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Act 1
Preluden Messerschmidt
(Prelude to the Mess)
Last Thursday began like any other day. I was working the INRD desk the day before and was anticipating the same again. So I was up and about by something like 5 am. I like to rise early, not unlike a loaf of bread, so I'm good and tired at the end of my shift and will sleep better. So I arise, pet the meow-meow, and then proceed to check my e-mail. As I wander into the computer room I take note of the dreaded light: my answering machine has a message. I am beginning to develop a fear of that machine. It whispers in my ear at night. It yells at me by day. The voices in my head are preceded by that disturbing little beep. And the answering machine never seems to be the harbinger of good news. Death, destruction, and money demanded are the typical responses from this beast.
So I just stare at that blinking green light for a few moments, considering the only acceptable option: ignoring it and proceeding without guilt. This floats around my walnut sized brain for a few moments, gaining and then losing support as I weigh the options again and again. Finally, I decide to listen.
It's the afternoon guy. Immediately I figure he wants something because he's hemming and hawing and that is usually a sign of trouble. So as he's attempting to perform his ritual and obligatory explanation of this request, a cold chill runs up my spine. The message reads something like this:
"Uh...Mike. This is...uh...Bob. Say, I was...uh...wondering. Mike, if there is....uh...any possible...uh...chance you could work a week...uh...of vacation for me I would be grateful."
Well, I knew I shouldn't have answered the machine but now the damage is done. So I begin the analysis of this change of events. It could be worse, I suppose, and figure if I can give Bob a hand I guess that would be the right thing to do. So, I go back to bed and nap over the situation, waiting for a more reasonable hour to call Bob and inform him that I will indeed work this vacation.
In my sleep I dream a dream of Armageddon, with disasters of all kinds befalling me. Dropping the peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor and it lands face DOWN instead of face up. Losing all my underwear in the laundry instead of just a few socks. Having my car key break off in the door. You know, the real nasty stuff. So when I awake again around 10 am, I ponder the offer again. HMMMMM, maybe I could act stupid (or at least more stupid than usual). But it sounded like Bob was rather despondent and I really should help him out. It was, at least for a moment, not unlike the angel and devil argument from "Animal House", albeit a slightly different subject. So I call Bob and assure him I will work in his time of need. After a hearty thanks I decide to rest some more and then dive in.
Oh, what a mistake.
Act 2
Dumkopf Issenthere
(The Dispatcher Arrives)
As I pull into the yard at Latta and make my way to the nerve center, I notice people scurrying about like crazed ants at some kind of orgiastic picnic. And this increased activity has me concerned, because that usually means things are in the chaos mode. So as I walk into the chamber of doom, it is becoming increasingly apparent that things were indeed leaning towards the higgeldy-piggeldy end of the spectrum. Upon making my way back to the chief and inquiring as to the current status of the sub, it then became glaringly obvious I should have continued my nap well into the evening.
It seems the chief clerk had unwittingly become involved in an accident of (at that time) unknown origin and had to be taken to the hospital for x-rays and all of that good stuff. Then the XL derailed a locomotive at the roundhouse and the engineer was taken to the local clinic for the ever famous dixie cup text. (As an aside, when I had my last physical and the time came for the wee-wee test I inquired into the possibility of some kind of monetary compensation based on volume. They said no.)
Anyway, the chief tells me a tale of carnage and chaos. Now this is not the kind of turnover I wanted to hear. That tale involved intrigue, suspense, dark secrets, and perhaps maybe even a little romance. In short, the actual conversation went something like this: "You have trains all over, nobody knows what's going on, and I'm going home." Now I like a challenge every now and then but this is ridiculous.
So I assume the position and begin the process of untangling this ball of yarn. So as I begin pondering the possibilities when the Super Chief makes a special guest appearance, proclaims little or no knowledge of the current situation, and then disappears. So when the situation is laid out on the table for all to see the picture is bleak indeed: nobody knows anything and the dispatcher is the monkey who has to right the situation. Now as negative as I may paint this, I actually like this because the dispatcher can run things the way they should be without second guesses by the neckties. But in the CP world of things, this kind of scenario is virtually unthinkable: a sub being run (efficiently, at that) by some unionized chimp instead of a management Einstein. So I take the reins of this old nag and see if we can make a Secretariat out of her.
Now this doesn't really sound like much, but add in the 6 INRD trains that require attention as well as the section and MOW forces and now it gradually becomes a formidable undertaking.
Act 3
Das Jobben Fullfiillinen
(I Love My Job)
The meltdown itself soon became apparent.
121 had to run all the way to Crane, put together the train, brought it to Latta and then begin switching it out. As I survey the train sheet, I see Porkchop has caught the 121. Porkchop is a good kid, albeit a bit to the famous side. For anyone out there with a good memory, there was an incident back over winter in which a car load of bombs capsized at Crane and drew national media attention. We're talking CNN and MSNBC, not just local coverage. Well, it seems the Chop was involved in that little fiasco and has spent the last 6 months or so attempting to break out of that shadow. So he has caught this 121 job with a veteran engineer, which I'm sure made him feel just wonderful. It seems the old heads like to work with other old heads. So you have an engineer with 35+ years working with a conductor with less then 2.
Now this whole move is less than desirable, meaning that as of 1600 when I become captain of the Titanic they have just first finished switching this train at Latta and are now proceeding to take it to Keller for staging. Now this is another bone of contention I have with these neckties. Make sure the yard is spotless but take away the only siding I have between Spring Hill and Latta. That really makes sense. Their yardmaster upbringings have become rather clear indeed. So as this adventure is coming to a close, another is unfolding.
Like the flowers of spring waiting to bloom in the sweet sunshine and spread their beauty and elegance, job 118 the afternoon XL is preparing (and in fact beginning) this event. It seems the crew had all assembled at Latta like usual, obtained their paperwork, and were preparing to go to work. Now usually the hogger will go to the house, get the power, and meet the rest of the crew at the yard office and the days adventure will begin. This day was no different, but then at the house it went awry. While backing the power up, the hogger proceeded to back it up off the end of the track, causing considerable damage to the UP 3267 and resulting in a trip to the local clinic for the obligatory wee-wee test. So now the caller has to get another hogger and the job is delayed for at least 2 hours. This means the window of opportunity they had in relation to the other jobs and traffic in general is pretty much gone. So now the question becomes how badly will they take a beating.
Keep in mind that while this is developing in front of my eyes, the phone is ringing off the hook with INRD track and section men requesting and releasing warrants and form B's and all that good stuff. These are the days I just tell myself "I love my job." As I weigh all of this the Super Chief makes a special guest appearance and, while passing through proclaims "123 will stripe align hoppers and then go load half of them at Kindill. 127 will switch Latta and then I don't know. Bye." That was the extent of the turnover. Now I don't really mind a sketchy turnover as long as it is understood that I will run the show and we will live with whatever comes of it. But the CP doesn't really work that way. Management hold hourly employees, especially unionized hourly workers, in unabashed contempt and will make that clearly known if the occasion or need arises. This mentality is looming in the back of my mind as I take command of this Titanic.
As I weigh actions and consequences, 67 calls in and lets me know they are in the fold and migrating towards the metropolitan Beehunter locale and estimate their arrival in about 20 minutes. Before I acknowledge their information I take a quick glance at the train sheet to check the power. 4 CSX GP40-2's, which in and of itself really means nothing but having been in this situation several times before I ask the BIG question of the day: Will you make Hoosier hill? The conductor, no doubt taking a quick moment to confer with the engineer gives me the standard answer: "We'll let you know if we don't."
I think about it all again, and it occurs to me again that I love my job.
Act 4
Und Der Schtormen Commen
(Fasten The Seat Belt and Brace For A Wild Ride)
Sometimes the unfolding of time truly amazes me. The days I wish if unfold quickly and free me from it's grip is convolutes and folds inward again and again and again until the folds seem endless and the day creeps along. These are typically the days when I need to be somewhere else and I have to be at work instead. On other days I have so much to do that I wish time would slow down so I could get my tasks completed, and instead time hiccups and is then gone into the ether of the past. Well, this day was kind of both because I really didn't want to be there knowing what was in store and yet I was hoping things would develop at a pace I could handle, which I also knew wouldn't happen. So either way it was developing into a miserable day and it didn't let me down.
So 121 is putting this 241 train away at Keller, 123 is flopping around in the yard stripe aligning cars, 67 is working up Hoosier hill, 127 is on hold waiting for 123 to clear the main so they could switch the yard, and now 118 complete with new engineer is ready to go. So I let 118's power out to their train, and after 123 clears I turn them loose north. Meanwhile 121 is still floundering around at Keller. So now the fun begins. In true CSX fashion, the power turns out to be junk and 67 stalls on Hoosier hill at MP 210. So I have 127 grab some power from the house and rescue 67's train. Now 67 limps into town and informs me they have to set out a bad order hopper they found at the mine and change their EOT because of a definite lack of telemetry, which might be categorized more diplomatically as "Telemetry Challenged" to avoid leaving emotional scars on that poor little guy at the rear.
As I listen to 67 change the marker I begin the time honored dispatcher tradition of worrying. The crew has about 1 hour to work, and a quick math class tells me this will be REALLY close, since it's about 35 minutes to Spring Hill and about 20 minutes to put the train away on the Riley Spur. Knowing my luck runs from bad to really bad, I anticipate that they will need relief. So I confer with the CSX dispatcher over the box and he informs me that the relieving crew could use the orders on the train if so needed. Perfect. So I walk back to the air conditioned crew room and break the news to 127: deliver the Cayuga train to the Riley Spur.
Now the crew really doesn't really enjoy this blessed news and tactfully tries to convince me this is an evil turn of events. So now the negotiation process begins. The crew reminds me they have already performed an invaluable service by rescuing 67 at Hoosier. I remind them that they could easily be stripe aligning hoppers until 3 or 4 in the morning. So the deal forged in that crew room in front of the Cheetos and Pop Tarts of the vending machine told of a crew delivering a train to the CSX and then going home. This was palatable to them and fulfilled a necessary move for me so all were satisfied. Off they went to Spring Hill to deliver 13,000 tons of Indiana coal to the CSX so I can get 118 back to Latta.
So I was really busy juggling all of this with the phones, trains floundering on the UP and IHB, and curious crews wondering when they might be going to work. Now while this may not seem like a whole lot in terms of work, with no real help to speak of it was all I could do to keep everything flowing. Then thunder echoes in the distance. I fantasize a towering thunderstorm, a spidery inferno of lighting wreaking a silent havoc within the clouds. This storm was on the horizon and just barely visible, the only sign of its coming the Morse Code of light flickering within and the faint smell of rain on the wind. I come out of my romantic fantasy to realize the thunder was really the chime from the Bedford radio indicating my services were being summoned. Then it occurs to me there is a 241 plying the rails of the Monon and now I had to make a few quick choices. The train was showing to be about 4200 feet long and would easily fit at Crane but I really don't like that kind of move. For one thing it ties up a valuable siding. It also puts the train about an hour and a half away from Latta, and the cars on it are resin cars for Terre Haute and are somewhat hot. So run a quick scan of the yard at Latta and discover there are at least several free tracks and the train will fit in the yard. Great, just bring the train up to Latta and put it away here and taxi to Van to tie up before the hogs get them. I fix the train up to Latta and inform the crew of my intentions and then reveled in my good decisions.
But the storm was growing near.
Act 5
Der Hinder Und Der Schteelentoe Convergen
(The Super Chief Arrives)
My mistake in this whole scenario was actually believing that I could satisfy the powers that be. I suppose if I were a bit more realistic I would have planned for a letdown. But I thought I had done a pretty good job at keeping things moving. Remember this included getting relief for trains on the north end, keeping the INRD moving, and finally keeping the Latta Sub fluid. I soon found out that the chiefs are nearsighted, as in as far as their office window.
So as we talk over the moves being made his displeasure is quite apparent. Lots of heavy sighs and scratching of the chin. The major point of contention seemed to be the decision to bring this 241 to Latta. The Super Chief wanted the train buried at Crane but magically that information never migrated any further than the chief's office. So now the yard is cramped to say the least, not to mention that the tracks showing clear in the yard scan were in fact not clear. It seems that the clerk was involved in a dreaded on-duty injury. The door to one of the overhead storage shelving units apparently, and much to everyone's surprise, leaped off its track and pounced on this poor defenseless clerk. The result was a traumatic and devastating injury to...well, the breast region. Now I suppose to a woman this is a major issue, but the day Super Chief took her to the hospital for x-rays as a precaution. So I guess next time I get my wee-wee stuck in the zipper on company property we can make a trip to the clinic for rehabilitation, right? All I can say is give me a female doctor.
Anyway, so the yard has not been updated in the computer since something like 10 or 11 in the morning and tracks showing clear are full and tracks showing full are clear. So I inform the train to come into the yard, find a track or two to tie this critter down and plan on going home. But wait! The chief has another idea. The NS, in their own humorous way which only they can understand, has decided to place the Latta cars throughout the train instead of all together like the rest of us (non-humorous) folks would. So there are about 5 Chicagos, then a Latta, then 7 or 8 north cars, then a Latta, and so on. Really a nightmare to switch out. So now this crew, whom I was hoping to release before they dog, is now required to work up to their 12 at Latta switching all this traffic out.
Now the engineer on this run has a history of, well, let's say not entirely being what a company would refer to as a "team player". Now that the chief decided to make them switch the train, he promptly proceeded to switch the train right up to his hours and then dog the train in the yard with the power fouling the leads. I thought this was not only funny but also served the guesser right for deviating from the plan. The guesser, however, thought otherwise. Well, I guess that's the way things go.
Act 6
Der Schtinkennighten Oversoonen
(The Night Comes To An End)
In hindsight all of the exasperation that has been issued forth in this whole endeavor really wasn't necessary. When the dust settles, things look much the same whether one really breaks his, or her, back to remedy them or just sort of let them run their course. Tonight was no exception. While I was moving something like 20 trains between 7 and midnight on both the CP and the INRD, in hindsight I think if I would have just taken it easy and let it all unfold at a leisurely pace it all would have turned out just about the same. I guess that's the difference between a control freak and someone who knows better.
The next day I looked at the train sheet and marveled at how little it REALLY told of that night. Oh sure there was the usual scribbling, albeit a bit messier, but overall one looking at the sheet in the future would have no clue as to the chaos that developed that night. Sometimes I think about that as I look at some of the materials I have in my collection: I wonder what the document doesn't say. Of course, I get bored with that real quick and then go back to my Ding Dongs and watch Oprah like the rest of the populace.
Whosenwhosen
(Credits)
| Dispatcher | Das Worryworten | Humphrey Bogart |
| Day Super Chief | Das Brighten Dumkopf | Peter Lorre |
| Night Super Chief | Das Darkendummen | Tom Hanks |
| CSX Dispatcher | Das Schtoopiddummen | Ace Ventura |
| Train Crews (assorted) | Das Doonowrongen | Superman (with slight variations) |
Coming soon to a monitor near you.....
It came from the north. Shiney. Red. And industrious. He looks a little confused and just a bit afraid but don't let it fool you. He has come to forge new trails, new roads. With a cast of thousands...and one rodent.
Now CP Pictures proudly presents the invasion of a lifetime. It was....
"The Summer of the Beaver".
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Editorial content (C) 1999 Mike Dettmers
