National Geographic: Love Those Trains Page #3

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of the railroad,

so I'm the first conductor

in the family.

They have to be pretty

responsible people.

They can't be irresponsible at all.

Aren't you pretty young

to be an engineer?

I hear that about 30 times a day.

If I couldn't handle the job,

I wouldn't be here.

Silverton is only 45 miles

from Durango,

but to get there, the train must climb

almost 3,000 feet

In the 1870s,

huge discoveries of ore were made

in the mountains surrounding Silverton

but there was no economical way

to get the ore out.

The railroad made the mines profitable

The ore is now removed by truck.

The traffic has changed,

but the town still prospers-mining

tourist dollars.

All aboard.

As soon as the route was completed,

the drama of the train's traverse

of the Animas River Canyon

was recognized as one of the great

sights of American railroading.

In the early 1880s,

photographer William Henry Jackson

lowered himself into the canyon

to take this picture,

published in Harper's Weekly magazine.

Today's passengers can still enjoy

the same spectacle.

The ride is potentially just as

dangerous now as it was then.

A derailment could topple

the cars 200 feet into the gorge.

An extraordinary train run has been

preserved because of the dedication

of one man and the delight that

more than 100,000 people a year

take in supporting the line.

Boston has its marathon;

New Orleans its Mardi Gras.

Britt, Iowa honors hoboes.

Once a year, this small town invites

hoboes from all over the country

to drop by for a visit.

The get-together largely attracts those

who have retired from

actively riding the rails

and can now look back on their former

rag-tag wanderings with nostalgia.

Hoboes were not always so honored.

Hoboing began during hard times

after the Civil War.

And in the Great Depression,

the desperate once again took

to the rails.

Sometimes railroad police

threw them off moving trains.

Others jumped rather than face

the reception they received

when caught crossing state lines.

If we are to protect the public

of Southern California

from the indigent transient class.

They are coming here at this time,

not for the purpose of securing work,

but for the purpose of living

on relief,

stealing, or begging.

Where is your home?

Chicago.

You ride a freight all the way

from Chicago?

Yes, sir.

Well, you can ride, 'em back too,

or any way you can to get back.

We're going to see you

over the state line.

Don't come back to California

until you can come in like a man.

Hobo camps are called jungles,

and life in them has always been hard.

But in Britt, Iowa

the jungle is a place to

renew friendships and swap stories.

...in '78

Yes, yes.

Yeah, I remember you.

My memory that bad?

Now wait a minute!

Every year you get older,

you have a special privilege.

Every year you will get a little

bit better at forgetting.

Yes. I am there already.

Hoboes are known most often

by their nicknames.

"Steamtrain" was first elected

hobo king in 1973.

Now we got a young goat here,

and it's going to be

some pretty tender eating

when we get him all browned up here.

Yes, sir.

We'll have some of the

best music and some of the best food

you'll ever sit down to.

Time has reversed these hoboes' roles

once they were outcasts.

Now Britt youngsters look up to them as

knights of the open road

who seem to have lived

in a mythological age.

That's my name, see.

That's your name? Well, this is mine.

Mountain Dew. I was talking

to the hoboqueen and she says,

Would you like to be a hobo?

and I said, "Sure."

And I go, How do you be a hobo?

and she said-well, she pulled out

this kind of perfume stuff,

whatever it is-and she goes,

I acquire you prince, a hobo price.

And she put some on my forehead.

So I'm a hobo prince.

And my name is "Beer-Belly Bob."

I started out when I was about 16,

and had 12 years on and off,

different places.

Working irrigation ditches up

in Washington,

or cutting pulp wood in New York,

dong lifeguard work down

in Miami Beach,

working in a gypsum plant in Yuma,

Arizona,

washing dishes in California

You know, different stuff like that.

Working in the coal mines,

but they gave me a day shift.

When I went in, it was dark

and when I come out, it was dark,

and I worked there two weeks.

I told them

when they put windows in there,

I'd come back to work.

How long did you hobo?

From when to when?

About, let's see, 1931 to '38.

Something like that.

What's the satisfaction?

Of being free.

Being free.

In other words, not having to

account to anybody for your actions.

As the sun sets,

the hoboes gather around a fire,

and balladeers recall the hard days

of depression times.

...my wandering.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

If the railroad doesn't get you,

then the bread lines must,

And it looks like I'm never going

to cease my wandering.

When most railroad buffs

think of trains,

they think of passenger trains.

But many of those most devoted

to trains have found their life work

with the railroads.

Whether they maintain the racks

or work on the trains themselves,

the big business for them is freight,

moving everything from coal to lettuce.

And although much of the public thinks

railroads are a dying industry,

in fact they are thriving.

Deregulation has permitted them

to abandon money-losing lines,

and new techniques, like piggyback

hauling of truck trailers

and containers, attract new customers.

The mass-market shipping of fresh

produce by rail

enables farmers in California

to sell lettuce to buyers

Lettuce harvesting has become

an assembly-line operation-

cutter, packer, sprayer, box-closer.

Today's lettuce that

we've got is probably the best

we've had in about a week and a half.

It's 54 to 55 pounds absolutely clean.

Derek Derdivanis is Sales Manager of

the Admiral Packing Company in Salinas.

He sells lettuce by the carload

to buyers all over the country.

Just call us back with that order,

will you?

You know.

The one you got in your back pocket.

A refrigerator car

holds 30,000 heads of lettuce.

This one is bound east

for New York City.

The morning after the lettuce

is picked, the Admiral lettuce car

has been joined to a 50-car train

called the "Salad Bowl Express."

Five Southern Pacific engines

are needed to pull the train

over a 7,000-foot-high pass

in the Sierra Nevada mountains.

The route climbs toward Donner Pass.

On average,

and avalanches have obstructed travelers

as long as the pass has been used.

In November 1846, blizzards trapped

the emigrant Donner party here.

Thirty-five died

of starvation and exposure.

Some survivors resorted to cannibalism.

In the spring of 1982,

ten feet of snow fell in 12 days

in the High Sierras.

Southern Pacific stopped all trains

across Donner Pass.

Diverting traffic cost $100,000 a day.

Snow fighters tried to keep

the lines open

with spreaders-snow plows that push

the huge drifts to the side.

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