Since I moved away from Vail over thirty-five years ago, I haven’t seen many trains. Vail, of course, is on the Union Pacific railroad (formerly the Chicago & Northwestern). When I was growing up there, freight trains were a common occurrence. Trains are still a regular daily event many times over, but the cargo today is mostly coal moving from the coal fields of The Powder River Basin in Montana and Wyoming to the electric generating plants in Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan.
Growing up in the community, the makeup of trains was much different. Although the passing of trains through town was less frequent than today, they were much more interesting. Boxcars, tankers, automobile racks, grain hoppers, and flatcars were the general variety that were featured in most trains. Occasionally, a train would transfer a specific railcar to the siderail, or pick one up.
We were not supposed to play around the tracks, or any sitting railcars along the railway siding. But who was going to catch us? The most interesting cars to explore were the boxcars. If the doors were open and the boxcar was empty, it provided an opportunity to examine it to see if any hobos left something behind. I don’t recall ever experiencing anything but clean and empty boxcars. But we always knew that a hobo could show up in town.
At least two hobos showed up at our door during my adolescence. Mom told us kids not to answer when they came knocking, but it was difficult when you opened the kitchen door and across the small entryway was a man standing where you could see each other. “Tell ‘em to go up to the Catholic Church and ask Father Clark for some food,” mom would yell from beyond. The hobo always began by asking for a drink of water. “Sorry, we don’t have any,” was a poor excuse, but the hobo got the drift.
I could never figure out how they chose our house in the absolute middle of town. None of the hobos were ever mean or showed potentially violent behavior. They were always kind and pleasant. Yeah, they could smell to high heaven; I guess that’s why mom directed them to the closest thing to heaven in town, the Catholic Church. The town’s Presbyterian population may have disagreed, but the Presbyterian Manse was just a block up the street, and mom would still direct their blessings toward St. Ann’s Church.
Railroads no longer leave boxcar doors open. Besides a safety issue, open doors create a drag effect, using more power to pull the train. The safety issue is a no-brainer. Newer boxcars have a different design that allows for the doors to be closed and locked once they are empty. The older boxcars were manipulated by many (hobos, dock workers, etc.) to a point where the doors didn’t slide shut reliably. Additionally, hobos faded out in the 1940s, and the few that visited Vail in the 1950s were probably more like tramps and bums than a real-live hobo.
I remain fascinated by trains. But I miss the days of roaming the siderails seeking excitement and mystery.
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