All grown up now but just a few years back it was one of the hottest little railyards in the country. We switched cars 24 hours a day, seven days a week, couldn’t seem to get the work done. Today, as I look around, I see nothing but weeds, It’s a ghost Yard. It has been completely dismantled.
I drove down to the old West Yard late last September just to look it over, It was the first time I had been down there since I retired. I was hoping to recover an old memory, or maybe just see how much it had changed. I wasn’t surprised that I found what looked to be a large field with nothing that even resembled a railroad. It was cold out with a little drizzle, and the wind was blowing rather hard. It was sad to look over what used to be a busy yard full of tracks, rail cars, engines, yard speakers blasting out, and radios buzzing with yard chatter.
The moon was full, and parts of where the old yard stood could be plainly seen. I was pretty satisfied that I wasn’t going to see anything that resembled the old yard. As I was about to leave, I heard faint noises coming from the area where old Grand Central once stood. I walked toward the noise and as I got closer, the sounds seemed to be coming from where the loudspeakers once roared with instructions from the yard master. As I got even closer, I saw what looked to be an old yard engine resting on the lead waiting on the crew to put her to work. I was spellbound, I didn’t know what to think. My imagination was running wild. Plain as day, I heard Yard Master Charlie Cales giving instructions to a crew to round up the cars in #7 track and shove them in #9. “Come back to the yard office when you finish with that, and we’ll talk about switching the Rock Train. I got a man that’s gonna be here in about an hour and I want him cabbed and on his way to Handly by midnight.” “Ok Charlie, we’ll take care of it.” “You finished your minutes, didn’t you?” “Yes, we’re ready to go to work.” And just like that, everything disappeared from my sight. With both my hands, I wiped the tears from my eyes and yelled out,” Is anyone here?” I ran over to where the Hill Track Switch used to be and turned quickly toward the roundhouse. Realizing this was all going on in my mind, I bowed my head and slowly walked back over to my car. I turned to take one last look, and there was nothing. For the first time in my life, I felt like an old man that had been beaten down by the changing times.
Railroading was a way of life for most of us old yardmen. It was all that most of us knew and really all we cared to know. As I drove off in my car I thought, my era has gone. Railroading as I knew it has vanished and a new era has taken form, one that I know nothing of.
I miss the railroad at times, but I knew when I retired that it was time for me to move on and allow my son and other young men to carry on and keep the railroad moving.
