21 Years On The Erie Railroad

Upon thinking back on my time with the Erie Railroad Company, there are very few bad memories. The railroad at that time was a very good place to work; very few lay-offs, reasonably safe working conditions, skilled (mostly) fellow employees, and you could have lots of fun on the job.

A few things stick in my mind, and here is one of them. Back when I hired out, there was a company called The Railway Express Agency. The agency would ship almost anything you might want shipped; fresh fish, clams, honey bees, explosives, fresh meat, bags of money, etc. The express messenger who rode the train carried a pistol, as did the drivers who picked up the merchandise. Almost every passenger train had at least one Railway Express car in its consist.

One afternoon during the first summer I worked on the Erie, Number 7, normally due to arrive in my little town at 2:37 p.m., was a bit late, which wasn't unusual, since Number 7 usually had a large consist of head-end cars (mail and express), and was delayed quite often by the loading and unloading of these cars at station stops.
Anyway, Number 7 was almost 2 hours late. After we unloaded the baggage and mail, the agent told we three to take our lunch hour, and get back in time to get ready for Number 6, due at 7:30 p.m.

One of my fellow workers was a foul-mouthed, nasty little creep; not very well-liked by anyone who worked with him. Our local Railway Express driver was an even-tempered fellow who enjoyed a joke. As mentioned above, all Railway Express employees carried pistols. Also, at that time, the Railway Express was using, for trucks, almost anything that might run, due to war-time shortages. The local truck was an old Model "A" Ford that, if you knew how, could be made to back-fire at will.

We three Erie employees were walking down the platform, heading for town and the diner. The express truck was driving past us, also heading for town. The nasty little fellow called the express driver a bad name. The driver, who had his window down, reached below the window sill, pulled out his Colt, laid it over the sill, pointing at the little creep. He also, without being seen, reached with his other hand for the ignition key, and created a back-fire. Our comrade started running; we didn't see him again for two days.