It is hard for me to realize that I have now worked in passenger service for a longer time than I worked in freight. I still think of myself as primarily a freight conductor. Box cars and flat switching, that was the game. When I was switching freight, the box cars still had the hand brakes on the roof. We climbed the ladder up the side of the car and stood on a small wee platform to apply the brakes. This was so one could see ahead of the car, the importance of which will be made clear, presently. And a walkway ran down the center of the roof of each car so that you could move from car to car across the top without the trouble of climbing back down to the ground and climbing back up to the roof of the next car. I force myself to remember that we had no radios then, and did all our work by hand signals. Today in conductor's classes they no longer teach the hand signals. Therefore, you can tell the older conductors from the new ones if for no other reason than the older conductors still use hand signs, as long as the engineer can see them.

There used to be a rule in our conductors manual (and still is, for that matter) that advised: "Always check the hand brake before kicking cars." Flat switching means giving the cars a good shove (kick) and then 'pulling the pin' on the last one and letting it drift down the lead, where the field man will throw the appropriate switch to classify the car into a track that would be coupled up later to make up an outgoing train. Since 'checking' the hand brake meant climbing up and onto the roof and cranking the hand wheel all the way tight and verifying that it seemed to be applying the brakes, and then cranking it all the way off again, we seldom did it. Especially since we might have a hundred cars to switch out. To check every hand brake would take up most of the day. Most often the hand brakes worked. Thank goodness. To be fair, the only brakes that really warranted testing were those on the car being kicked into the corner. That is, the first car into an empty track. The head man would ride that car, looking out over the roof, and judging when to start applying the brake in order to stop the car at the very end of the track. In the corner, so to speak. After that, it didn't matter - you had a car down there to act as a bumping post. It was a good rule, nonetheless. A company rule. It was in there because there is always that one cranky car out of hundreds with an inoperative hand brake. And if there was a screw up, the company could always say, "Well, did you follow the rule?" Even though they knew we never did.

Let me just tell you that there is no feeling quite like riding the top of a box car down a half mile of empty track to 'park it in the corner'. Which means, apply the hand brake in time to stop the car when it gets to the very end of the track. Unless, perhaps, the feeling of cranking on the hand brake and NOT stopping in the corner, but rolling on willy nilly to an unexpected reward. When flat switching cars, having a good hand brake on the car in the corner is very important. That car keeps the rest of the cars that you'll kick down the same track from flying out onto the lead (willy nilly) and causing the Devil's own problems.

I can certainly confirm that the hand brake was almost always tested according to the rules on an overtime job. It was on those 'early quit' jobs that one tended to hope the hand brake would be in that percentage of low pucker factor, operating brakes.

I remember very clearly watching my good friend P.T. Furley frantically twirling and twirling the hand brake wheel, as the box car he was riding flew out the end of what was fortunately a stub track, and bury itself in the mud. Paul suggested that it was, indeed, moderately more exciting than riding a car in a similar situation with an operative hand brake. I think that would definitely be an instance of pucker factor. 'No brakes' is probably right up there near a pucker factor of the highest order, '10' - on a one to ten point scale.

A couple other examples of pucker factor might be: the car is coming down the lead, and the switch you just threw a few moments ago now locks up half way, virtually guaranteeing a derailment.

Or, the car you just lined into three track stops just in the foul, (doesn't clear the lead) and here comes a car you have just run 100 yards to line into track 23. Can you get back in time to re-line the three switch and avoid a nasty cornering accident?

Fortunately for us, in those days the company was not trying to fire you at every turn and the yardmaster on duty simply called for the block truck to re-rail the cars, and we continued with our afternoons switching. We actually became fairly proficient at re-railing our own cars, since that meant an extra four hours pay.

Switching cars using hand signs was always good for some interesting moments, since 'line of sight' is the key factor.

There is a specific story I have in mind here, in regard to line of sight. This is by way of leading up to, the unusual noise story. The New York Central had a yard in River Rouge, Michigan. In this yard they had a hump, so this was a classification yard as well as a set-out and pickup yard. After the cars had been shoved over the hump (much easier than 'kicking' them) it would be time to couple up the tracks. And on the evening in question I was about 40 cars down a yard track, straightening draw bars and opening knuckles, and passing signals to the engineer using a fusee. This was because it was getting pretty dark, and forty carlengths is too far to see a lantern light. A fusee, however, is a phosphorus light, visible for well over a mile. A large up and down motion meant 'take the cars ahead.' I had given the engineer the signal to back up (a large circle) in order to make a joint, or try and couple to the next car on the track. In good form, the engineer did begin backing up with the 40 some cars he had ahold of. As the joint made and the pin dropped, coupling the cars, I gave the signal to stop. A large back and forth waving of the fusee, kind of like a "u". For reasons I never will never know the movement did not stop.

The engineer just kept backing up against the remaining 20 or 30 cars left on the track. At about the same time, a road train was pulling into the yard, up the lead behind us. The same lead we were now shoving directly against. I immediately began to have visions of a terrible wreck, as we shoved into the side of the train yarding on the lead. My frantic signals, swing downs, stop that will do, had no effect whatsoever. My train just kept shoving inexorably towards the lead. I scampered up of the side of the nearest box car, figuring somehow the engineer must have lost sight of me. Lighting another fusee from this new elevated position and giving the frantic wash out signal still had no results. We continued to shove towards the lead. I couldn't imagine why my signals could not be seen from the head end. There was a slight curvature of the yard tracks, so I thought that if I got a bit more towards the firemen's side he might be able to see my signals. So without thought to life or limb I jumped from the roofs of box cars and from track to track, all the while frantically trying to wash out the move. As a last resort I threw the fusee high in the air, the universal signal that the track is completely coupled and the work is done. And with about two car lengths of room to spare, I finally heard the slack running out as the engineer threw on the independent, bringing the move to a halt.

It is fortunate that classification yards usually have a belly. They sag into the middle, for drainage purposes. Therefore, the ten or 15 cars that we were not coupled to, ran out of gas and rolled back into our cut of cars without crashing into the cars on the lead.

It was only later that I found out I had been working with 'sleeping Willie', a gentleman engineer, perhaps narcoleptic, whom always kept a cigarette burning between his fingers lest he fall asleep. He counted on the pain from the cigarette between his fingers to wake him up before there was a catastrophe. In this case, the catastrophe was averted only because I jumped from roof to roof and got into a position where the firemen (who was fortunately awake) could see the signals. And even then it took my throwing the fusee into the air for him to realize that it was time to stop the move.

Now then, about the strange noise. This situation occurred at the 14th Street coach yard, in Chicago. I was the conductor on an afternoon job that took cars to our heavy duty coach cleaning facility at Brighton Park, about a 70 minute run to one of the suburbs. To accomplish this task we utilized an engine followed by some low-level cars, an Amtrak caboose in the middle to serve as a transition car, and some high-level cars (superliners), and then another engine bringing up the rear.

This way we could drop off our cars at Brighton Park, pickup our good cars, and head back to the coach yard without ever having to go around a 'wye'. The engineer would use the trailing engine going back to the coach yard.

Once we got back to the 14th Street coach yard facility it was a matter of cutting off the rear or South engine on the main line, and then shoving our cars into the storage yard, putting the caboose away, and then picking up our engine on the main and taking both engines to the diesel pit and calling it a night.

Here is where the problem developed. My associate and field man Ronnie Blonkins, had the responsibility of cutting off the rear unit on the main line. Which he did. He pulled away from this engine, allowing it to go into emergency – thus setting the brakes. And after pulling north past the storage yard switch, and throwing the switch, he told the engineer to begin backing up into one of the storage tracks. I, as the conductor, had lined us up and was waiting to tie our cars onto those already in the track. Simple enough, one would think.

Mind you, this is all happening at about two in the morning. I am standing next to the cars in storage track 3 and watching our cut of cars as they come down the lead towards me. It is at this point that I hear the strange noise. I really can't place this particular noise. It is far away and yet close. It almost reminds me of the sound heard when I rear ended a pickup truck once on a rainy day. At the same time I notice that the cars shoving towards me seem to hesitate and then resume their normal motion. I have been giving the engineer a verbal rendering of the distance he has to shove to make the joint against the cars in the storage yard. Not yet aware that something might be amiss I give him a distance of, "six car lengths to the joint."

And then it happens again. I hear the strange noise. Louder, this time. Definitely metal on metal. Again the cars on the lead shudder visibly. It begins to dawn on me that something might be terribly wrong, and I stop the move. "That'll do, job 7, that will do."

I begin walking north up the track examining all the cars as I go. And sure enough, I notice a superliner that seems to be bashed in for no good reason. This is very disconcerting. I keep walking, and about 5 cars down the line I see a superliner that is totally crashed in, right about at the middle. This car is heavily damaged. I can't imagine what has transpired.

However, the fact that the yard engine we left on the main line is now resting against our cut of cars suggests that perhaps this might be the problem.

And it was. The engine that Ron left on the main line, which being in an emergency brake application status should have sat right there for all eternity, had somehow bled itself off and begun rolling north. And of course the only thing stopping this engine from rolling right into Chicago union station was the fact that we were shoving cars into the storage yard. The engine crashed smack into the side of our cut of cars. That was the first strange noise I heard. The yard engine bounced off our cars, and then gradually rolled back into them. The second time it hit our cut of cars generated the second strange noise I heard.

The first bump made for only slight damage to both the yard engine and the superliner that it hit. Unfortunately, the second bump did far more damage. In the long run about $250,000 worth of damage. And although the night yard master did try to keep this damage in-house, the significant aspect of the repairs made that impossible. The second superliner had to go to the Beech Grove shops for major repairs. The yard engine was repaired at the 14th St. diesel house, and the first Superliner repaired at the rip track.

We all had to go pee in the bottle, and I skated as clean - and poor Mr. Blonkins was fired for a rule "G" infraction and never got back.

So, the 'Strange Noise' rule was born, in my mind. If ever I were to hear another 'strange noise', I would stop everything at once.

And it wasn't long at all before this new rule was put to a severe test. About six months, in fact. We frequently - as in daily - made a move that went like this: A train, consisting of an engine and four coaches and a cab car, sat on yard track six. It needed to go to the north side of the station and await passenger boarding. Then it would go to Milwaukee.

The engineer and I would walk to the train after it was released by the mechanical department. The engineer would get aboard, we would perform a yard brake test, and then I would join him in the engine cab. That way I would be in position to line the yard switches as we made our way north to the main line. From there the switches are electric and lined for us by a tower operator, Running the Engine  the same guy that gives us permission to enter the main, by means of a color light signal.

We would work our way to the station, about three quarters of a mile. Chicago union station is a rare double header station. Trains arrive and depart from both the south and north sides. After moving our train from the south side to the north side it becomes necessary to then back it into a north side track. To do this, I would bail off the engine at the point where the back up move will start. Stop the train by radio when it is clear of the last switch, and get in the cab car. When the proper signal was displayed, (indicating we were lined into our track) I would communicate this information to the engineer over the radio, and he would begin backing up. I would call out the signals to him and give approximate distances, as required by the rules.

On this particular day, we were shoving through the whole 'plant' to reach track three. We were shoving down the lead and across 17 or so other tracks to get there. And just ever so faintly, I heard a strange noise. It reminded me of the sound the axe makes when you are chopping down a large tree – kathunk! "Amtrak job 7, THAT WILL DO".

Sure enough, we were on the ground in the middle of the plant, tying up the entire north end of the station. Nothing could come in and nothing could get out. This right at 'Happy Hour', the beginning of the afternoon rush and busiest time of the day. This was the bad news.

It developed that a car in the middle of our train had a bad truck, one that didn't rotate easily beneath the coach. And when it got to a spot where the track turned a bit, this truck (and the car) went straight. Straight off the rail. It made that 'kathunk' as it derailed, and I just did hear that sound. So that was the good news - we stopped so fast that there was minimal track damage. And just that one truck was off the rail. Pretty amazing, actually. Shoving another couple carlengths would not have been unusual at all, and stopping only when it became plainly visible that cars were going (willy nilly) every whichaway. And that would have torn up the plant to where it would have taken days instead of hours to repair. So even though Happy Hour was a colossal mess that lasted until after ten PM, I got a pat on the back and an 'atta' boy'. Those are hard to come by, and as everyone knows: it takes 15 atta' boys to equal one 'oh shit'. The ‘strange noise’ rule got me one of them.