Dots and Dashes from a Morse Wire

 Dots and Dashes from a Morse Wire

by Walter E. Paul

At a quarter to eight of a March morning in 1911 I stood hesitantly in the hall just outside the door to the Minnesota and International Railway Dispatchers’ Office in Brainerd, Minn. Employees were arriving for the days work in various other offices of the road, the General Managers Office, the Trainmaster’s Office, the Car Accountant, the Auditor’s Office. I was scared. From the other side of the door came the metallic chatter of telegraph instruments, subdued voices, the ring of a telephone bell.

Perking up courage which I sorely needed I grasped the door knob, turned it, pushed open the door and found myself standing behind the Trainmens’ register counter just inside the dingy, high ceilinged room. My eyes swept quickly over the furnishings, the dispatchers’ table before me, the operator’s table over in the corner, the Chief Dispatcher’s roll top desk at one side, the large peg switchboard on the wall between two high windows and back again to the tables on which the noisy telegraph instruments seemed to offer a challenge for me to sit in and see if I was clever enough to work with them.

The head bending over the train sheet on the dispatchers’ table straightened up and a pleasant voice said, “Good morning.” “Good morning,” I responded “I’m Walter Paul the operator from International Falls. I was told to report here this morning for work as a side wire operator.” The person who had greeted me rose and stuck out a hand. “Glad to meet you Walter,” he said, “I’m Frank McGuire. Come in.” and he turned back to bend over the train sheet again. Opening the little gate I stepped inside the railing, leaned against the register counter and stood waiting. Soon Roy Mock the first trick dispatcher came in to relieve Frank. After introductions they both bent over the train sheet talking about this train and that train shown on the sheet, about the trains soon to be started out of Brainerd, North Bemidji and International Falls, about the consists and instructions to the yardmasters and conductors. They checked all the unfulfilled train orders in the order book and the slow order book. All this consultation between the incoming and the outgoing dispatcher is called “making a transfer.”

As soon as Frank had left, Roy showed me around the place acquainting me with my duties. The plain pine table in the corner held four sets of telegraph instruments. A resonator containing a sounder mounted on a swinging arm stood close beside the typewriter. A low shelf on the back of the table held pads of blank train order forms with the necessary double carbon sheets in place for three copy, five copy, or seven copy orders. A wire holder on the table held pen, pencils and a stylus. On the wall near the table was the peg switchboard with ten or twelve telegraph wires entering and leaving it. 

Soon amid the loud clamor of the many instruments Roy called my attention to my call, “B” on the Duluth Dispatchers’ wire. Pulling a chair up to the table I sat down, timidly opened the key and responded, “I B”. The Duluth dispatcher rattled out-“Any sine Ex E?” On Roy’s suggestion I threw up the window and stuck out my head. Seeing nothing coming from the west and no sign of smoke over the distant tree tops I turned to  the key and tapped out-“No”. The dispatcher came back with “19 E Cy  3 U  & MG”. While he called the operator at McGregor forty eight miles east to get him in on the same order I nervously grabbed a pad of “19” order blanks, checked to see if the double carbons were in place, grasped the stylus and was set to commence my first day as side wire operator in the M&I Dispatchers’ Office at Brainerd.

Northern Pacific trains through Brainerd east and west were frequent. Messages and reports of various kinds going and coming kept me busy always with especial care to watch the Duluth and the Minneapolis dispatchers wires. Any delay of service to them would surely bring down condemnation upon my head and this I wanted to avoid even at the cost of delay to other business. That first day I scarcely had time to hurriedly eat my lunch. As one item was taken care of another would be waiting. Sometimes two or three offices at once on different wires demanded attention from “B” office. Soon after one oclock old man Mallory, janitor at the shops a mile away came in with a bundle of thirty or forty messages from  the Shop Superintendent’s Office to be sent to the relay office in St. Paul. I was told that this number or more could be expected every afternoon with a like number coming from St. Paul to be copied on the typewriter from the wire. 

The first few weeks were rough going but as time passed my ear became a little keener to catch the rapid Morse, my fingers on the telegraph keys and on the typewriter became more nimble and all in all I was pleased with my job and perhaps just a little bit chesty about it.

Sometimes the Duluth dispatcher would tell me to high ball a tonnage freight that he wanted to keep moving. After formally clearing with him all orders addressed to the train I would also make two copies of a check on the train register. Taking two order hoops I would slip into the wire clip of each one a copy of the orders, clearance and register check. Watching from the window until I saw smoke of the approaching train I would then grab the hoops, scurry downstairs and out onto the platform. When the engine was about two blocks away the hogger would respond to my high sign with two toots of the whistle and a widening of the throttle. It never failed to thrill me to see the big road hog come blasting through town, its exhaust shooting the black smoke high in the air, its side rods dancing on the big drivers and the whistle bellowing a warning at all street crossings. Until I learned the proper technique this operation was a little tricky.

Fumbling a hoop at the last second could mean that the man on the train would miss it, but with practice it became easy. With the hoop held high at arms length and about two feet away from the passing boiler the man on the engine could easily slip his arm through it and all was well. The same procedure was used as the caboose went by and the conductor or one of his brakemen slipped an arm through the hoop. In case of a “caboose hop”, that is just an engine and caboose with no intervening cars, especially if they were crowding the speed limit through town it was a little trick to hold the engineer’s hoop in place with one hand and the conductor’s loop in the other hand just below it to be flipped up into place soon as the engine had passed.

One day just after handing up orders to the engineer on a long train of wheat, I spied far back in the train a car with a sizzling hot box from which flame and smoke was spurting. It indicated serious trouble soon to occur if the train was not stopped in time. The engine was out of sight way  down by the shops. I looked in vain for a brakeman on top of the train who could catch a stop signal. As the flaming hot box drew nearer I stepped back further from the track expecting the journal to break at any moment. Sure enough, just as it reached the cement paving over the street crossing at which I stood it let go. The broken journal end slammed down onto the cement  in a shower of sparks and dust. It ground and bounced along until it came to the end of the cement where it dropped into the gravel between two ties then things really busted loose. The front end of the car with the broken journal upended carrying with it the rear end of the next car ahead. Following cars behind piled up on the ones in front. With a loud whang the air hose parted dynamiting the entire train, but with the momentum of the rapid pace they were traveling cars continued to pile up, some to this side, some to that, all bursting open poured their lading of yellow grain out onto the roadbed like a flood of warm honey. When it was all over six box cars of grain lay in a scrambled heap before my bulging eyes. Hurrying back to the telegraph office I notified the Duluth dispatcher of the mishap, then phoned the roundhouse and the yard office so they would get the wrecker and switch engines busy cleaning up the mess. Needless to say a crowd soon gathered and each person after a few moments of awed silence expressed his personal views of the matter. The consensus of public opinion seemed to be that it was a heck of a way to run a railroad. In a few hours a side track was clear for the passing of trains then little by little the wreck was picked up and most of the spilled grain was salvaged.

Telegraph instruments needed frequent adjustments in order to perform at their best. Changing weather conditions might cause slight leaks in line wires. Variation in battery current or the proximity of high tension wires to the telegraph line might cause our instruments to get temporarily out of adjustment. This was usually corrected by tightening or loosening the spring on the relay, or by moving the magnets closer to or further from the armature. Keys were adjusted according to the personal likes of the man using them, the gap was widened or narrowed and the spring tightened or loosened to suit the individual hand. Box relays were sometimes used in an emergency or temporarily when it would not be worth while to install a permanent set. The key and relay were both mounted on the same wooden base. The coils and anvil of the relay were inclosed in a small wooden box a few inches square, When the relay was working this little box would give out a different sound, more resonant and seemingly louder than the bare relay alone, thereby doing away with the necessity of a local sounder.

Power for the two M&I wires was furnished by a battery of 250 wet crowfoot cells in the basement of the Brainerd depot and a like number in the warm room of the freight depot at International Falls. The crow foot cells were open glass jars holding about a gallon apiece. A three leafed pack of thin copper sheets were placed in the bottom of the jar with a connecting insulated wire running up over the top. A heavy piece of zinc in the shape of a “crowfoot” was hung from the rim of the jar. A double handful of blue vitroil was placed in the bottom of the jar around the copper then the jar was filled with water covering the zinc crowfoot. These jars were all connected in series one terminal went to the line wire and the other terminal to ground. As the blue vitroil solution slowly  ate away the zinc an electric current was set up to give us our line power. Two of the same kind of cells were used for each of our local sounders. Years later the crowfoot cells were done away with and line current was furnished through rectifier tubes on regular commercial current.

Wire trouble was frequent on the M&I. The wires were iron with many rusty joints, broken insulators and tottering poles. We had one lineman, first Hank Stevens, followed by Art Lepper, then Leo Eckman, all of them competent but often unable to keep the wires up properly owing to lack of help and poor equipment. Whenever wire trouble developed the dispatcher stopped whatever he was doing and made a wire test with the help of operators along the line. Soon as the trouble spot was located the lineman was notified and, night or day he would get his speeder and go after it.

During a thunderstorm the switchboard in our office held a strange fascination for some of the guys in nearby offices, and one or two visitors were almost sure to come drifting in. During these storms lightning was constantly hitting the wires, sometimes far away, sometimes close by but each charge would come into our switch board, jump across a narrow gap to the ground plate as it was supposed to do then go harmlessly to ground. This produced a sharp crack and a bright spark on the board. If the shot was especially close and violent there might be a report loud as a shotgun blast and a ball of fire might leap into the room. At such times our outside visitor would always jump, yell and rush out of the room slamming the door as he went. It became a common joke during a thunderstorm for one of us to pick up the wide, limber train register, have it ready behind the intended victim then when even a slight crack and spark came in, slam the register down flat on the table behind our visitor with a resounding wham that never failed to have the desired nerve shattering effect. 

At first the M&I Railroad started from Kindred Street in North East Brainerd. From the depot down town passenger trains went east toward the shops, curved to the left through a company lumber yard, crossed Kindred St. went out past the cemetery, over the site of the paper mill, down across the Mississippi River, up around Ahrens Hill on the present highway grade to Leaks, the first stop, then north to the present line. At one time there was an engine house and a small repair shop at East Brainerd. Down by the river was a short but steep grade. Heavy trains coming into East Brainerd had to make a run for it starting way back around Ahren’s Hill. With throttle wide open the tonnage freights came rattling and swaying down across the trestle and up the grade, the engine exhausts coming slower and slower as the engineer opened the sand valves and shot sand under the slipping drivers. Usually they would just make it over the crest but sometimes the train would stall with the caboose and a few cars hanging down the grade. In such cases the engineer would set the air brakes, the rear brakeman would uncouple the hangover cars and they would take the head end into Brainerd yard then go back for the rear. In later years this section of the road was abandoned when a new line was built starting from the Northern Pacific track in West Brainerd and curving up around west and north west of Gilbert Lake to connect with the old line a little way beyond Leaks. This eliminated the heavy grades on the old line. Storage tracks were built in West Brainerd for the storage of empties to be used on the M&I.

The old Northern Pacific Hospital was located close to the N.P. Main line in West Brainerd just across the Mississippi River Bridge. Trains bringing in sick or injured employees stopped there for the stretcher to be taken off.

At the N.P. Shops a mile east of the depot a little four wheeled locomotive switched cars in and out of the shops as required in their repair or construction. Whenever an employe there was badly injured he was loaded onto a flat car, warmly wrapped in blankets, and this little four wheel locomotive would get behind and push the car through town and across the bridge to the hospital, the little bell jangling and the whistle shreiking its warning all the way through town so switch crews and others would line the switches and get out of the way.

One cold winter day an expectant mother who was driving across the shop crossing failed to notice a closely approaching freight. Her car was struck and she was thrown out and under the wheels of the train which severed one of her arms at the wrist. The train stopped instantly and the crewmen rushed to her assistance to find there was very slight loss of blood owing to the fact that the injured arm was stuck fast to the frosty rail. Soon as the little dinky engine and a flat car could be brought to the scene a tourniquet was applied, the injured arm was separated from the frosty rail, the woman was loaded on the flat car and took her ride through town to the hospital. A doctor and nurse had been alerted and met her on arrival. She recovered with no ill effects except for the loss of a hand, and her baby was properly born in due time a few weeks later.

When the new Northern Pacific Hospital was completed in St. Paul the personell of the old hospital had somewhat of a going away party. A special train was made up of Pullman sleepers a day coach and some baggage cars. With all other trains kept out of the way the special train was spotted in front of the hospital where the patients were transferred from their beds in the hospital to berths in the Pullmans. Walking patients rode in the coaches. Doctors, nurses, and orderlies went with the train to care for their patients enroute. At the depot the city band was out. Reporters and photographers were there to get their stuff for the papers. Friends and well wishers shouted and waved a noisy farewell. Switch engines tooted their whistles and rang their bells as the train moved slowly out and disappeared around the curve on the St. Paul Division tracks. Brainerd folks felt they were parting with a life long friend they had known since the early days of the Northern Pacific.

Northern Pacific officials frequently made trips through Brainerd in their private cars, sometimes attached to the rear of freights or regular passenger trains, sometimes in a special train of their own. It might be the Division Superintendent in his own private car, usually accompanied by the Assistant Superintendent, the Roadmaster, and a Trainmaster. In the case of a special train there were usually several Official Business cars  occupied by their various bosses, perhaps the N.P.President, or a Vice-President, General Passenger Agent, General Freight Agent, or some official of another road, all accompanied by their assistants, stenographers, and no telling who else. In any case one or more occupied Official Business cars due to pass through town always brought a flurry of excitement among the employees to be sure that everything was clean, correct, in its place, all the right answers ready and everybody busy about something. Invariably a bunch of incoming messages would be waiting them. Immediately upon their arrival the stenographer from each car would come up to our office to get these messages and exchange them for another bunch for transmission. If they were in town long enough every official in the party would send or receive at least one message and in case a message was “pink” (written on a pink telegraph blank meaning “hot stuff Buddy, rush it!”) everything else was second class until that message was on its way or had been delivered. A morning report was especially distasteful as they went on and on giving the official addressed all the important information he should have about events of the past twenty four hours, train operation, accidents, a summary of past weather at various points on the division and the future forecasts. However these officials were mostly very kindly, pleasant men when one came to know them and with a little experience an operator came to know what they were likely to ask about and could anticipate some of their wishes.

As time went on I acquired many new friends. All of the boys in the offices were good to me, giving me information and advice to make my work easier. I became acquainted with many Conductors who came to the office to register and to get their orders and messages. Some of them I liked. Some I had as little dealing with as possible owing to their quick tempers and cutting tongues. Many of their names I still remember. There was Tom Feathers with a heart of gold but a face fit for a western bad man. All he needed to fit the part was a slouch hat, cowboy boots, a cigarette dangling from a moist lip, and a six gun swinging from either hip. “Skibo” Symington was sometimes kidded about the time his duck boat sank while he was duck hunting alone in a marsh and left him standing in icy water up to his armpits all night until his worried companions found him at daylight delirous and all ready to go under. Young Wilson newly set up and very cocky about it. Ed Quinn, a ladies’ man, “Nigger” Miller full of business and always in a hurry for his orders and clearance. Denny, badly overweight and with a weak heart who often asked some one else to come upstairs to register for him and get his orders. Desjardine, so fat he wheezed as he waddled along and could only get on his caboose when it was standing still.  Many others I might mention. They are mostly all gone now and a younger generation has taken their places. When there was a lull in my work I often stood behind the M&I Dispatcher to watch him work. It fascinated me. He was a busy man and train dispatching is ticklish work where there are no block signals or anything else to insure safety of train operation. In case an operator failed to deliver an order  or the dispatcher overlooked a train or a previous order a collision could easily occur. Along with the issuing of train orders governing the movement of trains the dispatcher gave conductors instructions as to what cars to set out or to pick up at various points. He gave yarmmasters instructions when to order trains on duty and what cars to give them. The hours of service law was a constant bugbear and had to be kept in mind when a crew was getting close to sixteen hours on duty. If for some reason the train could not get into a terminal by the expiration of sixteen hours on duty they had to be tied up for rest at some intermediate station where they could get water for the engine and a section man to watch the engine and keep the fire going while the crew was off duty. 

The M&I had poor an unreliable power. Most of the locomotives were outdated cast offs of various types from the Northern Pacific. There were small compounds used in logging and freight service. Larger compounds used in through freight service. Small standard simple engines were used on the day passenger runs, larger simple engines on the night passenger runs. The small compounds were constantly breaking down, often broken frames, or something vital to their compound operation. If such a break down occurred at night as it often did, and the crew could not get in touch with an operator it might be hours before the dispatcher on duty heard anything about the mishap. In such case all the orders he had issued to other trains relating to the delayed train were thrown out of kilter and other trains would thereby also be delayed. One day Mr. Gemmell the General Manager met me in the hall and stopped to chat, asking how I liked my job. Assuring him that I liked it and was trying to learn all I could about it he told me,- “Stay with it Walter. Some day we will make a dispatcher out of you.” How this thrilled me! Not only the thought of promotion with the extra pay it would bring pleased me, but I felt that a train dispatcher carried a responsibility that few people outside of railroaders understood. To work such a job I would be doing important work that really counted.

I began coming back to the office in the evenings to watch Ralph Quinn work second trick. He was a good dispatcher and sent beautiful Morse but he was nervous, high strung and got badly upset when things went wrong. Many times I saw him pace up and down the floor, tears running down his cheeks, swinging his fists and cursing some green operator or non-cooperative conductor out on the line. After getting it out of his system a bit he would slump down in the chair again, grasp the key and bend to his work. In the few moments he had to talk he posted me up on some aspects of the work; what to do or not to do under certain circumstances, perhaps comment on the working traits of different conductors and engineers with whom he had to work. I made mental notes of these nuggets of information which proved invaluable to me later on when the time came for Mr. Gemmell to fulfil his promise to me.

Roy Mock, the first trick man often let me sit in at his table to send and copy the repeat of orders he dictated, or to put down on the train sheet OS reports of passing trains from operators along the line. Ed Orth the Chief in his gruff way also added his bits of advice and information when he was in an amiable mood.                                                                                                                                        

After working side wire for nearly a year there came a vacancy in the third trick dispatching job, midnight until eight in the morning. I was offered the trick. The winters logging operations were at the peak, many trains were being run, the weather was cold, snow deep, and breakdowns and derailments were frequent. It worried me a little; the thought of being alone for half the night on such a job, still, the opportunity had come and take it I must or be a side wire man from then on, so, when they asked me I said “Sure, I’ll take it,”

How well I remember that first night. I came to work an hour early so Frank McGuire, who was then on second, would have time to post me up on the nights operations and to make our transfer. He wrote out a list for me of things to do later in the night, what time to order the morning locals, watch the Kelliher and Gemmell log turns to see they did not exceed the legal limit on duty, order a south bound time freight out of North Bemidji at 3 AM and see that I gave them help on the delayed passenger train, No. 33 northbound, see that the Kelliher local and No. 47 out of North Bemidji got the empty log cars off the north bound time freight to peddle at the numerous spurs north of there. In addition to the M&I business, there being no side wire operator at night, it fell on the second and third trick M&I dispatchers to do the N.P. side wire work as well. Frank stuck around with me until one A.M. then wished me well, said good night and departed, pausing in the open doorway a moment lost in thought, then went on out softly closing the door behind him. 

On the long train sheet before me was kept a movement record of every train on the M&I for a twenty four hour period from midnight to midnight. The engine number, names of conductor and engineer, time on duty, departing time, the arrival and departure at every station where an operator was on duty were all recorded, and a mass of other information for future reference. Just beyond the edge of the train sheet were the telegraph keys. On a low shelf running lengthways of the table were the relays and sounders. On an upper shelf of the table within easy arms reach was kept the train order book containing every order issued and the clearances. Through a jack at one side I could cut in the master sounder in a resonator standing at my left ear. On the wall directly in front of me hung a big clock with a long heavy pendulum swinging slowly to and fro, ticking off the seconds that made the minutes that made the hours. That clock was one of our most important tools of the trade.  We watched it continuously in checking the movement of trains, in making meets, in figuring the amount of time we could give inferior trains to move against or ahead of delayed passenger trains or other trains with superior rights. To this day I am a clock watcher. It gripes me to be late, or to have some one else be late with an appointment.

A dispatcher sends train orders out of his head so to speak, to the proper operators along the line who are to deliver them to the trains addressed. If a train order affects several trains sometimes three, four or more operators are called in their turn so they can all copy it at the one sending. The operators take their turns in repeating the order as they have it written on their pads. The dispatcher listens and underlines each word in his order book as the operators repeat, then he gives them the final complete and the time, to be written in the proper places. Before delivery of an order the operator fills out a clearance form showing the numbers of all orders for the train, then he asks the dispatcher to “Clear train so and so on such and such orders.” The dispatcher gives this authority then the orders are ready for delivery.

On such a line as ours with no block signals or other safety precautions of any kind there is a constant dread in the dispatcher’s mind of sometime overlooking the delivery of an order, or overlooking some train which should have had a certain order thereby creating grave danger of a collision. Such an oversight is officially known as a “lap order,” among the men it is sometimes referred to as a “cornfield meet.” A person who has never worked a dispatcher’s trick cannot appreciate this dread to which I refer.

As time passed I became more accustomed to the usual nightly routine and didn’t worry so much about the work as at first. In case of derailments which occurred frequently, or some other matter that I didn’t feel like handling myself, I called Ed who told me what to do or if the emergency was serious enough he dressed and came down to the office, usually not in too happy a mood.

After a few months there was a vacancy on second trick so I was switched over to the four P.M. to midnight shift.

Second trick was a bad one in many respects and I soon came to have a sympathetic feeling toward Ralph Quinn’s wild outbursts I had witnessed when he worked it. Most of the stations closed at five P.M. leaving only Walker, North Bemidji, Blackduck, Northome, and International Falls with night operators on duty. If business got heavy enough and bad train delays piled up too much overtime Mr. Gemmell might authorize additional night operators to be put on at Pine River, Big Falls, and Little Fork. This helped a lot but still some of our trains might be out of sight for most of the night, and if any of them was unduly delayed because of heavy snow, unexpected switching, engine breakdowns or other cause it threw our train order meets and waiting times out of kilter thereby causing bad delays to other trains as well.

There might be a south bound time freight out of North Bemidji and one northbound out of Brainerd in the evening. A train of log empties out of North Bemidji to spot at various spurs to Kelliher and return with loads. Another log train to Gemmell and return peddling empties between Funkley and Gemmell and picking up loads of logs at Northome and numerous spurs on the way back. Daily time freights in both directions were run between North Bemidji and International Falls. For several years the Minnesota Dakota and Western, a Backus interest logging road, operated over the M&I tracks between International Falls and Little Fork with branches of their own out of Nakoda and Calvin Jct. Later they extended some of their operations to spurs out of Grand Falls and Gemmell using their own crews, engines and equipment.

Late each day the Chief set the time for each freight to be ordered that night and I would begin figuring ahead to decide what orders to give them, where to make the meets, which trains should have right over what trains and what waiting times to set up at each station. It was a headache every evening. Even getting an extra out of West Brainerd in the evening during cold weather was a problem. The crew might get part of its train in Brainerd yard then go across the river to West Brainerd and switch out the rest of it. In cold weather it might take them two to four hours to get their train made up and pump the air. About the time they should have been going by Pine River here the engine might come back through town to the stand pipe for water. Many times I went down stairs and out the back door to listen for the train leaving West Brainerd or catch the sound of its exhaust up Merrifield way. If so I might have a chance to send an order to Pine River or Walker changing a meet or waiting time thereby avoiding a bad delay to it or to some other train.

When World War 1 came on first trick became vacant and I was transferred to it from second. I liked first trick much better. There were more open stations on the M&I during the daytime. There was also a side operator working the full eight hours which relieved me of any N.P. wire work.

One unpleasant feature of first trick was the fact that in spite of regulations to the contrary, our office was the rendezvous of story tellers, pranksters, visitors from other offices and often the meeting place of officials during informal conferences about railroad matters. Often loud voices and laughter close by would drown out the noise of the sounder by my ear making it extremely difficult to hear what was coming in on the wire or to concentrate on the work in hand. Several times the dispatchers entered formal written complaints to Mr. Gemmell about the situation which always resulted in the issuance of a new circular to all concerned, to keep out of the dispatchers’ office except when on necessary business there. This would help for a time, creating of course a certain odium for us among our fellow employees, but, little by little folks would begin drifting back for their story telling, jokes, sports discussions and other matters of no consequence. In fact the officials themselves were the worst offenders in that respect.

Once every two years all operators, agents, train and enginemen and others are required to take an examination on the Book of Transportation Rules. This book contains all rules relating to the proper and only safe way of handling trains, the forms and uses of train orders, how they are to be obeyed, flagging rules, safety precautions, protection of company property, emergency treatment of injured persons and many other matters pertaining to railroad operation. On becoming a train dispathher a man is required to take a much longer and more thorough examination writing his answers in a question book which is kept for future reference as a part of his personal record. From time to time new or revised rules and instructions for dispatchers are issued which are kept in a separate loose leaf book and become a part of the periodical examinations.

Rules examinations are given by an Official Rules Examiner and are looked forward to with some misgiving by the men. They read and re-read the book and all special instructions days and weeks ahead of time. Small groups get into informal discussion, build up hypothetical situations and argue the proper application of certain rules.

When the Examiner’s private car arrived in town and hours of meeting for different classes were announced the men would gather in groups of ten or twelve and take their turns in answering the questions. Often good natured ribbing and loud laughter by the class followed some ones halting and embarrased answer to a question, helping to relieve tension and keep everyone including the Examiner in a jovial mood. It was always  perfectly proper and in good form for anyone present to interrupt the affair to relate some anecdote out of his own experience which had a bearing on the point under discussion at the moment. If the proceedings became too boresome anyone could inject an irrelavent story or witty remark. Anything to break tension and put the class at ease was welcomed by the Examiner.

For train and enginemen and operators such examinations took two or three hours. For dispatchers it often took six to eight hours. I remember one time we commenced at eight in the morning and continued clear through to eight in the evening with just time enough out for lunch or a few minutes exercise in the open air. [22] Much time was spent by the Examiner in discussing certain rules and special instructions and in suggesting ways in which we could do our work easier, more efficiently and with the greatest safety. In fact the very first statement in the Good Book is and always has been,-“Safety is of the first importance in the discharge of duty.” 

We were always happy when the examination was over for another two years.

Sometimes we were sent on road trips lasting three days when we rode the freights to familiarize ourselves with the physical characteristics of the road, the length and location of sidings, spurs, trestles, curves, and anything else that might be of help in working our jobs, it was even useful to stand in the bay window of each depot, telegraph office and tower and note how far an operator could see the approach of a train from either direction. We talked with the conductors and engineers and agents along the line welcoming any information or suggestions they might be able to give us. It helped to get acquainted with men we were working with every day. Through such acquaintance we learned better who would co-operate with us in getting their train over the road with the least delay, who would beef and complain about their consists, the work we gave them to do, and would drag their feet and consume all the time possible in order to make more overtime. In fact when I started working a trick Roy, Frank and Ralph all pointed out to me the names of conductors and engineers saying, “Walt, these guys, Moerke, Golemboske, Cunningham, Kaupp, Saltee, Milner, etc. will co-operate with you and do their best to do their work and get over the road, but these other numb-skulls (naming a like number) will lay down every time they can get you in a spot.” How well I learned those individual traits as time went on.

Coming to work on the first trick at eight A.M. I would sometimes see by the last OS report on the sheet that it was impossible for a certain log turn to reach North Bemidji before the expiration of their sixteen hours on duty. In such cases when I got the OS from Tenstrike, Hines or Turtle River and knew they had only ten or fifteen minutes left I would neglect to enter the OS on the sheet but wait for an hour or so after I figured they must have reached North Bemidji before asking for the OS there. Old Joe the one armed operator there knew the score and co-operated with me. He, understanding the situation, would give me the arriving time as the conductor had it entered on the train register which never showed over sixteen hours on duty although they probably actually arrived thirty of forty minutes over the legal limit. That way the train and engine crews got home for breakfast, the company was saved the extra expense of sending out a dog catcher to bring them in, the round house and yard forces had less work to do and everybody was happy.

The first time I saw Bemidji the entire lake was covered with logs as far as the eye could reach. Two large saw mills, one near town and the other on the south east shore of the lake ran the year around, getting the lake partially clear by late fall, when the new cut of logs started coming in from various points along our line, as well as from the Red Lake Line. We also received logs from the Great Northern destined to points south of Brainerd.

Logs were loaded on ordinary wooden flat cars with arch bar trucks. Four heavy wooden bunks were bolted crosswise on the flats, one tier of logs was built up on each pair of bunks. Strong stakes set in the pockets on one side of the car were chained to the tops of removable stakes on the opposite side. To unload, the cars were shoved onto unloading docks or trestles built out over the lake. Men with sledges on one side of the car knocked out key pins from the sockets permitting the movable stakes to swing outward and spill the tier of logs out into the water. After unloading, these loose stakes with their chains were thrown back onto the empty car. Sometimes in moving trains of empty log flats one of these loose stakes would roll off and hanging by the chain would go flailing alongside the track, battering depot platforms, switch stands or other nearby objects creating a deadly hazard to anyone standing close to the track. Every load of logs was topped off with a few of the smaller logs laid on top of the chains with nothing to bind them down. Sometimes these loose logs would be rocked from side to side with the action of the train until they rolled off completely.

One day my brother Andrew who was agent at Blackduck went out on the platform to hand up orders to a passing log train. As the train went clattering by swaying like a boat in rough water, he noticed the protruding end of a small log on top of one of the approaching loads. Knowing the dangerous spot he was in he jumped back to safety just as the log rolled off, landed on the far end of the depot platform, skidded straight through the bay window and came to rest with one end protruding into the ladies’ waiting room.

New employees were required to sign a statement on the employment application blank that they understood the hazards of handling logs and would not hold the company liable in case of personal injury therefrom. 

A young brakeman by the name of Johnny Vaars was set up as conductor one winter. He was a likeable kid and anxious to make good as a conductor. When his run brought him to Brainerd he would sometimes take me to one side and ask me to clarify for him some rule in the book, or to remember that he was green at the work and wanted me to give him any helpful suggestions I could when he was out on the road. I liked Johnny very much.

One evening he was called for seven P.M. to take a drag of log empties north out of North Bemidji, peddling them at various spurs and stations as far as Gemmell, then to return to North Bemidji picking up loads of logs at several different spurs.

Next day when I came into the office I sensed something was wrong. Nobody said anything for awhile then the Chief blew his nose and said gruffly, “Well, Johnny Vaars got his last night.” This is what had happened. Johnny’s train had reached Gemmell with the last of the empties and was on the way home picking up loads. Just south of Funkley were two logging spurs running some miles back into the woods, Taft’s 1 and Taft’s 2.                                                                                                                                            

The loads on these spurs were brought out to our main line by engines owned by the logging company. In picking up a bunch of loads the boys had to make a drop while Johnny made the mistake of standing between the main track and the spur not far from the switch, The engine pulling some cars came down the main, the pin was pulled, the engine shot past the switch and the man waiting there tried to open it for the spur but some obstruction held the switch points only part way open. The moving cars climbed the points ran into the ground and piled up on top of Johnny who was standing between the tracks.

Every spring a work train called a pick up was put on. It operated a derrick car with large tongs swinging on a cable from the overhead boom. This work train started out of Brainerd and worked slowly to International Falls, picking up all the logs that had fallen from the tops of passing trains during the winter and spring. This operation lasted several weeks before the stray logs were all gathered up. The crew started work in the morning taking a supply of empty log flats with them. As the flats were loaded they were set out on sidings for locals to pick up next day and start them toward their original destinations. Each evening this work train tied up at the nearest station where an engine watchman could be provided and not too far from water and coal supply.

Also each spring after the frost had gone out of the ground gravel trains were put on to haul gravel to soft spots or where washouts had occurred, or to build up sections of low grade across swamps. For several years gravel was hauled from a pit just north of Gemmell until that was worked out when another pit was opened at Happyland two miles south of Little Fork. In later years a pit was opened between Backus and Hackensack.

A steam shovel was put to work in the pit and a crew assigned to do the spotting of empty flat cars for the shovel to load. One or two train and engine crews were assigned to haul the gravel to the places of unloading. To unload a train of gravel the brakes were set firmly then the flat car carrying the side plow was coupled to one end of the train and a long steel cable carried on top of the loads was hooked to the draw bar of the engine at the other end of the train. When all was ready the engine moved slowly away from the train dragging the plow along the tops of the flat cars plowing the gravel off to one side as it moved. When the train was empty the cable was gathered up and loaded, the engine coupled on, the brakes released and back they went to the pit for reloading while the next train of gravel was taken out.

An “extra gang” of twenty or thirty men jacked up the track, shoveled the new gravel under, let the track down then tamped the gravel firmly under the ties. In this way from year to year our track gradually became more level with a firmer grade under it, and with heavier steel laid on treated ties our derailments and upsets became less frequent.

Standard Time on the Northern Pacific used to originate in the Carleton College Observatory at Northfield Minn. It was determined by noting the passing of a certain star across the sighting point in one of the observatory telescopes and was transmitted from there to a master clock in St. Paul. Every day at eleven A.M. signals from this clock were sent out automatically to all stations on the N.P.  The signals started every day at ten fifty five A.M. the telegraph instruments making one beat at two second intervals until ten seconds before eleven A.M., when the signals would stop until the final beat at exact eleven A.M. For many years we had no automatic contrivance for sending these time signals on the M&I so it was one of the duties of the first trick dispatcher when he heard the signals start on the N.P. wires to stop whatever he was doing and, with his hand spread across the two M&I keys, tap out the signals onto the M&I wires in unison with those coming in on the N.P. wires. In later years this daily chore was done away with when one of the M&I wires was cut through to St.Paul

The old depot in which I first began to work in Brainerd was an ancient affair. It was built in the early days of the Northern Pacific and housed the first General Offices of the road. It was built all of wood, three stories high and with a half basement. Chimney holes in each room indicated that at one time it must have been heated by stoves. The first floor was occupied by the Express Office, the Yard Office, the Ticket Office and two waiting rooms. The second floor was occupied by the M&I General Offices. The Dispatchers’ Office was in the south west corner directly over the express office. Across the hall from the Dispatchers’ Office was the General Manager’s Office. Next to us on the east was the Tainmaster’s  and Car Accountant’s Offices. The third floor was mostly storage space for old records and unclaimed baggage with one small room used by Charley Hughes our aged and usually inebriated janitor as a sleeping room. This building stood on the spot now occupied by the City water tank.

I had often made the statement that if ever the old depot caught fire it would be a sizzling one and I hoped to be on hand to see it go.

One winter while I was working second trick my Father and Mother visited us for a few weeks. It was while they were with us I came home from work one bitter cold night, had a snack, and sat reading for awhile then about one oclock went to bed and was soon sound asleep.  Shortly afterwards Father, sleeping in the front bedroom awoke and noticed a strange flickering light shining on the snow outside the window. Getting curious about it he got up to investigate and discovered the depot was ablaze. Reasoning that I had had a trying day at the office and needed my rest, he quietly dressed, put on his overshoes, ocercoat, cap and mittens, tip toed out the door and went to see the fire. Next morning when I got up for breakfast and learned that the depot had gone I really had a pang of regret that Father had not aroused me to go with him.                              

Anyway, this is about what happened that night. It was thought that someone tossed a lighted cigarette butt behind a radiator. The smouldering butt ignited some refuse behind the radiator, a hole was burned through the wall to the dusty and tinder dry area behind the plaster. When the lower fire was first discovered smoke and flames were already coming out under the roof. Charley, the janitor sleeping on the third floor was aroused and made his escape. The Fire Department was called. All available company employees on duty in and near the depot united to save what moveable property they could. Bob Hamilton the third trick  man who had relieved me at midnight, notified the N.P. dispatchers in Duluth and Minneapolis of what was hapening, they in turn notified their linemen, trainmasters, boss carpenters and others to concentrate on Brainerd soon as they could get there, to repair wires soon to go dead, and to arrange for temporary quarters for the personell. Bob put out what train orders, messages and instructions he could anticipate for the rest of the night, and notified our lineman who resided in Bemidji. Bundling up a small supply of blank train sheets, train order forms, message blanks and anything else he could salvage he laid them beside the window which opened out over the express platform roof just below. He continued working while smoke seeped in under the office door. Suddenly the wires went dead, then as the first tiny tongues of flames appeared under the door he threw up the window, grabbed the stationery he had assembled, climbed out onto the shingles below and made his way from there to the ground.

By the time I arrived on the scene the next forenoon nothing was left but the smoking ruins, the chimney, and the tall brick and cement column containing the vaults. The N.P. and M&I linemen were already busy stringing wires into the pool room of the nearby Y.M.C.A. building. When I went to work at four P.M. I found our stationery, train register and other office supplies spread out on a pool table. On a nearby small table was our current train sheet, train order book, and shiny new telegraph instruments. On another table the side wire man had his instruments and a typewriter. Everything seemed to be functioning same as before the fire.

Owing to the noise of people passing in and out of the Y.M.C.A. building with the attendant distractions, our dispatchers set up was moved the next day into a tiny room in the far rear of the building; a room used for board meetings and such. In this room there was just space enough for the dispatchers to work at one table with a smaller one at the side for the Chief, but we did have privacy and no outside disturbance.

In a week or so the carpenter crew completed a long, one storey, tar paper covered building close to the Sixth Street crossing. We were moved into a small room in the south end of this building next to the tracks. The waiting rooms and ticket office occupied the other end. The only door in our office opened into the waiting room. The dispatchers’ table, a pine one covered with ply board, faced the door. The side wire table similar to ours was on the other side. The operator and dispatcher sat back to back close enough to pass relay messages back and forth. From the west window of this office we later watched progress of building the present depot a short distance away. 

It was while working in this office that we had an amusing incident one day that may be worth relating here. Years before, when I was working as Agent’s helper at Big Falls, there was a conductor on work train by the name of Griffin. He was a mean guy and I had no love for him although he never really did me any wrong that I knew of. I had not seen him since my days at Big Falls as he had long since quit railroading. 

One day just before the west bound passenger train pulled in, the door before me slowly opened part way and a face came into view. It was the grinning face of Griffin. Soon as he spied me he pushed the door wide and entered extending an open hand as he did so. I rose, reached across the table and grasped the proffered hand. “Well, well, Griffin” I said, “I haven’t seen you for years.” “That’s right, Paul,” he replied, “it’s been a long time.” Then as his beady black eyes swept over me from head to foot he sidled around the end of the table, still grinning and continued,- “Say Paul, how about selling you some neckties. That one you have on is a little frayed.” “No, thanks” I said, “I have more neckties now  than I know what to do with.” “Well,” said he, “how about buying some shirts, or a new suit. How are you fixed for shoes. Perhaps you need a new watch. You know, Paul, they have me fixed up now so I can sell anything I want, yes sir, just anything I want.” Wondering what he was driving at and getting suspicious of those shifting glittering eyes, I began to back away, telling him I was amply supplied with everything I could use. Just then the door opened and another man stuck his head in and said quietly “All right Griffin, it’s nearly train time, let’s go.” Griffin left as quietly as he had entered and the boys in the office began ribbing me about how scared I was and how my hair actually stood straight up. The ribbing had scarcely ended when the door opened again and back came Griffin, this time to tackle Ed with his sales talk. Soon the west bound passenger train pulled in, the other man entered, took Griffin by the arm and gently led him out and onto the train. We learned afterwards that Griffin was on his way to the State Hospital in Fergus Falls.

As the years went by I saw or heard of a variety of interesting incidents, possibly a few more of them might be worth relating here.

For instance one day the Agent at Big Falls broke in on the wire to tell me a section motor car had got away from the crew at Grand Falls, just across the river, and had just now gone by south bound lickety split with nobody on it. I broke him off and started calling the agent at Margie intending to have him put a tie or some other object on the track to derail the runaway car. After twenty minutes he finally answered only to say the car had just then gone by. Calling the agent at Mizpah I told him to put his red on a north bound freight then go out and put something on the track that would be sure to ditch the car. Meanwhile a section crew working a few miles north of Mizpah noticed the car approaching in the far distance with nobody on it. They prepared to put their own motor car on the track soon as it passed and run it down. As it drew near they saw this would not be necessary as it rolled slowly to where they stood, gave a few feeble coughs and stopped.

One winter Hans Torkelson the little Norwegian foreman of the B&B gang had his crew working on the long Leech Lake trestle putting in new timbers where needed. One morning on his way to work he stopped in at the Walker depot as usual to find out what trains might be expected during the day. That afternoon we had to send a light engine from North Bemidji to Pine River to replace a disabled one. Hans, not knowing about the light engine, had one of the main supporting upright timbers cut out from underneath the track in the middle of a span on the trestle. Hearing the whistle of the unexpected engine approaching up around the curve, Hans told his men to hurry and stand the missing timber back into its former place. With no time to fasten it there he yelled to his crew to get down on the ice and clear away from the trestle, then he put both arms around the timber, braced himself to steady it, and waited while the engine clattered by overhead and the timbers about him shivered and squeaked. This incident was never reported to the management. I heard the story from one of Hans' men several years afterward.

Sometimes emergencies arose in which some of our railroad associates had a part, like the early morning when a northbound time freight was going through Pequot Lakes before any of the town folks were astir. The engine crew spied a small fire just starting in the rear of a building in a nearby lumber yard. Stopping his train, the hogger tooted the whistle so loud and persistently while the fireman kept ringing the bell that half the town was aroused by the commotion. A crowd of sleepy eyed men soon formed and rushing to the scene they made short work of extinguishing the rapidly growing blaze. A few days later the mayor of Pequot Lakes wrote Mr. Gemmell a very nice letter of appreciation for the prompt action of his men in preventing a bad fire in the little town.

Sometimes we hear  hair raising stories of desperate  races with the old bird of the long beak and spindly legs that is supposed to bring blessed events. Conductor Happy Milner and his Engineer Danny McGaffigan had a run in with the old bird once, and they won. It came about this way. Between Funkley and Kelliher  on the branch, back in the woods a little way from the track,lived a couple with two or three half grown children and expecting a newcomer most any time. The husband was working in a logging camp out Gemmell way. One winter morning the mother rose with a foreboding as to what the day might bring her. She got breakfast for the children, supervised the morning chores, gave each child instructions for the next few days and then got herself ready. She dressed warmly, made up a bundle of the usual necessities in such cases, said good bye to her brood, then went out, crawled through the barnyard fence, floundered through the deep snow out to the track in front of the cabin. There she sat down on her bundle and waited. An hour or so later the south bound local came into sight around a distant curve. The woman slowly got to her feet, walked up the low grade, stepped over the rail and stood facing the oncoming train, making such motions as she thought would be most effective in stopping a train.

With a screeching of brakes, the hiss of steam and escaping air the train clanked and rattled to stop in front of her. “What’s the matter with you? You trying to get killed?” yelled McGaffigan as he swung down off his engine followed by the fireman. A second, closer glance answered his question. 

“Can you fellows get me to a hospital before my baby comes?” the woman asked. “Holy Moses, Yes!” Danny said. “Now you just step off the track a little way and don’t move until we bring the caboose down for you.” Climbing back on the engine Danny moved the train ahead until the caboose was close. Conductor Milner and his rear brakeman having taken in the situation, helped the woman onto the caboose, made her lie down on the long seat cushion every caboose is equipped with, wrapped a blanket around her then gave Danny the high sign. At Funkley Milner wired the dispatcher they were setting out their train and would run a stork special to Bemidji with no stops, and for Pete’s sake arrange for a doctor and ambulance to meet them. The dispatcher cleared the line, putting other trains in the hole. Milner set out his train at Funkley, coupled the engine to the caboose and away they went to Bemidji arriving  there just in time for the new baby to be born in a proper way amid proper hospital surroundings.

One day a woman showed up at the Blackduck depot where my brother Andrew was agent. She announced that she was going to Bemidji right now and would ride in the caboose of the freight train then about to leave. It being against company rules to permit a woman to ride a freight train she was told she would have to wait for the evening passenger train. No, she would not wait, she was going on this freight and there was nothing anybody could do about it. Suiting action to words she picked up her bundles and climbed onto the caboose. The conductor argued with her all to no avail. She was in the caboose and in the caboose she would stay until it got her to Bemidji. Andrew and the conductor withdrew for a consultation and finally came up with a solution. They went back to the caboose and told the lady that if she  would not get off it would be necessary to set the caboose out at Blackduck and take the train on to Bemidji and leave her just sitting there. Even that did not budge her, so the conductor in her presence told his brakemen, “Well boys, set the caboose in on the house track out of the way, cut it off and we will have to ride the engine and on top,” So they set the caboose in on the house track, uncoupled it and away they went with the rest of the train, down around the curve and out of sight. Just as the train was disappearing around the curve one of the brakemen dropped off where he could keep an eye on the depot. A little further on the train stopped. Soon the woman in the caboose seeing no more hopes of getting to Bemidji on the freight came out, clambered down the steps and went back up town. Andrew, watching proceedings, then went out on the platform and gave the distant brakeman a back up sign, he in turn relayed it to the engineer. The train backed up to the depot, coupled onto the caboose and away they went.

Engineer Jud Cole and fireman Tom Masters had a long standing grudge against each other. Nobody knew what started it, perhaps they didn’t know themselves. The round-house foreman at North Bemidji conscious of their animosity for each other avoided teaming them up together on the same run,if he could do so without incurring a time slip for a runaround.

Early one morning Cole was first out for a through freight run to Brainerd. Masters, next up on the firemens’ list had to go with him. Everything started out fine and serene but somewhere down the line an argument developed. It grew hotter and hotter. They started calling names and making threats of what they would do to each other next time they met when off the job. Their train went by Pequot Lakes about eight A.M. Somewhere down in the sag south of there one of them asked why wait until they were off the job, why not stop and settle the matter right now. Cole brought the train to a stop, whistled out a flag, then both men got down off the engine, selected a grassy plot just over the ditch where they peeled off their jackets, laid them on the ground, slapped their caps down on top, and went to it. Gnarled fists flew, first one was down then up again and the other went down, bloody noses lent gore to the scene, mud flew, and profanity filled the air. The conductor sensing something unusual was taking place came hurrying over the top, scrambled down a side ladder at the battle ground and tried to part the combatants. It was no use, they continued slugging away until they were both exhausted and unable to continue longer. After standing gasping and glaring at each other while they regained their breath, they went down into the ditch, scooped up water to wash their bloody faces, put on their caps and jackets and climbed back on the engine. Cole whistled in the flag, released the air, eased open the throttle and they continued their interrupted trip into Brainerd. The battle and the cleaning up period consumed over an hour of company time, consequently on their arrival at Brainerd the Trainmaster wanted to know, “What took you monkeys so long between Pequot Lakes and Brainerd?” Their reply was “That 1400 wasn’t steaming worth a cent.” “ Well,” the Trainmaster pursued, “you made good time from North Bemidji to Pequot Lakes, how come she started giving trouble after you went by Pequot Lakes?” “Oh,” Cole replied, “it’s just one of those things, steam started to go down and we had to stop to blow her up. That scrap heap should be junked.” All this started some action. The General Manager wired the Master Mechanic to see if the 1400 had been giving any trouble before. The answer was “no.” The Road Foreman was then  instructed to ride the 1400 for a few trips and find out just what was wrong so it could be corrected. He rode it as instructed and finding nothing wrong reported that the old girl seemed to be in tip top shape. With a few ominous rumblings from the General Manager and Trainmaster to the effect that “Something stinks,” the Master Mechanic was quietly told not to pair up those two characters on the same run any more.

Bill Bush was a passenger conductor, the oldest conductor on our line. He had a crusty exterior, short, stocky, beetling brows, used rough language, had a pair of hard, knotty fists he sometimes used to clinch an argument, and could spit in the face of Old Nick himself. Lee Hallett, a mild mannered, elderly little man broke for Bill for many years. It was Lee who told me this story years after the incident occurred.

In those days all passenger trains on our lines carried at least one, often two, lumberjack coaches, in addition to the usual smoker and one or two non smoking coaches.

Coming out of International Falls on No. 34 one evening was a lumberjack in the head lumber jack coach who had imbibed a little too freely before train time. As the train progressed he continued to nuzzle his bottle and became noisy and profane. Bill tried tactfully to hush him up a little but without success. About Northome Bill began to toughen up on him telling him if he didn’t pipe down he would have to get off the train. As the train was pulling away from Blackduck Bill entered the car to take tickets and found the man abusive and threatening some of his fellow passengers. Bill put his ticket punch in his pocket, grabbed the signal cord, gave two yanks, clutched the man by his mackinaw collar, jerked him out of his seat, turned him around andpropelled him toward the door. Lee told me, “I saw what Bill was about to do so I got the inside and outside vestibule doors open.” At the outside door Bill turned his man facing outward, gave him a push followed by a vigorous kick in the seat of his pants precipitating him headlong into a snowbank beside the track. Turning around Bill gave the signal cord two jerks signalling the engineer to get going again then re-entered the coach just in time to overhear the man’s partner announce for all to hear,- “I’d like to see that pot bellied double X so and so put me off this train!” Immediately Bill again reached for the signal cord, again gave the stop signal, grabbed the second man by his collar and while Lee cleared the way Bill pushed him down the aisle through the vestibule, turned him facing outward and with another push and a kick in the pants sent him out into the snow to keep his buddy company, Now, real-ly aroused, Bill turned, gave the cord two spiteful yanks and strode back into the coach, flexing his pudgy fingers and roaring,- “Anybody else in this car want to see this pot-bellied double X so and so put him off the train?” Glaring this way and that for the reply that didn’t come, Bill took his ticket punch out of his coat pocket and continued his interrupted way down the aisle collecting tickets without a sound to be heard save for the spiteful chomping of the ticket punch and the rumble and creaking of the moving train.

For several years when No.55 the Duluth-Staples passenger train pulled in at noon we often noticed a middle aged neatly dressed man get off the train and pace slowly up and down the platform while the conductor came up to register, then when the conductor hollered,- “All aboard!” he would get on again. We would see him perhaps once or twice a week but never knew who he was until one day we asked the conductor, “Denny, who is that guy down there we often see getting off your train to pace up and down while you are up here registering?” Denny came to the window to see who we were talking about. “Oh, that fellow,” he replied. “he is a Deputy Sheriff from St Louis County, he takes crazy folks to the asylum at Fergus Falls.” As time went on the man finally disappeared and we saw him no more so on another day we asked,- “Denny, whatever became of that man you said took crazy people to Fergus Falls?” “Oh,” said he, “that fellow. He finally went crazy himself and now he stays over there with the rest of them.” Some one in our office made the remark, “Why didn’t he go to railroading in the first place instead of trying to be a Deputy Sheriff? His mental condition would have been an asset.”

Engineer Fuzzy Glidden and his fireman George Burke were on an extra south out of Bemidji early one balmy summer morning. The cab windows were open, Scent laden breezes fanned their hot faces and ruffled their hair. It was good to be alive. The seven spot they rode rocked and bucked under them, now and then an especially low joint caused the old girl to keel over so that the bell gave out a protesting clang. The exhaust up the stack kept time to the dancing side rods, while a plume of smoke drifted lazily back along the string of swaying cars behind them. Crossing Leech Lake trestle Fuzzy pulled the throttle a little wider and set the bar down a couple of notches closer the corner in anticipation of the grades from there over the hump to Hackensack. George threw in a fire then climbed back on his seat box, stuck his sweaty face out the window as he mopped it with a handful of waste, then glanced down at the passing plant life under him. “Wow! There’s some dandy moccasin flowers just across the ditch.” he hollered across to Fuzzy. Fussy stuck his head out his window. “Yep, some on this side too.” A little further on George yelled again, “Man Oh Man! Look at them. Hundreds of them.” “I never saw so many,” Fuzzy replied. The’re all over. Gosh, the little woman at home would sure like some.” “My woman too.” George replied. “What say we stop and pick some?” said Fuzzy. “If  we stop can you get the drag rolling again?” asked George. “Sure thing, nothing to it.” So Fuzzy shut off, brought the train to a stop and both men got down and went to picking flowers. When each had an armful, they bundled them together and let them down in the engine tank where they would keep cool. Getting back to work Fuzzy tried in vain to start his train, but even on sand the slipping drivers could not budge it, so they cut the train in two and doubled it over the hill to Hackensack.

One summer evening while I was working second trick, some of the clerks came back to the offices to catch up on unfinished work. In the General Manager’s Office was an old dilapidated suit case tied up with binder twine. It had been found in the luggage rack on No. 33 at International Falls several days before. It had not been called for there so the agent had sent it to the General Office awaiting disposition. To get the suit case out of the way one of the boys this evening took it up to the third floor storeroom and set it near the door. Somehow in playful scuffling with the other boys the suit case was knocked out onto the stairs and came tumbling end over end down to the second floor where it burst open. Instantly a nauseating stench filled the place and came drifting through my office open door. Being curious about the source I went out into the hall where, with the other boys we stared in horror at the ghastly contents of the suit case; the body of a baby boy probably a few days old, wrapped in soiled newspaper, and a small hole in one temple. The Police, the Coroner and the Sheriff were called to take charge of the little form. So far as I heard nothing further was ever learned of the case.

Mr. Gemmell had a little Business Car, the 50, in which he often made trips over the line. It had a small kitchen in one end, two bedrooms in the middle and a large observation room in the rear with big side and rear windows. Henry Sather the cook lived on a farm near Underwood, Minn. Mr.Gemmell notified him by wire a day or two in advance when he wanted his services for a trip on the 50. Henry was a grouchy character with a perpetual sneer on his face and often gave vent to derogatory comments about his boss behind the boss’ back. He would show up a few hours before departing time, always in a pessimistic, grumbling mood. He would take his grocery list to a store to be filled and delivered then he went to the 50 to clean it out, dust and air it. If he happened in our office when the old man was not present he would unload to us some of his disgust with life in general, and his private opinions about the old man and his railroad in particular. Henry was a good cook however as I learned first hand after a few trips on the 50 myself. He served nothing but the best and it was well cooked. His coffee was superb.

One cold winter night the 50 was parked on the end of a spur by the freight house at Bemidji. In the North Bemidji yard a mile away the night switch crew was making up the morning trains. While making a drop of a carload of rails a switchman stumbled as he ran for the switch, the load got away, ran out on the main line headed for Bemidji. Immediately the switch crew took after it with the engine but the car had been given such a violent kick that it was soon out of sight. Down the main line it ran, around the north leg of the wye, over the bridge to an open switch which turned it down through the house track and into the spur where the 50 was parked. The switch crew arrived just in time to see the load of rails hit the 50 with such violence as to break the couplers and almost knock the 50 off its trucks. From Henry’s end of the car came loud profane shouts for help. Out of the front door bounced Mr.Gemmell, his night shirt tails flapping in the winter breeze. Just then Martin Connelly the switch foreman came running up and said,- “Mr.Gemmell I’m quitting right now.” Mr.Gemmell replied “Never mind quitting just yet, get in there and see what’s happened to Henry.” Martin and his crew rushed around to the other door to find Henry upended in a corner of his galley with pots and pans and gooey things piled all over him. Getting him unscrambled and right end up they waited for his stream of profanity to cease before asking him if he was hurt. He replied that he was all right but if they didn’t get out of his domain right now he would take the meat cleaver to them.

Mr. Gemmell never called Martin in for an explanation and Martin continued working for many years more.

Just after lunch one New Years Eve a bunch of the fellows were sitting in our office “chewing the fat.” There was Warner, the Trainmaster, Orth the Chief, Mills the Roadmaster, Torkelson, B&B Foreman, our call boy Pat McGarry and myself. In a lull of the conversation Pat spoke up, “Well, fellows, this is the last day of the Old Year. If we get any more wrecks this year it will have to come pretty soon.” Warner whirled on him and said, “Shut up you freckle faced Irishman, don’t you know you are asking for trouble? Haven’t you got sense enough to let well enough alone?” A chuckle of mirth passed around the group and the subject was changed.

That night an hour before midnight, No.34 the passenger train from International Falls to Brainerd with a mail car, two baggage cars, three coaches and two Pullmans was completely derailed a few miles north of Turtle River. The temperature was twenty below zero and a strong north-west wind was blowing. We had no real wrecking crane at the time, nothing but a wooden derrick sort of contraption on a flat car but useless in rerailing a locomotive. What equipment we did have and all the section men in the vicinity were rushed to the scene and a special train was hurried out of Brainerd with the big Northern Pacific wrecker. It took all the rest of the night and all of New Years Day before the train was back on the rails. The few injured persons were taken to Bemidji by bus soon after the accident, but the section men and wrecking crews had to work continuously in the sub-zero weather until their work was finished, the track cleared and the train on its way again almost twenty four hours late.

With the logging off of the virgin timber in Northern Minnesota the log business on the M&I fell off and finally around 1925 or 1926 disappeared altogether. Operation of the big mills at Bemidji came to an end. Pulpwood, to a small extent, replaced some of the log business, most of it going to International Falls and Sartell with a smaller volume going to Cloquet and Wisconsin points. New time tables were issued eliminating many of the old regular schedules, few extras were run, crews were laid off, operators and agents were released and several depots closed. All this made a big reduction in the work for the dispatchers. Other duties were added in an effort to keep us busy.

One day Mr.Gemmell called us into his office to announce that owing to the decline of train operation it would be necessary to make a radical change in the dispatching set up. Before the conference was over it was decided that the Chief, the three trick men and the swing dispatcher would be moved to North Bemidji, there displacing three operators and a Yard Master.

We were moved early in February 1929. The whole force except Strout the second trick man went to North Bemidji on the afternoon train. Bob took his third trick at North Bemidji that midnight, taking the transfer from Strout in Brainerd by wire. I went on first at eight A.M. and Strout, who left Brainerd at twelve thirty A.M. on No. 33 was at North Bemidji in time to take his regular trick at four P.M.

In time other changes were made. The Chief was later put on first trick. I was put on second. The swing dispatcher was dispensed with altogether.

About 1933 the Northern Pacific which all along had held a controlling interest of Minnesota and Internatioal stock took over the line completely, and we survivors became Northern Pacific men.

But why go on. To continue the story further one would have to bring in so much detail in the rapidly changing picture that the recital would become boresome to read.

With the passing years the time of my retirement drew closer. Finally it came, my last day at work, a day in October of 1954.

I tucked away in my pocket copies of that last days train orders and clearances to keep as souvenirs. Sentimental? Maybe so. Just before quitting time employees from all over the place began to drift into the office, from the roundhouse, the car repairer’s shop, section men, the lineman and others. To top it off a photographer from the local paper came in followed by my boss, Ed Overlie, the Trainmaster. Trying to swallow a walnut in my throat I glanced around the room at the grinning faces surrounding me. Then Ed Overlie made a little speech and presented me with a small package. One by one the boys gathered closer to grasp my hand. Soon it was all over. I had made my last transfer and with dinner bucket in hand was trudging home.

Among my cherished possessions is the most beautiful wallet I have ever seen. It is of finest leather. It is stitched around the edges with leather strings. On one side my name is beautifully engraved, “Walter E. Paul” On the other side is engraved the Northern Pacific emblem and underneath it the years of my service,-“1908-1954” The contents of the wallet provided me with the wrist watch at this moment encircling my wrist, also in the bathroom is an electric shaver which daily hums to me of friendly memories. With the wallet and contents the boys also presented me with something else which is beyond price. It is a plain, simple little booklet, home made of small sheets of rough paper with a rough cover of heavier material all tied together at one end by a small ribbon. The inside is filled with signatures of railroad friends, Agents, Conductors, Engineers, Section Men, Switchmen, Linemen and others, all the way from International Falls to Brainerd. On some pages a brief, friendly little note is scrawled expressing best wishes for a long and enjoyable retirement.

At North Bemidji there is now a younger generation doing the railroading, most of whom I know. When opportunity offers I go back to the dingy little office there, listen to the old fashioned telegraph instruments, and grasp the friendly hands outstretched to me wherever I turn.

All in all, Rails are a fine class of folks. I am proud to have been one of them.

 

Transcribed by Kenneth E. Paul

Notes

anvil:  A small, flat metal piece in the sounder of a telegraph system which is struck by another metal piece to make the sounds for dots and dashes in the telegraph code; see sounder and resonator.

B & B:  Bridges and buildings.

bar:  The Johnson bar controls the power and speed of a locomotive, whereas the throttle only controls the amount of steam let into the pistons; the rather long, heavy bar is moved over and held in place on a heavy steel piece with cogs on it; the bar, located next to the engineer’s seat, has a handle at its end that the engineer squeezes to release the bar so that it can be moved forward or backward, and in that way control the power to the drivers.

block signal:  A system for dividing railroad tracks into short sections or blocks, usually of four or five miles, permitting more than one train to run at a time on a track; an automatic signal system governs the trains so that no train can enter a block until the preceding train has left it.

blow her up:  Air from the brake system is injected into the firebox to create a hotter fire.

clearance:  An order from a dispatcher permitting a train to move onto th e main line at a specific time.

complete:  The completion of transmitting train orders from the dispatcher to operators; after they receive the orders, the operators repeat them to the dispatcher who underlines each word on his copy as it is repeated to him to verify that the orders have been transmitted accurately.

compound:  A locomotive that uses its steam twice: in its high pressure cylinders first and in its low pressure cylinders second; small compounds on the M & I were breakdown prone .

consist:  The makeup of a train by types of cars, their owners, numbers, contents and weights; papers giving that information; the word is pronounced with stress on the first syllable.

drag:  A string of like cars; a heavy train.

drivers:  The largest wheels on a locomotive to which power is applied to move the locomotive.

dynamiting:  Dynamiting occurs when the air hose in the air brake system is ruptured so that the air pressure is immediately lowered; the brakes act automatically to stop the train as suddenly as possible depending upon its speed.

extra:  An auxiliary train that does not run on a timetable schedule but is used to meet a demand for additional freight service. 

extra gang:  A crew of laborers who repair, replace, and rebuild parts of trackage at various points; they may live in bunk cars and be provided lodging and meals.

flat car:  A car with a flat bed and no permanent structure on it, used for hauling logs, large machinery and other large objects; M & I flat cars built for hauling logs were 36, 40 and 41 feet long with four heavy square wooden bunks (timbers) spaced so that stacks of logs could be loaded end to end; stakes about seven feet long fitted into pockets on the sides and chains fastened to the tops of the stakes kept the load together; extra logs were laid on top of the chains to round out the load.

Gemmell, Backus, Hines, Funkley, Margie et al. :  Small towns and stations established along the Minnesota and International Railway right of way by the railroad; some were named after railroad officials as was Gemmell; some such towns and stations no longer exist.

high ball:  An arm and hand signal given to an engineer on a fast train to continue without slowing down or stopping; a fast train maintaining its speed is highballing; a conductor will give a highball signal to the engineer when a stopped train is ready to proceed.

high sign:  Any arm signal made to attract attention or to indicate an understood direction.

hogger:  An engineer.

hole:  A siding where a train can pull off the main line to wait for another train to pass before given clearance by the dispatcher to proceed.

hot box:  When a wheel bearing in a journal (see journal) lacks sufficient lubrication, it will heat up and ignite the cotton waste packed in the journal; if the train is not stopped in time, the heat from friction will cause the bearing to break and the car to derail. The universal signal to give trainmen with a smoking hot box is to hold one’s nose (“Something stinks!” signal) and point with an arm and hand at the car.

journal:  A steel housing that encloses the end of the axle where the wheel bears on it; it has a hinged cover that can be raised to allow the packing of oiled waste around a wheel bearing for lubrication; with the invention and use of roller bearings and modern lubrication means, the old journals eventually went out of use as new cars were built.

local:  A train that stops at all stations on its run.

low joint:  If there is insufficient ballast (cinders, gravel, crushed rock )in the roadbed beneath the juncture of two rails or more, the weight of locomotives and cars passing over the joint will depress it, causing a car or locomotive to dip into the low joint and make a rocking motion; the early M & I had many low joints.

mackinaw:  A short winter coat made of a heavy wool fabric usually woven in a plaid design; it was a popular style with lumbermen and trainmen who did much walking and climbing on the job; a long coat would be too cumbersome to wear while working.

Minnesota and International Railway (M & I):  The railway was established in 1901 by the Northern Pacific Railway (NP) and some individuals as minority stock owners. Starting at Brainerd, Minnesota, it was built in stages to its terminal in International Falls, Minnesota, where the line was completed in the winter of 1907-08. Some of the stages were built by or in conjunction with small local logging rail companies. It was intended to be a logging railroad and many spurs were built from the main line to logging sites. At first freight and passenger services were minor operations of the road, but as the territory through which it ran became more settled and towns grew up and the land became logged off, the logging business fell off drastically and those services became the line’s main sources of revenue. In 1933 the NP took over operating control of the M & I and in 1942 the M & I lost its identity through bankruptcy and was completely absorbed into the NP. In 1970 the Northern Pacific and Great Northern railways, which jointly owned the Burlington line, merged with the 

Burlington to form a new company, the Burlington Northern. Then in 1995 the Burlington Northern merged with the Santa Fe Railway and two smaller lines to become the Burlington Northern Santa Fe.

OS reports. After a train had passed a depot or a station the depot agent or the station operator would telegraph his OS report to the dispatcher to let him know that train had passed and was out of sight; it was always important for a dispatcher to know the locations of his trains; lacking a modern block signal system, there was no other way for a dispatcher to keep track of his moving trains; see station; the distinctive Morse code signals for O and S (---,...)were used to get a dispatcher’s attention.

over the top:  Freight cars and some early passenger cars had wooden walkways along their tops; it often was faster in getting from one end of a train to the other by going “over the top” to avoid hard walking on the ballast, in snow, or on the road bank.

pump the air:  Steam locomotives have air pumps for the air brake system, and an engine crew has to pump air into the air pressure chamber until a proper pressure is reached as required by law and railroad rules; a train cannot be moved without adequate air pressure; pressure can be maintained during movement by pumping air as needed.

relay:  An electromagnetic device which responds to changes in an electric current and activates switches in a telegraph system.

resonator:  A small, usually three sided wooden box enclosing the telegraph sounder and used to enhance the sounder’s audibility, much as a violin box enhances the sound of the strings.

road hog:  A large, fast locomotive at the head of a train.

runaround:  If a trainman were not called to make a run when his name headed the list of those to be called next, he would have to be paid for the time he missed; he was said to have been given a “runaround”.

sag:  A stretch in the roadbed that has insufficient ballast and the tracks, lacking support, sink lower than the normal elevation of the rails. Sometimes a sag might be so deep that the grade rising out of the sag will be too steep for a heavy train, which will then need to be cut in two and the head end taken out first and then the tail end. 

sand:  Locomotives have metal sandboxes with valves and tubes that direct sand to fall close to the rail in front of each driver; some boxes might be mounted on the sides, but commonly sand has been placed in domes above the boiler where heat from the boiler keeps the sand dry; whenever the drivers cannot get sufficient traction on the rails, an engineer operates the valves, putting sand on the rails to increase their traction; sand is used when necessary in starting up a heavy train and in going up a long, steep grade.

section motor car:  A small four wheeled car propelled by a gasoline engine and large enough to carry a few workmen with their hand tools and supplies. 

seven spot:  A locomotive with one small pony (or pilot) wheel in front and three large drivers on each side with no wheels under the cab; seven spots were built about 1900 and were used for hauling freight; the reason for the name is obscure.

shops:   The Burlington Northern Santa Fe still maintains car shops on the site. (as of 1998) 

siding:  A short section of track laid parallel to the main line, usually near a station, and connected to the main line by switches; some sidings are long enough to hold a train spotted there to wait for an opposing train or a faster following train to pass before proceeding. 

side rods:  The heavy steel side rods and smaller rods connect the drivers to the steam cylinder; the rods connect to the rims of the drivers and are counterbalanced by weights attached to the rims directly opposite the drivers; if the huge drivers were not counterbalanced, they would destroy the rails under them with the pounding force created by their imbalance. 

side wire operator:  A telegrapher sitting near a dispatcher who assisted the dispatcher in sending and receiving messages.

slow order book:  Slow orders are given to a train before it begins its run to indicate where the train must proceed at a reduced speed, the distance to be run at that speed and the time; places for slowing down might be a soft spot in the roadbed, road crossing construction site, area in which a section crew is working, a residential or other city area, new construction in progress either on the right of way or adjacent to it, weakened bridge, an accident, a delayed train ahead and other potentially hazardous sites; the dispatcher keeps a record of his slow orders.

sounder:  A telegraphic device that converts the electric code impulses into sound.

speeder:  See section motor car.

spotted:  Set a car or cars on a siding or on a spur, either to store them or to hold them until they are picked up to be put into a train or moved to another location; a train may be spotted temporarily to clear the main line in an emergency.

spurs:  Tracks run from a mainline to a location for loading and unloading, such as a factory, warehouse, mill, mine, lumberyard, gravel pit, quarry, or sometimes a station at  its terminus; some spurs might be very short, others might be miles long.  

standard simple engine:  A common steam locomotive that uses its steam only once for power; cf. compound.

station:   In the pre-electronic signal era, a railroad established numerous stations along its lines for the main purposes of keeping tabs on the whereabouts of trains as they passed each station and for passing a dispatcher’s orders to trains; some stations were placed between towns, possibly at the junction with a spur, and manned by an operator usually during the day; other stations were in towns and had a depot with an agent, operator, and sometimes a baggage man; see OS report.

swing dispatcher:  A swing man worked tricks for regularly  scheduled employees on their days or nights off.

stylus:  A pointed metal instrument used in making carbon copies in the days long before the time of ballpoint pens; of course, the stylus did not make marks such as a pen or pencil does, only an impression on the top paper; train orders were written on an oiled tissue paper printed with the proper form and carbon paper was used to make from three to nine copies as required; the oiled paper was used because it could be handled in wet weather by trainmen without obliterating the writing; the paper could also be wadded up, stuffed into a pocket, and later flattened out almost to its original condition.

time freight:  A freight train that has a strict time schedule to follow unless it is held up by an emergency or by an order.

tonnage freight:  A long, heavy train.

trucks:  The carriages for axles, bearings, wheels, springs, and components of the braking system; trucks might accommodate two, three or even more pairs of wheels and their axles with a corresponding number of journals; they are located only at the ends of cars to permit turning on curves.                                    

vitroil:  Vitriol; copper sulfate.

waste:  Course cotton threads wadded together; oiled  waste was used to pack around the wheel bearings in  journal boxes to keep the bearings lubricated; the waste had to be  re-oiled or replaced when it became dry or too worn to be effective; see hot box.

whistled out a flag:  When a train had to make an unscheduled stop for an emergency or some other reason, the engineer would give a whistle signal for a brakeman to take a red flag, torpedoes and fusees, and a lantern at night, and drop off the caboose as the train slowed down. Then he had to walk back far enough behind the train so that he would have distance enough in which to stop any oncoming train; a torpedo was an explosive device which he could fasten on top of a rail where a locomotive would drive over it causing it to  explode with a burst easily heard by the engineer; a fusee was a red signal flare with a spike on one end that could be shoved into the ground near the track; the brakeman would return to the train when the flag was whistled in.

work train:  A train that might have a derrick, power winch, plow, pile driver, or other heavy machinery used in repair and construction work on a line; it might include cars with rails, heavy timbers, poles, steel girders and other construction materials; it might have cars where the workers can eat and sleep at the work site. 

wye:  A track layout used for turning a train around; at the end of a line the track would be divided, making a broad Y shape with a switch at the junction giving entrance to either leg of the Y; another track would be laid between the two legs near their juncture and connected to them by switches; a train headed north, for instance, could then pull all the way onto one of the legs; then it would back up onto the track between the legs and onto the other leg until the locomotive was pointed south and the train could be switched back onto the line; a T formation might be used similarly for the same effect, but would be called a wye.

yard/yardmaster:  An area supervised by the yardmaster with short, usually parallel tracks connected by switches to each other and the main line and used in moving and spotting cars while making up trains.

Notes by Kenneth E. Paul