Railroaders' Nostalgia > My Dumb Luck: the AFT years 44

44 Charlotte, NC Oct. 25-27

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

(I know what you're thinking: Wow, this guy can really write!)

Charlotte looms large in the memory of the AFT family. From time to time, the Freedom Train faced budget problems that resulted in wage cuts. We really weren't paid a lot. As I said earlier, my pay as Assistant Curator was the somewhat bizarre figure of $666.66 a month. Hardly extravagant. (But hey, it kept me in film) After the Fourth of July and a summer of Bicentennial events nationwide, I guess attendance figures now began to slide. I can't say I'd noticed (there were crowds as always), and I never saw “The Books,” so I've no real idea. Petr Spurney (AFT Foundation CEO) was in Charlotte, and dark rumors were circulating.
Sure enough, a meeting of the entire staff was called. This was rather unprecedented, and that kinda helped ramp up the distress. Petr announced there would again be cuts, but what startled everyone was that rather than wages, JOBS would be eliminated. This didn't affect the Operations Department I was part of – we were more or less cut proof – it simply took as many of us as there were to move the train, and that was that. The cuts were more toward ticket, security, and jobs where longer hours could be absorbed by a somewhat smaller staff. In hindsight, the cuts were not particularly harsh (easy for me to say, Wild & I were untouched), but there were hard feelings. There was a perception, by some, that the cuts were calculated to produce budget numbers that would only benefit Petr himself. Others asked: With only eight weeks to Miami, how much difference would it really make cost wise? Why not let them finish with the rest of us! There were probably other issues (real or imagined) as well, but the point is – people were upset, and the day was forever dubbed “The Charlotte Massacre.”
I think for most everyone on the Freedom Train it was about the lowest point on the tour.
Well, maybe not everyone...

That night was move night and everyone went about their tasks under a somber dark cloud. After the flats were loaded, and the two Daves got started with tying things down, the lot of us began making our way toward the Pie Car for John Long's now traditional Move Night Pie. As I passed the '49, Bobby gave me a shout and motioned me up. He asked if I'd sit on the engine for him for a few minutes. I said, “Sure,” and he flew down the steps. I don't think he was gone two minutes when Doyle came up the other side. He frowned, “Where's Bobby?” I shrugged, “I don't know, maybe the Pie Car? He didn't say.” Doyle disappeared, but then was right back ... He said, “The railroad's here, and we're in the way. I don't have time to look for Bob, we've gotta move. Do you think you can manage?” I probably said something brilliant like, “Um,” and he said, “Good enough. Let's go.”

The main thing was for us to stay out of the switch crew’s way while they assembled the train, and I don't think we were moving with much more than the tool car. I was familiar with the injector, so no worries there, but I'd never worked the fire. Basically, the idea was to follow Doyle's movements – when he opened the throttle, I notched up the oil, and when he shut her down, so did I. If I overdid it, the fire about came out of the box. Too little, and – what? I suppose he could put out the flame? I'm not sure.
The '49 has an air horn controlled by a small valve that spits a bit of air before the horn actually sounds. Every time Doyle needed to move the throttle, he would first tap the valve as a warning. It's a pretty good system. The spit of air is easy to hear over everything else, and it's all the communication needed for a “heads up.”
Pretty soon Bobby caught us on the fly, came aboard, and sheepishly tucked in behind me. “Sorry about that ... are you OK?,” he asked. I had somewhere between 280 and 290 pounds of pressure (the safety lifted at 300 pounds), the water was fine – maybe a bit high, and Doyle seemed unconcerned – so, yeah, I was OK. Bobby talked me through a bit of strategy on balancing fire and water to keep pressure up, but most important – he let me keep the cushion!
After about an hour or so, the train was together, and we were on the point. The usual deal with the 4449 crew rotation was that once the train was ready to go on the road, who ever had road duty would then relieve the guy hostling. That night it was Al. Al came aboard about 30 minutes before our 2 a.m. departure time. He at best raised an eyebrow, quickly figured out what was going on and asked, “So ... you want to go out on the road?” We looked over at Doyle. He considered for a moment, then grunted, “I don't care, so long as there's steam ...”

Anyone reading this who actually knows how to fire a large oil-burning locomotive will have to forgive me – I don't. But I'll try to explain things as I best understood them.

The pilot engineer and road foreman climbed up, and after a quick round of introductions and checking orders, we were on our way. We were northbound on the Southern Railway, I would keep the seat as far as our scheduled water stop in Salisbury (about 40 or 45 miles out). Charlotte to Greensboro would be CTC territory, but beyond that (Greensboro to Raleigh) we would be running as the first section of a scheduled freight, so we were displaying green class lights and flying green flags. Doyle called signals and I repeated them back, figuring this was protocol. I know just enough about signal aspects and nomenclature to know I don't know anything about signal aspects and nomenclature. I assumed Al was watching out for me and made no attempt to make any calls myself, not wanting to alarm the Road Foreman. (“Oh look! A green one with two reds!”) No ... best keep quiet.

Because this was mainline, Doyle's throttle changes were not too difficult to keep up with – they were more in the order of adjustments than anything. I think I was supposed to be watching the stack to gauge how I was doing (no smoke being ideal), but it was a dark, moonless night and I honestly couldn't tell if there was smoke or not.

It was the water that kept me busy. I'd heard the 49's feedwater pump was kind of a finicky thing, and other than a small gauge, you can't really see or feel anything happening. I didn't quite trust it. And besides, it was just one more thing I'd never used before. Instead of a steady stream of preheated water, I chose use the more familiar (to me) injector, pumping cold water directly from the tender into the boiler. This cold water really took its toll on pressure. So rather than let the water get too low in the glass, and require a pressure-killing big drink, I kept it high, and fed the boiler small sips. I'm not entirely clear about exactly how an injector works, but as near as I could figure it, I was opening a valve that fed it water, priming it, and then used steam to force it to start siphoning? The thing is: it doesn't always work with the first try. If indeed running steam is more art than science, then the injector is surely one of the more arty parts. But I found you can sort of feel it when it's beginning to pick up the water, and then carefully bring the up the lever without losing it. To me, it felt kinda like catching a fish – curiously satisfying when you'd hooked it. Because I was trying to keep the servings light, this process had enough steps that by the time I'd shut it down – it was about time to start again. I was doing it the hard way, and it kept me busier than I needed to be, but I loved it. I was doin' stuff!

Not too far out of Charlotte, we went into the hole to meet #1, The Southern Crescent. They slowed to a crawl as they passed, and I did my best to not disappoint, you know- to look cool for the guys in the green E's. I think I even may have generously allowed them a slight wave. (It dawned on me later: I probably looked like a real knob – I was still wearing my hardhat. I'm sure THAT defied explanation)

Around 3:30 in the morning, we rolled into Salisbury. I pantomimed to Doyle asking if I could, well, blow the whistle? I think he rolled his eyes. About a half dozen or so grade crossings stretched out ahead of us, one after the other, and I was a Grade Crossing Blowing Fool! One after the oth – a big hand grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and Doyle growled, “THEY KNOW WE'RE HERE.”

Ah.

Photo 1. Arrival in Raleigh that morning. See ... no harm done!

And that's how it came to be that I fired the 4449: My Dumb Luck.

SR Bush
Dutch Flat

Gentle AFT reader,
This weeks story was a bit tricky to write. First, I had do decide if I was going to report this so called “Charlotte Massacre” business, or leave it out. Well, obviously, I decided to leave it in- the irony of my personal good fortune on a day most would remember as “a day in infamy” was too good to pass up as a story teller.
But, and here's the tricky part, exactly what aspect of this event am I reporting? Well, I realize the hard facts of the matter (was the AFT Foundation justified in this staff cutting?) are just too far beyond my reach to pass judgment on. However, I was witness to the emotions (and the acusations that fueled them) and it is this reaction of my co-workers that I am reporting. A fine point, perhaps, but one that is important to me.
As to the second half of this day's story, my firing the 4449, it really was just dumb luck and I don't think this ever happened to anyone else outside the engine crew.
I was asked to keep quiet about it- the last thing Doyle needed was hearing, “But, but, SR got to do it ...” So I kept it to myself. No one pestered Doyle, and as a result I was allowed to fire a few more times. Mostly it was during the move-night switching. I did get out on the road twice more, but fairly short mileage. I'll tell those stories as they come around.
I am forever grateful to Doyle for allowing me a thrill and, of course, to Bobby, Craig, Tom, and Al for their help (that, and it was their seat time I was taking!) 
Thanks guys!
 

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Great story well told.

Amen, a great story. I am envious of your experiences on the AFT, especially that one.

Ahem! Didn't quite effect the operations crew? I beg to differ!!...said with a smile...now! I,being one of the newest hires,although it had been many months,was one of the casualties. As I remember,every "craft" had to jettison one employee,I was the operations dept victim. All turned out rather well for me though,allow me to elaborate some.I made the offer to AFT leadership to stay on with the train as a volunteer,just needing some sort of housing.The "Daves" as you call them,and Bob and Mark went to bat for me with John Manning. John,being John,was reluctant at first,saying that the AFT never had any long term volunteers on the operations staff,but with the backing of the my cohorts,and the fact that I had a very good relationship with him (he once said to me I was "the only railfan he ever liked",he agreed.I think it was the end being so near that had him softening. I will let Steve shed light on his "personality" if he so chooses. I mean,this IS HIS thread! Suffice it to say I got along great with John,and always liked him,I even have some fond AFT/John Manning memories that can't be told...smile.

To make a long story short...or shorter...I was a volunteer as of Nov 1. The operations staff was gracious enough to offer me use of one of the allocated hotel rooms they had on a rotating basis,a generosity I am forever grateful as there is noway I could afford to rent one on my own at the time. If they hadn't done so I would have had to sleep in my car or abandon the volunteering all together and return to "real life",and my job and school,which I had put off a semester when I secured the job on the AFT during the summer. Some security!

Well,things eventually turned out well,at least for me in this instance,but it did cost me a friend. After volunteering for a couple of weeks,a good friend of mine,who had been on the train for many months,decided he needed to leave for his own mental health. I tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of it,relaying that there was just over a month left to Miami. Alas,he did not heed my advice,and left.This now left the operations dept short one crew member. Again,my friends went to bat for me,pleading the case they needed that extra help for tear downs and setups,as well as day to day maintenance. And since I was already "hanging around",they convinced Baileys Crossroads to rehire me.With that I once again became an AFT employee again,collecting a check and everything! BTW Steve,you were making vast sums compared to what I was getting! So,to coin a few overused verses,"I was in the right place at the right time" and "All's well that ends well" I also believe these events lead me to be the last on train employee to be hired by the AFT,although I have no proof of this.

Tom

Hey Tom, Well your story explains the photo below. I took this at the radio desk in Security's office (100 Car). It shows the radio call list. In the enlargement you can see that Tony's name has been scratched out and yours has been penciled in. I remember I took this to document Tony's leaving, but hadn't realized how your story was connected.

A couple of other interesting things turned up in this shot:
Doyle was Blue 3. I think when we were under way the engineer was Blue 29, regardless as to whether it was Doyle or Ross.
I was Blue 31? That's kind of funny, I don't remember being assigned a call sign- I was never issued a radio or ever used one!

SR

Check out that rotary phone!

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BoilingMan Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Hey Tom, Well your story explains the photo below.
> I took this at the radio desk in Security's
> office (100 Car). It shows the radio call list.
> In the enlargement you can see that Tony's name
> has been scratched out and yours has been penciled
> in. I remember I took this to document Tony's
> leaving, but hadn't realized how your story was
> connected.
>
> A couple of other interesting things turned up in
> this shot:
> Doyle was Blue 3. I think when we were under way
> the engineer was Blue 29, regardless as to whether
> it was Doyle or Ross.
> I was Blue 31? That's kind of funny, I don't
> remember being assigned a call sign- I was never
> issued a radio or ever used one!
>
> SR
>
> Check out that rotary phone!

Hey Paul Harvey was Blue 12, as he would say "Now we know the rest of the story" :-)

The AFT had it's own Paul Harvey. Not the same guy- but certainly no less entertaining.

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Wow, SR... The hits just keep on comin'!
Two thumbs wayyyyy up! As per usual, it's almost as good as hearing your tales in person- almost ;). Also, I love how you remembered that you had your hard hat on when you were trying to be cool when the crescent rolled by-- haha! Yeah, you were definitely looking like a tool, but take heart, with all the reflectorized vests on mainline steam crews these days, they took it to a whole new level!

Posted from iPhone

BoilingMan Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Hey Tom, Well your story explains the photo below.
> I took this at the radio desk in Security's
> office (100 Car). It shows the radio call list.
> In the enlargement you can see that Tony's name
> has been scratched out and yours has been penciled
> in. I remember I took this to document Tony's
> leaving, but hadn't realized how your story was
> connected.


I'm a bit confused, didn't Tony stay right up to the end when the AFT ended in Miami? If he did, why was his name crossed out in this photo?

No, Tony didn't make it to Miami.
I took that photo in Jacksonville FL.
I don't remember precisely where Tony left (Tom would), but it was startling, and having his name crossed out on the list in Control was a sad event and it's why I took the pic.
Very few made it all the way from beginning to end- probably less than 10%.
SR

I cannot precisely pinpoint when Tony threw in the towel,but I think it was somewhere around the Charleston stop,either just before or just after. My memory is fuzzy,but I seem to remember driving him off site,but can't seem to remember if it was to an airport or Amtrak. I know there was no going away event,just a few of his closer friends sharing a beverage in the Pullman,then he was gone.He was a private person.I did visit him in San Jose a couple years later with a small group of ex AFTers and he was doing great,alas,I lost touch afterwards.