Travel – storyteller

Humans in Transit

Years ago, one of my daughters introduced me to the photoblog “Humans of New York” telling compelling stories Brandon Stranton collects while out on the streets of America’s largest city. Though I can’t photograph or record those I meet on UTA’s FrontRunner trains while I’m at work, sometimes I wish I could tell the stories of some of those I meet and interact with. I do share these stories at home, with my Beautiful Wife. But, because she wants me to share this one with you, and even though it has been a few years since I’ve added to my own blog, here it goes.

An Agitated Passenger

Three of us FrontRunner engineers begin our work shift by “conducting” on the same train to the end of the line, where we will assume our assigned duties of starting the “peak commuter service” of adding trains to accommodate those along the Wasatch Front headed home after their school and workday. (In our dual roles as train conductors and engineers, we are engineers when actually driving the train, and conductors when we are in the body of the train, with the passengers.)

Since, on this one-hour trip south to the end of the line, there are three conductors covering the three passenger cars, we are stationed one in each car. We’re there riding with the passengers to answer questions, helping with mechanical problems such as doors not working properly, and giving added security on the train.

I was in the middle passenger car when I heard the conductor in the lead car make a radio call to “Control”.

“I have a man that’s causing a disturbance… He seems agitated… Keeps asking questions and trying to engage with the other passengers. He keeps moving around to different seats… Bothering the passengers around him.”

Control: “Can you give a description of this passenger?”

Conductor: “He a white male… about forty years old. Mostly bald… Wearing a dark hoodie and he has a grey backpack.

As I listened to this radio call, deciding if I should go forward to that car to help out, the conductor called Control once again.

“He just moved back to the bike car.”

Control: “Control copies all that information. Keep us informed if anything changes.”

At this point I met up with the other conductor, where he personally filled me in on the situation. Since this “agitated and disruptive” passenger was now in my car, I would now be the one to watch him and handle any problems he caused.

In the years of doing the “conducting” portion of my job, I’ve learned that the best way deescalate “a problem” on the train is to simply go sit by the “troublemaker”.

Usually upon seeing me, in my official uniform sitting close by, they just settle down, and the problem goes away. This really works well for “creepy guys” making their targeted female passengers uncomfortable with unwanted attention.

If this doesn’t defuse the situation, I engage with the disruptor, giving them some of their own “unwanted attention.” Then the aggressor may just quiet down or move to a different section of the train (If they do that, I’ll just follow along to always keep them in sight.), or they sometimes direct their aggression on me directly. If they’re going to be this way, that’s exactly what I want. It takes the “heat” off those targeted passengers and puts me in the prime position to work on defusing the situation.

In my worst case of this scenario, once I did have to call for police back up, which is an easy radio call for me to make to “Control”. That “very threatening aggressor” was met by police and arrested at the next station stop.

But more often than not, I’ve found that just sitting, visiting with, and most importantly, listening to my agitated passenger, settles things down to a manageable level. And that brings me back to my current story.

I brought my own backpack and train gear to settle into a seat next to him. This guy was quite agitated, but in the few minutes I’d been sitting close by, he hadn’t done anything inappropriate that would warrant my involvement. So, I minded my own business, writing notes and thoughts in my little notebook for future reference. Of course, this fellow was why I was really there, and to whom my attention was actually focused. I was now trying to figure out what big social gaff he had committed that required the original radio call to our FrontRunner Control.

I knew that as he kept looking over at me, he was trying to figure me out, “Why was I there? What was I doing? What was I thinking?”

This little battle of wits went on for five or ten minutes, when he finally blurted out, “Why does the driver keep hitting the brakes?”

This fellow was in fact VERY tuned into all the mechanical sounds the train made as we weaved our way southbound. As I started to explain how the engineer had to slow for the S-curve we were now going through, and then speed back to the new posted speed, but soon afterward, we needed to begin slowing for the upcoming station, he listened intently.

Realizing that his agitation was caused by miss interpreting all the “normal sounds” the train was making as “abnormal”, I explained in more detail, how every time the engineer made even the slightest braking adjustment, those “hissing sounds” of the air brakes were prominent. Also, the shift between propulsion and braking, back and forth, causes the banging we call “slack action” as the cumulative gaps in the couplers attaching all the cars and engine together adjust between compression and extension.

This guy was sharp, and could visualize all the mechanical operations I explained, even without out any visual reference to illustrate the details of my descriptions. As I chatted with him, I felt pretty sure that as a “forty-something-year-old” he was somewhere on the autistic spectrum, and had gone his whole life undiagnosed, untreated, and misunderstood. I’m sure he was constantly misinterpreted out in public as “angry… agitated… antisocial”. When in reality, this man was just hypersensitive to certain sensory messages to his brain that most of us take for granted.

In the end of “the clanking and banging passenger train lesson”, he had a basic understanding of what all those noises, bumps, and bangs were.

As he was exiting the train at his station stop, he reached out to formally shake my hand and introduce himself. “Thank you. I’m Bob. It was great talking to you.”

“I’m Ron. Yes… thanks for the chat. I enjoyed it too. Have a nice day.”

Though we may never see each other again, we honestly left as genuine friends. I have no doubt that this guy is so much more talented and better at many things than I am. He certainly is much more into the world sights and sounds of the world then “half-deaf me”. Sadly, I’m pretty sure he has spent much of his forty-something years very misunderstood by people out in the public that he comes in contact with. (Fortunately, we as the public are more sensitive to the younger generation, who are “on the spectrum” or who are otherwise outside the “social norms”.) But for me, those 20-minutes of chatting, found me another neighbor that I really like. I call anyone I come in contact with, my neighbor. And this was one neighbor I really enjoyed getting to know.

Helping Others

Rail Card

It was my trip of a life time. My dad and I touring Australia from top to bottom and from side to side on a one month Austrail rail pass that allowed us unlimited travel on all the railroads in the country. We were two weeks into our “Australian walk-a-bout” when riding a Melbourne commuter train toward their main station named “Spencer Street Station”.

Bouncing along eating an apple and enjoying a glimpse of this city of then 2.5 million people, I carelessly set my rail pass on the upholstered arm rest of my seat. Within moments a lurch of the train sent my plastic “credit card” like rail pass slipping into a small crack between the bench seat and the wall of the train. Our efforts were useless. There was no way we could get the rail pass back. The realization that this would effectively end our Australian travels filled me with dread and panic.

We wondered who could help us. What could we do? I wanted to send Dad for help at the Spencer Street Station while I just stay in the seat and ride to the other end of the line and back. I figured this was the only way to keep track of the exact spot where my rail pass lay hidden. But my dad wasn’t about to leave his teenage son going off to who knows where in this foreign city of 2.5 million.

We wrote down our train number and the railcar number. How could we identify this seat? Now the train was pulling into Spencer Street Station. We needed to get off here to go for help. I stuffed a wadded up train schedule into a vent above our seat as we stepped off the train.

The fellow at the information booth listened to us and then said we would need to speak to the station master. From my perspective, this was a very large station, and I wondered if and how long it would take to give my tale of woe to someone who could actually help. But within about 5 minutes, the station master came and heard my story of careless stupidity.

He expressed doubt that we could locate the exact car and seat where my rail pass lay hidden. We gave him our paper with the train number and carriage number that we had ridden. With continued doubt, he explained that we could have a maximum of 5 minutes when that train returned to the station. They couldn’t hold the train any longer. He could have a “Car Builder” there to pull one seat only. There wouldn’t be time for a second try.

The uncertainty of the next 2 hours waiting for the train’s return dragged. But just as promised, a few minutes before the scheduled time, this same station master and a mechanic with a tool bag arrived. As our train rolled into the station, our “car number” came into view. The four of us stepped inside, and I quickly looked for my ill-fated seat. Above was no wadded up train schedule. Was I turned around? Had the train turned around? Again I quickly scanned the interior. Over on the other side was my train schedule marking the spot.

I quickly stepped to the seat and pointed to the crack between the arm rest and the wall. “Right there!” I said with renewed confidence.

In a flash the “Car Builder” had his tools out and went to work. It took him less than a minute to unbolt the seat. As they lifted it away from the wall, my plastic green card lay right where I said it would be.

With a big smile and the “Aussie” accent that I had grown to love, the station master held up my wadded up train schedule and said, “Now that’s American ingenuity”.

This experience was back in May of 1977. So for almost 39 years, because of this one time that they helped me out, I have felt nothing but praise for all of the Australian rail systems. Things could have turned out so differently for me. And if they had, I could have only blamed myself. They had listened and understood what my problem was, outlined what they could and could not do to help. And then followed through with what they said they would do.

Since working for UTA as a railroad engineer, I have thought about this long past experience often. Every time someone makes a frantic inquiry about a lost cell phone, or needs help in some other way, I think about how I should respond. Do I really listen to the person who is asking for help (or in some cases isn’t actually asking, but needs a helpful response)? Do I blow them off “because their problems are caused by their own stupidity?”

I’ve been there, down stupid alley, as we all have. On the other hand, we clearly have restraints and guidelines on what we can do to help. But do I give the same respect that I, as a stupid teenager, received after I had screwed up? The station master actually gave me praise for my “American Ingenuity”. I can assure you that it feels better telling this story than if he had said to me, “What kind of dumb @#$ leaves his rail card out on the seat in a moving train?”

My lessons learned from that long since past experience that I hope that I incorporate into my daily work as a railroad engineer include:

• Am I a good listener? Like that great station master, do I really listen to understand the full scope of the problem at hand?

• Do I give clear communication of what I can and can’t do to help? As in my story, we also have restraints on what we can do to help someone. When that train returned to the Spencer Street Station, I knew we had one try and only one try to pull a seat to retrieve my rail pass. If I had failed to identify the correct seat, I would have gone away disappointed and dejected, but without ill feelings toward that Australian railroad. I would have known that they also wanted to find that rail pass and had done what they could.

• Do I do what I say I’ll do? I need to be careful not to make promises that I can’t keep. But I also need follow through with what I have agreed to do. Imagine the story I’d be telling these 39 years if that station master hadn’t returned with his “Car Builder” when that train came back into the station?

• Am I respectful in how I treat others? Whether it’s those I work with, or the customers that we serve, that station master of yesteryear helped me with more than saving the last two weeks of my “Walk-a-bout”. He was a great example of how to treat others, even when they screw up or do something dumb. Even when it’s just a dumb teenage kid.

As I get better at doing this, I’m creating a better quality of life. A better quality of life for me, for my co-workers, and for our customers. UTA likes to call this “Living the UTA Way”. I like to think that it is more just that way I am… the way I WANT to live.

Foamers

The first time I heard the expression was in my job interview. I was answering the question, “Why do you want to work for a railroad?” I had addressed the query with examples of my favorable past experiences and interests in trains, finishing with something like, “I want to make a career change and think I’d like to work with trains.” From his follow up question, “Are you a Foamer?” my blank stare was all the answer he needed. He moved on to a different line of questioning. Apparently I wasn’t a Foamer.

Through my training, I heard many more references to Foamers. Finally, the expression was explained to me. A Foamer really, really likes trains! He is passionate about trains! In fact, he presumably “foams at the mouth” with excitement at the very mention of trains. They know trains like an avid sports fan know their team and players stats.

My first good exposure to this was when I was doing my training in our railyard. During this overnight shift, as we were preparing our trains for the early morning pull-out, I was watching the larger locomotives in the Union Pacific yard across from us. They were “kicking” freight cars through various switches as they made up their trains. I said to my trainer, “I wonder how many horse power those locomotives have?” He noted their six traction motors (as compared to four on our locomotives). But he really didn’t know the difference in horse power. Then he said, “We’ll just ask Paul. He’s a Foamer.” Later that night when we caught up to him, this was Paul’s answer. “It depends on whether it’s a SD45 or if it’s been rebuilt into an SD45-2. He then started into the history of the EMC (Electro-Motive Corporation) SD45 that Union Pacific rebuilt into SD45-2’s which increased the horsepower. As my trainer and I walked away to our next yard duty, he just smiled at me and said, “That’s a Foamers answer.”

I’ve observed many subsequent examples of the passion Foamers have for all things Trains.

While working with the other railroad engineers, I’ve become familiar with many who share their passion for trains in many additional ways besides just working for the railroad.

One fellow has a vintage locomotive tattooed across his back that is almost larger than life. It truly is a work of art. From him, I’ve learned of such things as the Hostler Model Railroad Club of Ogden and the Evanston Roundhouse Restoration Group who jointly sponsor the Roundhouse Festival in Evanston, Wyoming. Of course that Train Festival is an annual pilgrimage for him.

One fellow Engineer works to restore some of the old vintage railroad relics of the past. I heard that he once purchased an old locomotive of his own to restore. How do you do that? It’s not like you can just tow it home and rebuild it in the garage. His foaming passion can be seen in some of the retired work horses of the past on display at the Historic Train Station at Ogden’s Union Station. He’s made a mark on the Heber Valley Railroad as well. This is a railroad that was established in 1899 that now offers the train travel experiences of yesteryear.

One fellow Engineer is a kid younger than half of my own children. He is so new to FrontRunner that I’ve been here longer than he has. Yet he can talk trains with the best of them. “Did you know that there are actual Foamer Clubs where they go play with model train sets, but everything you do (including proper radio calls) have to follow the G-Core rules or you could be De-certified?” All that Foamer practice makes for a great start as an actual Railroad Engineer. I’m sure when he answered that job interview question, “Are you a Foamer?” his answer gave very high marks on the interviewing panels score cards.

Those Foamer Clubs reminds me of when I was a Cub Scout. We visited the Eckersell Funeral Home in Rigby Idaho. Mr. Eckersell had the whole basement of this place laid out in model train tracks running everywhere. The walls were murals of scenic mountains, valleys, and such. And he had a railroad control center that operated his many trains, switches, crossings, and everything else in his little foaming world.

Rivet Counters… Foamers of a higher order.

In chatting with some of these Foamers, I’ve learned that a Foamer’s Foamer is called a Rivet Counter. The expression has to do with detail to the smallest minutia. The Rivet Counter puts every possible detail into making their railroad passion accurate. A Rivet Counter’s model train would not only have all the authentic logos, numbers, and equipment to make it real enough to function as a miniature in film making, but even the little things, such as how many rivets are needed to show holding the train’s body together are to be perfect.

Foamers at large.

Some of the passengers get in on the action as well. A couple of commuters from the north end wrote a FrontRunner song, recorded it, and submitted it to UTA. They were hoping that we would incorporate it into our advertising. In its own goofy way, the tune was catchy and the lyrics clever (including made up nonsense phrases like “Incremental Power Glide”). But I think it would have only been an effective advertising jingle if everyone were true blue Foamers.

There is also one fellow who rides the train who dresses up like a railroad engineer of the Steam Locomotive era, with the coveralls, hat, and all. Some people like this we have to keep an eye on to make sure they don’t try to sneak onto the Locomotive at the station stops.

While driving the train, I often get to give a little toot by special request to excited little kids (and some not so little) along the way. Seeing the happiness on the faces of small children when acknowledged by the train horn draws me back to when I was just as small.

I think my childhood train experience surpasses anyone else.

I grew up on a small farm in Southeastern Idaho, but my Mom is from the very metropolitan Vancouver, BC, Canada. When we were a young family, it wasn’t always easy for Dad to leave the farm for an extended Canada pilgrimage back to Mom’s old stomping grounds. Somewhere in the mid 60’s, Mom and all us kids got to ride the Union Pacific passenger train to visit Grandma & Grandpa Tillack in Canada. The photo is of us boarding the train in Pocatello, Idaho. As kids, we loved running from car to car, exploring the limits of our train access. I also loved riding up in the dome car, getting a bird’s eye view of the changing scenery. For a young guy, the 800 plus mile trip actually seemed short to me.

When I began first grade, the PTA had a competition to get the parents to sign up for their organization. The winning class got a real train ride. Of course the first grade won, and our whole class of 30 or so students rode a school bus 15 miles to the Rigby train depot. There we all crammed into the caboose (Yes they still had cabooses in use back then.) where we rode the train back to the Rexburg train depot. I felt like an old pro here, because I’d already taken the train all the way to Canada. The highlights of that short ride for me were riding over the old Lorenzo Trestle Bridge and of course my only chance ever to ride in a caboose.

I rode trains a lot as a child. Several trips were also taken to Colorado. One of those trips was with my next older sister. We were going to stay with our Aunt and Uncle while Mom and Dad continued on to visit the New York World’s Fair. This was a true whistle stop for us. The train rolled into Greeley, Colorado where a man helped lift us down from the train. The conductor handed our two small bags down and waved to the engineer who blew the whistle and then the train was rolling again. We stood there with our aunt and uncle, waving our abrupt good-bye to our shocked parents as they quickly rolled away. Dad said that he doesn’t think that the train even actually quit rolling. Mom was very glad that our aunt and uncle were standing right there to receive us or she would have gotten off as well.

One of my Dad’s pipe dreams was to build a small railroad around our egg farm. Our 28 acre farm seemed just the right size and several of us boys got involved and investigated the logistics of such a project. But our busy lives got in the way and that pipe dream is now just a happy memory.

My Beautiful Wife and I rode trains all over Italy a few years back. There we experienced everything from the regular trains, to the commuter trains, to the high speed trains.

But my most fond memory of riding trains was back in May of 1977 when I got to take a trip to Australia with my dad. Dad studied world maps like Rivet Counters studied train trivia. And his idea of traveling to see the world had more to do with racking up mileage that he had previously traced with his finger on the well-worn maps then actually stopping and sightseeing. Just ask my Mom who has been to many world landmarks but hasn’t actually see them some of them. After my Beautiful Wife and I visited the Leaning Tower of Pisa, Mom told of her experience there. They rode the train to Pisa, but never left the train station which was a short ride or 15-20 minute walk to where you can actually see Pisa’s tower and its other landmarks. So when Dad wanted to make a second trip back to Australia, Mom wasn’t excited about going along this time. I was in the right place at the right time and got the job.

So for the month of May, 1977, we traveled Australia the way Dad liked to travel.

The only thing that was prearranged for our trip was our air travel and a month long Austrail Rail pass that allow us first class passage on any public transportation in the country.

The Indian-Pacific

Within hours of landing in Sidney, Dad had us booked on the Indian-Pacific. At the time it claimed to be the second longest train run in the world (behind only the Siberian Express). Thus named because it runs between the Pacific Ocean (Sydney) and the Indian Ocean (Perth), totaling over 2700 miles. This first week of rail travel was real classy. We had 1st class sleeper berths with a conductor who waited on us hand and foot. (Yes, literally… frequent snacks in our hands and shined shoes for our feet.) He attended to our every assumed need like an English Footman, but he also hung around and just chatted, telling stories for an hour at a time. I loved listening to his accent, not realizing that around here we were the ones with accents.

This train had a formal dining car with fabulous meals served three times a day, on fine dinner ware like you would expect in a nice restaurant. It was movie moment memorable to be dining in such a nice place with waiters bringing each course under a covered silver platter, while watching wild kangaroos bouncing across the Nullabor as our train rolled westward.

Cook… Broken Hill… Kalgoorlie… These relatively small towns, each so isolated that they are named on a small world globe back home. The landscape shifts along our route gave glimpses into this wonderful country that is almost as large as the Continental United States. This railway alignment includes the longest run of straight railroad track in the world. I swear that those 297 miles are so straight that there isn’t even any curvature of the Earth going through there.

Riding the rails day and night.

After our luxury trip across to Perth on the Indian-Pacific, we roughed it for the rest of our month long pilgrimage on the rails of Australia. We logged a total of only three hotel nights the entire month. Mostly we traveled through the nights from city to city. And the day was spent touring each new area on the local rail transit. This worked well to see Australia up close and personal.

Headed for the Great Barrier Reef region

By the last week of our month of Australian railroad travel, we were riding up the northeast coast of Queensland. Our goal was to make it to Cairns before we were forced to double back for Sidney for our flight home. We now couldn’t take the time to ride around in the cities along the way or we wouldn’t make it to Cairns. Before my 18th birthday on May 25th, we had run out of Australian cash and couldn’t leave the train long enough to find a bank to exchange our American bills. I don’t know why we didn’t use credit cards? But we had run out of money and chose to just go without food rather than miss our chance to visit Cairns.

The Kuranda Scenic Railway

After another night sleeping in our seats, we arrived in Cairns early in the morning. It had now been two days since we had eaten anything. But before the bank opened, and we could get cash for food, the Kuranda Scenic Railway would depart for a day trip into the Australian mountainous rainforest.

We had to choose. Either take this bonus train ride on a very historic narrow gauge railway that was built in the 1800’s. A ride that includes 15 dark tunnels, over 40 skinny bridges, and 98 sharp bends clinging to the rugged mountain side, while climbing up the mountain rainforest with jungle so thick and dense that anything short of just being there can’t give justice to the experience… or we could spend the day in Cairns and eat something.

We were really hungry by now and Dad asked me what I wanted to do. Without hesitation, my answer was, “Let’s take the train, we can always eat later!”

Yup after starving for two days, and after already riding maybe 12,000 miles on trains in the previous 3 ½ weeks, as a starving teenager, I chose to wait another 7 hours to eat anything so I could ride another train.

OH MY GOSH!! I AM A FOAMER!!!