"Oh, dude," is not what you want to hear

“Oh, dude.” Jeff’s face went white before he buried it in his hands and collapsed with a sigh of abject defeat, slumping deep into the beat up, tan pleather sofa in the twilight darkened trainmaster office.

We started our shift a couple hours earlier with a hefty challenge added to our already demanding operating plan: get a second Nashville train out of the yard to relieve mounting yard track congestion. At this terminal, we operated with two trainmasters on each 12-hour shift. Tonight, I, still a rookie, was paired with Jeff, a more seasoned and very savvy railroader. He was also a great guy to work with, congenial and calm under pressure.

The preceding day shift had built both the Nashville trains The extra second train would actually depart ahead of the normally-scheduled Nashville train, and was ready to pull, crew on board, just waiting for the dispatcher to line the route and clear them to roll east out of the yard and onto the mainline.

Getting any train out of our yard, heading east, was an act just short of a miracle. A few miles east, our mainline crossed the very busy north-south mainline of another railroad. The junction was controlled by the other railroad. So, our dispatchers had to wait until the dispatchers from the other railroad opened up a window for our trains to move through the junction. This could often take hours.

I don’t recall now which happened first, but two things occurred at just about the same time. Our second Nashville train finally got the signal to depart the yard, and the engineer on the same train reported a low battery indication from his end of train device, asking what he should do.

Now, I was a newbie, and I knew the operating rules. The railroad drilled them—hammered them, pounded them—into us during intensive training, with daily quizzes and tests. I knew trains were not supposed to depart the terminal unless the EOT was working properly. (The current federal regulation reads: “The rear unit batteries shall be sufficiently charged at the initial terminal or other point where the device is installed and throughout the train's trip to ensure that the end-of-train device will remain operative until the train reaches its destination.”)

So, what did I do? I told the engineer to hold up while we replaced his EOT with a working device. Seemed like the obviously correct thing to do. I soon found I was all alone in that thinking!

Our dispatcher was apoplectic. The route was lined and there were other trains moving east and west on our line that would soon be affected if the Nashville train didn’t pull NOW. Plus, it was making our dispatcher look like an idiot to the other railroad’s dispatcher who controlled the junction to the east. Our dispatcher was already taking serious heat from the other railroad. What’s going on? Why is your train not moving? Why did you ask for the track if you weren’t ready? Do you realize what you’re doing to us? Is this your first day on the job? Get me your boss on the line. Moron.

Meanwhile, arranging to switch an EOT out was not as easy or fast as I assumed. Do we have a good EOT not assigned to a train? Who can get it and get out there to make the swap? You made the call, are you going to do it? How long will it take to test and confirm? Do you realize the end of the train is buried deep in the yard, hemmed in on both sides by occupied tracks and on-going switching operations? Did you even think of any of this? Idiot.

Things quickly reached a crescendo.

Now, “taking down” a signal is a big—huge—deal. Once a route is lined for a train, with all the signals displaying aspects permitting the train to roll onward, it is highly unusual, and very undesirable, to undo that, changing the signals in front of the train back to stop. Multiply the badness of the situation by a hundred when considering how precious a signal to head east out of the yard was.

The other railroad forced our dispatcher to take the signal down. And they seemed in a mood to punish us.

Our second Nashville train was stuck in our yard. Our short little yard, built in the first half of the 20th century for the short train cars and short trains of the first half of the 20th century. The second Nashville train, assembled from cuts of cars that took up three entire separate yard tracks, now stretched through the yard, from end to end, cutting off access to the engine house from trains arriving from the west, and severely hampering our normal east end switching operations, our ability to build the rest of the eastbound trains. Defeat snatched from the jaws of victory.

So, things weren’t looking too good for the second Nashville train. Or the first Nashville train. Or the Indianapolis train. Or the Cleveland train. The Cumberland train. The Albany train. My continued gainful employment.

Oh, dude.

Eyes clenched closed, rubbing his temples, Jeff arrived at an idea. “I’ll be back,” he said as he bolted to his feet, grabbed the keys to the truck, and scurried past me, down the hall toward the exit. I heard a roaring engine and tires spinning on gravel as he launched out of the parking lot in the big white company pick-up.

Unbeknownst to me, Jeff had raced the two dozen miles to the regional operations center, gotten on the phone with his informal peer contacts at the other railroad, and negotiated an opening—a reprieve from certain disaster. Railroad diplomacy at its finest.

Within an hour, the second Nashville train, with its swapped-out and fully functioning EOT, got a much-needed second chance to depart, and did so with all deliberate haste.

The rest of the night went relatively smoothly. All the outbound trains departed as planned. The yard crews kept up with the switching. I’m not sure the day shift, or the big bosses at the terminal or division, ever knew what transpired, how heroic Jeff was in saving the night.

What would I do differently? I’m still conflicted about that. Technically, I followed the rules. From a practical standpoint, many would argue that a low battery is not a dead battery. Heck, it could have been a false indication. The EOT was working. Who is to say if the EOT was sufficiently charged or not? Just get the train out of the yard and deal with it later, if need be. There are provisions in the operating rules for a train that loses its EOT en route.

If that second Nashville train hadn’t gotten out of the yard, if we couldn’t get all the other trains out, or couldn’t keep up with the switching, the effects would quickly mount, and ripple outward into the system. Inbound trains would have to be held out of the yard if there was no room. We—I—could have created a mess—a very expensive, colossal mess—that would take several days, or a week, to straighten out. Jeff knew this and his instincts took over.

Thanks, dude.