The Song of the Train

It is a lonely song, the song of the train. It echoes on my heart- strings-a proud song of America.

Three blasts sound the horn and I stand tall, waving to the engineer-his day just begun with his manifest. I get a brisk salute back as the freight rolls onward into the night.

I watch America before myself. Carloads of scrap-things that once were and soon will be-heading to the smelter. Closely joined are protected cars that haul the steel when finished. Finished automobiles fashioned from steel rumble onward.

America is a fortress of progress. Each car that rolls by testifies with its cargo its contribution to this progress. Many a man has been made rich by this progress and many have been broken down to their knees as the trains roll onward.

But the trains do not know. They roll benignly. Beasts-of-burden. Hauling on their backs the freight of America. Whether it is for rich or poor they haul. Keeping America’s freight on time, on schedule-these proud sentries roll onward.

Yet as the cars roll by, they stand as wounded sentries to this progress. Between the lines the hypercolor chaos and confusion of graffiti reads the frustration in society. Krylon paint artisans tell us who they want to kill and how.

But there are proud slogans, too, on these poor travelers. Grand slogans adorn the cars- “The Action Road,” “We Will Deliver”-slogans awaiting a second glance that hardly ever comes their way.

Many of their names tell of proud cities, states and corners of America from where they roll- “New York Central,” “Milwaukee Road,” “Rio Grande.” Yet many of these names roll only in history.

An old express car relegated to hauling lumber once hauled priority mail on the Colorado Eagle passenger train. No time to tell stories of its youth. This soldier still has a job to do for America. It has a strong shoulder and its legs are still good; this soldier still has work. America has places to build and things it needs- this is no time to be put out to pasture. I have thunder in my heart and ten thousand places to see before I die-roll onward.

If you have never stood next to a train, you have not felt an earthquake. You have not heard the squeal of agony as beveled wheels cry in pain around a bend-their vast thunderhead rumbling on and on down the track.

Down the track. To those smelters. To those assembly lines. To those show rooms. America rolls on. The train rolls on. Tomorrow is a new day. It will be where it needs to go.


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Rock Island SD70ACe Delivery

Gleaming in the sun it stands, Rock Island’s SD70ACe. I stand by the ready track at London, Ontario; my camera clutched in my hands. The three-quarter’s roster shot is the only shot I want.
With the 7000 series SD70ACe’s, Rock Island returns to speed lettering. I drove up from Joliet to get the first picture. I had to see these units before they had the slightest film of road dust from Canadian National towing. It wasn’t good enough to stand with the rest of the members of my club when these red beauties came dead into Blue Island. They may still have new car smell on them, but up in London, there is not even a mile on the odometer.
These SD70ACe’s are Rock Island’s first new engines in over six years. This is an event. Pack the thermos in the jeep and make a few sandwiches. Times are finally getting a little better on The Rock. The SD70MAC’s have been pulling their hearts out and the coal business has finally picked up enough revenue to put in this SD70ACe order.
Rock could have gone with the “Rocket” inspired colors like on the SD70MAC’s, but instead they went good old seventies speed lettering. Don’t get me wrong, the SD70MAC’s look great in Rocket colors, but standing here in London, seeing an SD70ACe in speed lettering takes me to my childhood. 1974. Standing at trackside; the good old days of red SD40-2’s and U33C’s. Times were hard but the Rock found a way. It always has and it always will.

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