Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

A freight train came through Jacksonville a couple of days ago. I watched it come and go as I sat in the waiting room of the hearing aid place, looking out the window at the railroad tracks across the street.

Pulled by two big Union Pacific diesel engines, air horns blaring at every crossing, the train was about a half-mile long. It was made up of identical flat cars carrying cargo containers stacked two deep. All the cars looked as though they were cast from the same mold, and there was no caboose. In short, it was b-o-r-i-n-g. No bright colors, fanciful logos or different sizes and shapes. Pity.

When I was a boy, freight trains had character. Every one that I remember seeing was a full-color palette of rolling stock; box cars, flat cars, hoppers, gondolas, tank cars, refrigerator cars and others in all shapes and sizes. They were as evocative as engines and cabooses. The only thing standardized about them was the wheel gauge and couplers.

If you saw a freight train while out in the country on a Sunday drive with your family, it
wasn’t unusual to get a friendly wave from the engineer and fireman in the cab of the engine, often accompanied by a whistle. Each car was distinctly individual. At the very end of the train was my favorite, the bright, red caboose. Sometimes on a summer night, lying in bed half-awake, next to the open window, I would hear the mournful whistle of a freight train crossing a trestle a mile away and picture it in my mind.

Shortly after the Transcontinental Railroad was completed at Promontory Point,
Utah, in 1869, innovations in railcar design appeared quickly as railroads began to carry more specialized cargo. Interchange that would make it possible for all railroad cars to travel on any railroad became a necessity and, thus, the Master Railroad Car-builders Association took on the responsibility of overseeing the interchange.

By the end of the decade, thousands of freight cars belonging to hundreds of railroads and private-car manufacturers were freely interchanging on railroads throughout the country. The national interchange movement forced railroads to standardize rolling stock, but they weren’t totally successful. There were too many cars and too many car-makers. They could take care of things like height of couplers, width and height of box cars, and wheel gauge, but that was it.

As rail shipping grew, so did the need to standardize, culminating with the advent
of stacktrain technology in 1984. Since the successful introduction of the stackcar,
containerization has spread across the country. The stackcars, each of which could carry 10 containers, stacked two-high, nearly doubled train capacity.

Just as surely as these later technologies made seamless land-sea transfer possible, they did away with a colorful era of America’s rail history. Efficient? Completely. Standardized?

To a fault. But where’s the romance?

A freight train went through town today. I watched it come and go.
With all the crossings in its path its speed was somewhat slow.
The cars all looked the same to me, in color, shape and size.
No oranges, yellows, reds, or greens to dazzle peoples’ eyes.
No excitement, no romance, in short, just plain old boring.
And worst of all there was no caboose. It left me cold and snoring.

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A question to ponder:

If growing up is mandatory, is growing up optional?

putterhugh@suddenlink.net

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Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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