An Average Day at Brushclump

An average day began at Brushclump RR yard with very few people knowing what was really going on. The switch engine crew got the update from the yardmaster on what the night shift had left. The Super Caff cola distributor was replacing the drink machine that had been shot full of .44 magnum holes.

The 301 crew going off duty shared a few laughs about hobos and a prank played on a hobo who had made. a nuisance of himself that night.

Generally hobos don't give railroad employees trouble, but once in a while an obnoxious one comes along who tries to get into the locker room to pilfer, mostly taking lunches. A man can live with having his jacket or tools stolen but someone putting a ten-finger-discount on a lunch is a killing offense.

Some switchmen and car inspectors are pretty jumpy about being alone at night in the far reaches of a big railroad yard. One time brakeman James Jameson was walking his outbound train making sure that all handbrakes were released when a voice out of the darkness growled, "Got a light, Mac?" James tossed him a brand new Bic lighter without looking back and kept on walking.

Occasionally switchmen or carmen working in the yard at night surprise each other in the dark. Although this often has humorous results, they make sure to stay out of arm's reach of each other to keep from getting stabbed or bashed up side the jaw.

One night, Cootie Lowe and Hale Redmon were "working" a train that had just arrived. Cootie was on foot and Redmon was driving an "oiler", a 10 hp. garden tractor with a steel tank full of journal bearing oil slung underneath instead of a mower deck. These cantankerous contraptions have a sprayer hose and nozzle for dispensing journal oil so equipped that the operator doesn't have to get off the tractor to do his job.

Cootie saw Hale coming at a distance and climbed onto the coupler to wait. As the somewhat jumpy Redmon drove by, Cootie stood up on the handbrake platform and yelled. Obviously unaware of his coworker's nighttime habits, he realized too late that Redmon drove with his trigger finger on the oiler hose.

One particular rail rider had been thrown out of the mechanical department's converted-boxcar office twice during the shift and had been threatened with physical harm if he showed up again. After some grousing around and sulking, he asked which cars in the yard would be the next ones going north. He was shown to an empty boxcar with an open door.

After a few switching moves on this string of cars, Hobo had some choice words for the switchmen about the speed with which they were making up the next train.

"Ah've had about a bellyfull o' him, Ratchet," Hillbilly said.

Shortly, Hobo laid down in the car and made to get comfortable. Hillbilly gave hand signals for J. W. and Bluejeans to close the door on the car that their critic was riding in. This was done, much to the indigent's rude surprise. With the car securely closed from the outside, he was a captive audience.

“Let's show him how to switch, boys," Hillbilly shouted.

"Couple up, Ratchet."

BLAM!

"Back up!"

"That'll do. (Stop)"

A rough stop followed.

"Kick 'em, Ratchet!"

Kicking cars involves opening the throttle wide on the locomotive while releasing the brakes.

At the engine foreman's signal, a switchman pulls the coupler release lever, and the engineer stops sending the car or cars rolling forward into the designated track. A good crew can dispose of a long cut of cars quickly by this method.

Hillbilly deliberately let the engine build up more speed than usual for a kick and let the hobo's car go into a track full of loaded grain hoppers with the brakes tied down tight. It coupled up with a crash that wiggled coffee cups in the yard office and woke people up in Brush Oaks subdivision again.

The unwilling occupant of the box made his displeasure known in a loud and uncomplimentary manner.

“Boy don't take hints too good, does he?" Hillbilly said with a big cheesy grin.

"Couple up and kick it again."

Ratchet coupled up roughly on and backed up the switching lead, slamming the throttle in and out to liven things up.

"Kick 'em!"

VRRRRROOOOM!

"WHOA!"

B0000M! !

More lights on across the hiway, More curses from the boxcar.

"That maniac must be stupid or something.

Kick him again."

The 301 knocked still more rust off of the same boxcar. This time, there were no more foul opinions of railroad employees. Bluejeans shouted an inquiry as to the hobo's opinion as of that moment. When there wasn't an immediate reply, the locomotive coupled up again.

At this moment, the hobo decided that railroad men were the salt of the earth and highly skilled craftsmen. When he was asked to repeat himself, J.W. and Bluejeans unlatched the door.

As soon as they got the door open a crack, the car's occupant leaped out over our boys' heads and cleared the next three empty tracks in two strides. As he disappeared into the brush headed for the highway, all that could be seen or heard was one long drawn out scream fading into the distance.