Fifty years ago today I shifted departments on the railroad moving from the car department to transportation – I went from a 154 man oiling boxcar journals (no such thing today) to a switchman with the number 1120. After a big hiring spree in 1968 due to the opening of a new hump yard, hiring was on hold for a few months until April of ’69. I was the second man hired that year behind David V. and just ahead of Joe S.
My first student “trip” was on a GP9 #232 working the east end – the local tracks and the stockyards. I have forgotten who the foreman and engineer were but the two helpers were Loren M. and Gary Y. I remember attempting to get off the engine that first night as it was moving across a road near Nebraska Machinery when I fell and rolled. Getting off of something moving took some understanding and a little practice. Over time, mounting and dismounting moving things became easy.
Toward the end of June that year I was made a foreman. I barely knew the names of tracks – they all had names or numbers – and I only had a vague idea about the reasons behind much of what I was told to do. The railroad was again hiring big time and somewhat pinched because of the Vietnam War taking young men. So, I was promoted, mostly because they were desperate.
Then in December of 1969 they made me a yardmaster and I moved into a non-union job that meant a routine work week was 6 days. However, nearly every week I doubled (worked two shifts in one day – 16 hours) meaning I averaged 7 shifts a week. That year, 1970, was nothing short of amazing for a handful of reasons.
The sprawling Bailey Yard employed some 2500 and on any given shift there were six and occasionally seven yardmasters working. That meant, I had significant power –enough to tie up the yard – get trains blocked and create quite a bit of havoc. On a couple of occasions I succeeded – not a good thing. A couple of times I remember working the 8-hour shift and not having time to eat. There were times when two or three of the five radio channels were barking, one or two phones ringing, and maybe 3 or 4 lights on the control board indicating someone had punched a speaker switch and wanted to talk. I can remember a few times at the end of a shift, even as a healthy 20 year-old, not being able to stand straight as my stomach was in knots.
The boss was an old school, black and white, hard-nosed, stern, demanding, dictatorial kind of a guy. To get a call from him took years off one’s life. To see him coming (we were in towers and could see a mile away) made one’s heart race. Yet, one always knew exactly where you stood. There was security in knowing that things were constant from day to day and that if you messed up – you were told so! And if Omaha (headquarters) came after you, he was beside you to protect you. Omaha didn’t mess with his guys unless they were clearly wrong.
A week ago I was contemplating my switching date, April 8, and wondering how it could be true that it was 50 years ago. Fifty years! What in the world! It is true, but it seems surreal. I still catch myself yardmastering in my sleep and being swept up in the thrill of it all.
I would have gladly stayed with the railroad, but God was calling and serving Him has been a greater calling for which I have experienced a greater joy. Thank you, Lord.
a PK Musing 
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