, I was told to go with a track department crew to operate a snowplow from Newberry Yard in Williamsport east to Watsontown and plow the Wastontown Secondary. This branch line connected with the former Pennsylvania
Railroad Harrisburg–Buffalo line at Watsontown and went 15 miles east to the Pennsylvania Power & Light (PP&L) plant at Strawberry Ridge. It was laid with welded rail and contained very few grade crossings and curves. The coal-fired plant received a couple of unit trains per week composed of two six-axle locomotives and PP&L 100-ton hopper cars. It was an important line that had to be operable, no matter what the weather!
I boarded a double-track-style snow plow that was followed by a nose-to-nose GP38/GP38-2 pair and a classic ex-PRR caboose. We got under way early afternoon with the adventure going well as we cruised along, throwing the snow to one side of the track. What did not go so well was the heater in the plow. It was an oilfired unit (like the ones used to heat cabooses) located near the operator’s cupola. Within 3 feet of it you could stay warm; beyond that, you froze. With the train moving between 10 and 20 mph, the air coming through the gaps of the plow body made it even worse. I could not stay warm even though I was heavily dressed and constantly trying to keep my balance in the pitching, rocking, bucking plow. I got lucky and spent some time in the operator’s cupola where, besides getting to raise and lower the flanger, I got to warm up.
After turning our train at the power plant, we headed west back to Watsontown, then back to Williamsport. As this train was going to plow all the way up to Lock Haven, I had the crew drop me off at the Maynard Street grade crossing in Williamsport. It was nearly 3 a.m. when I stepped off the plow into snow about 2 feet deep and trudged through it a halfmile to my apartment. I fell onto the couch fully clothed, and drifted off to sleep with the rocking of the plow, the smells of heating oil, and visions of snow flying through the air.
Despite the long, cold hours being out plowing snow, on derailments, and cleaning switches, I was still having a ball! Then another big storm hit the region in early February. I was to assigned to Bill Klein, Assistant Production Engineer, to head to Renovo to operate a Jordan spreader. We would proceed south on the Buffalo Line to clear away snow drifts between Renovo and Williamsport, especially through the mountain cuts at
Hyner Run. Bill had me sleep overnight at his home in Lock Haven (his wife and family were used to him bringing home “railroad strays” for dinner or early morning starts) so we could leave at 5 a.m. to meet the work train at 7 in Renovo.
After getting coffee — the strongest I have ever had, even to this day — at the Renovo YMCA (where the train crews stayed), we boarded the spreader and started plowing south with the power being a GP40. A gondola was placed between the spreader and the locomotive to protect the train crew in case we rammed something. Inside the spreader cab, Bill manned the controls so he could raise the plow or retract the wings as I called out upcoming obstructions like mileposts, signals, or flanger signs.
The weather was clear, about 20 degrees, with a light wind. We were plowing along the single track at 20 mph through Hyner Run, with the wings spread out, when we hit a bank of snow that was cov
Despite the long, cold hours being out plowing snow, on derailments, and cleaning switches, I was having a ball!
ering a solid block of ice. With a loud crunch, we immediately dropped to 5 mph with both of us being thrown forward. I looked back at the engineer and his eyes were wide open with an Oh crap! expression. About 10 seconds later we started accelerating back up to speed. We did not derail the spreader or damage the pistons that still kept the wings out.
Bill thought it was great, and with an unlit cigar in his mouth and twinkle in his eyes, shouted to me “All ahead onethird, Franny!” I grinned and held on, resuming my lookout.
By late afternoon, we reached Williamsport, where the train was turned on the wye to head back to Renovo. Bill stayed with the train and I got off at Lock Haven Yard to get my car to drive back to my apartment in Williamsport. I finally warmed up enough later to get to sleep so I could enjoy another day of “working on the railroad.” —
final miles to Fort Madison.
We stayed overnight and returned with the same crew the next day (also in the caboose). I learned two very important lessons about railroading that day.
One was that 8 hours of rest did not mean 8 hours of sleep. The required 8-hour rest period between runs started the minute we stepped off the train in Fort Madison and ended when we reboarded very early the next morning. This meant that getting to the hotel, eating dinner, going to bed, eating breakfast, and getting back to the yard were all part of “rest.” The crew had the crew caller wake us along with them about 4 a.m., so in practice we got only about 4 hours of sleep.
By the time we rolled east out of town on No. 122, the sun was dawning on a beautiful summer day. A few hours into our ride home (I remember being in the cupola at this point), I found it impossible to stay awake. Riding in the locomotive was somewhat different in that there was a lot of engine noise, crews calling signals, whistle blowing, and so on. Staying awake up there was easier. Back in the caboose, it was relatively quiet, and the rocking of the train and the lack of sleep made it simply impossible for me to be alert. I realized then that crews worked in this sleep-deprived state on a regular basis, creating potentially dangerous situations. I talked with them about it, and they just said they learned to live with it. But trying to stay awake is not something one can easily force yourself to do. That was Lesson No. 1.
Lesson No. 2: To get some fresh air and stay awake, I decided to stand out on the back platform of the caboose. The crew admonished me to be careful, which I took seriously. And a good thing too, since before long I heard a big clattering sound coming at me, which I knew to be
slack running out. I was already holding onto the handrails, which probably saved my life. The caboose lunged forward with a massive jerk, throwing me into the ladder that led to the roof. The slack action came so fast that there was no time to react once you heard it, and there was no way I could have stayed on my feet without holding on to something. I could have easily been thrown off the rear of the train. I never knew it could be that violent.
For the rest of the trip, I made sure never to move around the caboose without holding onto something. I had had a big scare. The west end of the TP&W travels through up-and-down country unlike the east end, which is essentially flat once you climb out of the Illinois River valley. There were a few more slack run-ins and run-outs during our trip home, but I was prepared for them.
After that ride, whenever I was trackside watching a caboose go by, I had a newfound respect for the very real dangers therein. —