Seguin, ahh, Texas!...was sleeping I assumed, except for a few waitresses I saw inside a diner Here, as Mike and I drove by early in the morning, wiping counters and doing what waitresses do. The diner as I recall is not too far from the train station where a new Telegraph Operator had just arrived in town. I mentally deciphered this sleepy hamlet town as being a throw back to the Roy Bean days of the early 1900`s. Although Roy Bean as tough and bad as he was, held court far away from Seguin, or better yet --near a Mexican border. The connection here, being fairly versed on the Roy Bean saga was the old west look that I found. The dusty atmosphere and sleepy village that this town greeted me with accompanied and aided that feeling as the dust spiraled up in circles with the brisk warm air blowing softly. I was a tad disappointed that a rolling tumbleweed never rolled by me... ahhh, Texas.
The things I noticed that were most important and relevant to the job I came to perform at Seguin was the street where to depot was built. It was a finely grained gravel street that ran too close to the left-side of the station. It ran parallel and over a harder asphalt mound on which the railroad tracks ran across and in front of the large wooden dusty station. I noticed that the railroad line here intersected with the street and there was no traffic wooden barriers that a depot operator needs to lower to incoming traffic as trains approach. This piece of railroad crossing "life and death" situation I studied and learned very well.
Lets jump over this piece of twisted cheese and allow the new Telegrapher in town tell of his newly found adventures as a railroad man.
Correction: The train that was approaching was Extra 3042 East. It was not # 3042 East as I wrote at the end of my previous diary. I apologize.
Mike was swiveling slowly in his chair as I stood looking at the smoke of the freight train as it approached at regular speed from inside the station. The high glass window built on the specific location of the left-side wall of the depot is designed to allow the operator`s unobstructed view to the west side of the railroad tracks for oncoming trains as he sits on the chair without needing to get to his feet. I could see that Mike was vigilant and I wanted to impress him for it was he who would be passing my grade to the superintendent this evening when we got back to the city.
Mike pointed and I followed his gaze towards the lamp. I took the lamp by the wire rim on its top and walked to the middle of the street near the tracks, but not too close to avoid being hurt. I heard the loud blast of the signaling train`s approach as I stood watching for any moving vehicles on either side of the road. This particular lamp I am holding has a legendary life of its own. I learned all the necessary signals that a railroad man needs to know in the use of this instrument on how to signal dangers or stopping a train on its tracks with a specific signal with this lamp, and more specifically during a pitched dark night. It is a life and death situation instrument and I was overwhelmed as I stood there hold this magnificent invention in my hands.
As a vehicle was nearing the tracks opposite from my side I raised the lamp high enough for the driver to see me. With my other hand held high I motioned the driver to stop. I kept swinging the lamp even though it was day time and I signaled with my hand and the driver came to a slow stop. I made sure the driver was far away from the tracks as possible. Obviously I wanted the driver to know that the order to stop was legitimate. Railroad laws are designed to avoid the long unnecessary stops or the blocking of traffic near the railroad tracks. That is the reason I waited for a specific moment to step outside with the lamp to initiate the stop of coming vehicles. Vehicles are not the only stops that must be made. People and bicycle riders must also be on the station operators eye as well.
On my side of the tracks I turned and no vehicles were near as the train was almost near the intersecting street as it blasted his whistle and roared by, leaving that long long ago memory of its hot steam and sweat from the iron monster in my nostrils. The warm sweaty vapor released by the speeding iron machine bathed me with a sad sense of nostalgia sort of homesickness to those days when I feared this ferocious iron monster. Assured that I had accomplished the safety of incoming vehicles I allowed my mind to wander and followed with my eyes the mist of the engine as it roared on its mighty iron wheels. The box cars swayed as if falling to their sides only to sway to the other side. I was overwhelmed with such emotion that I raised my hands, lamp and all to my head -- as I looked at Mike, who was clapping his hands.
Mike would never understand my emotion. I saved him some humor by not jumping up and down like a little boy who has seen his first train. I had not told him who I was and how I had gotten to this train station. He would not understand. Mike was a good man but he would never understand, if he believed my tale.
Then I saw the fire!! The sparks shooting out from one of the back wheels of a box car was a danger that I had to report immediately.
I walked inside and went to the radio microphone. This microphone is different from the one that directly connects to the dispatcher that Mike used earlier when this train made its presence known. I took the mic and talked into it: "Extra 3042 East, this is Seguin. You have a fire around the knees!" "Fire around the knees !!, I got it Seguin thank you. We will check it right away". These type of sparks under a train pose dangerous fire situations due to poor maintenance in oiling, or potential loose screws that must be addressed instantly. It is now the conductors responsibility to stop the train and fix it.
Trains are measured with a scale in human bodies when identifying a situation such as this one. The sparks are "a fire" that must be reported. The sparks were at the level of the train`s body that could easily be identified where a human has its knees so that the conductor can immediate find the fire. These sparks seen on the rolling iron wheels of a train are a supposedly normal thing that a Telegrapher sees during his/her shift at work. And yes, I am happy to report that there are women working as Telegrapher Operators in the Railroad. (come on girls, if you were, or you are now a telegrapher operator, help me, it has been so long).
The last car on the train went by us and Mike got on the radio with the dispatcher and spoke: "Seguin, we are going out for a few minutes". " O.K. Seguin", came the response. "Come on Rob let`s take a break. There is nothing around here to do, lets grab some coffee', Mike said.
I stepped outside of the depot. The old west image on my mind came back as I noted that the floor inside of the station was even with the ground outside. There was no porch!.. A crudely thrown cement floor made for the outside part of the depot, was level to the dirt street by the side of the station. I tried to figure out if indeed there was ever a porch that might have been slowly swallowed into the ground by time. A dusty wide room was on my right side as I walked out. It was a waiting room for people who came to board a passenger trains here at the depot. A single wide wooden bench faced the doorway and nearby some dusty magazines rested on a rack.
Through a back dusty window of the waiting room I noticed a number of railroad cars sitting idle on some tracks behind the depot`s yard that somehow had escaped my view when I arrived. All of these cars have a stamped number high on its right side placed there for identification purposes. Train dispatchers know where each of these box or refrigerated cars are located or sitting, using these numbers to track their movements. There would come a time when I would have to tell a conductor of a train where a certain box or refrigerated car is sitting on the yard.
We got into Mike`s car and drove away, leaving the station wide open. I would come to understand that the prestigious feeling of working for the railroad as Telegrapher Operator came with a certain draw back. It is a monotonous heart felt experience if you are like me. Monotonous with a capital M. I arrived at Seguin with Mike that morning shorty past 7 A.M., and a lone freight train went by at around 10:30 or close to 11. That would be it for my day`s work here. A passenger train was scheduled to pass by Seguin at 6 p.m. I would be home as I get off work here at Seguin at 3 pm. due to my first shift job this day. The next day Mike would not be with me. He would work as swing man at another train depot in San Antonio. I would have another mentor to show me the same thing I did today.
A week later I got a message from San Antonio headquarters informing me that I have been assigned my own train depot at Spofford. My starting shift had been designated at my new job to be from 11 p.m. until 7 a.m...In other words, I was given the grave yard shift but was granted time for relocation as my new job was over a hundred miles away. I packed my toothbrush and was on my way.
Now raise your hand if you know where Spofford, Texas is.
I will tell you. As of the census of 2000, there were 75 people, 24 households, and 19 families residing in the city. ( I looked it up). Spofford, Texas is located 9 miles deep into the woods from highway 90. I would drive from San Antonio approximately 120 miles west on highway 90 until I reached Brackettville, Texas. It is here where I find the only entrance to the road that led to Spofford nine miles deep in a forest. This road had a reputation of having more deer running wild than birds flying on trees. I will have to travel this deer trap each night to reach my job.
As I drive towards Brackettville I can not hold back a smile as I recalled my earlier thought a few days ago on this same diary about Roy Bean. I noted that Roy Bean held court near the Mexican Border during the 1900`s. Now I am thinking if it`s possible that I could posses some mysterious power in my brain that allows me to make preordained mental visions such as the Roy Bean thought -- as I am heading directly to the Mexican Border, thirty miles short of Del Rio, which borders with Cuidad Acuña, Coahuila, Mexico.