On Time

by Paul Kozerski

  Either, they contented themselves with the least exhaustive route, merely collecting undeserved paychecks and causing no real damage. Or, they felt impelled to leave their signature at each duty station along the way and under the guise of noble company stewardship, parlayed minor league bullyboy efforts into serious posturing for the front office - unconcerned with the cost or wreckage left in their path.

  DeLynne was of the second lot. A self-anointed crusader, he’d started out marking time in a few harmless apprenticeship roles. But, he now traveled about the CC&S realm with a tailor-made job title and manned revolving duty stations about the pike. Spuriously cutting back on train yard supplies and deferring general maintenance as a material manager, he actually served in the role of an undercover investigator, rating CC&S locales for personnel reductions, consolidation, and entire closings.

  Dee’s backing came by way of a powerful uncle ensconced as manager of the southeastern region and he lunched thoroughly off his family appointed rank, riding the crest of a mounting tidal wave. With just a couple more assignments as this he could top off his personnel file. Then, he’d return to a hero’s welcome and commence a leisurely pursuit of back home status. In that regard, a new golf magazine subscription had been placed and he was already investigating prime country club memberships.

  Family appointed management like Dee weren’t well versed in true work-a-day matters. But, they still had an effective system of badgering and baiting. They kept an eye open for pawns among the locals and through subordinate job assignments, set them about as unwitting barometers for the day-to-day pulse of things. Yet, here, there was even more at play. This man had a personal motive in his work that ran much deeper.

  Young Dee had started out as summer college help in a hometown freight terminal. And, as it can be, when callow rookies are sown among the coarse soil of old hands, he endured a stiff initiation. An array of awkward chores and demeaning tasks were dumped on him, including a dose of veteran scorn.

  He survived on a gutful of pure revenge and made up his mind early on, that the day would come when all of the cheap laughs would be paid back ten times over and every single yard on this whole road would fear him.

  That pledge remained good ever since. Cunning and suspicious, Dee had learned to parcel out his hangman justice in a smart and ruthless, though thoroughly rulebook-sanctioned, way. He fancied his self-appointed role as a proper instrument of subjugation, issuing discipline like a kind of traveling grand inquisitor and righting petty wrongdoings - always in the company’s name - among the hourly herd.

  To that end, Dee was conscientious and detail oriented. He took pains to know every single thing about a given duty station’s personnel and now leaned back in his chair, closing the last employee folder. No real surprises were found here. Except for a few of the ex-servicemen’s combat records, this bunch was as humdrum as they came. Just another gaggle of lowbrow homegrown types with a chunk of East Europeans and some Latins mixed in, both of which he considered as outsiders.

  A couple of employee files did stand out though and they curiously regarded one single family by the name of Graczyk. Dee had merely pondered the silly arrangement of surname letters at first, guessing how it might be pronounced. Yet looking beyond, he discovered an interesting history. As an engineer and yard switchman, the family head and youngest son were both employed here. At one time there’d been another boy, as well.

  The senior was one Józef A. and Dee recalled him as the engine driver he’d met and briefly probed a few days ago. Man number 5728 was what he’d remembered. Names didn’t matter to Dee. He preferred regarding his wards impersonally, like he would with any other company asset. After all, wasn’t that only what any of them really were?

  The obvious deceit in 5728’s work record irritated Dee. Nearly forty years of service with the company and not so much as a missed day of work, late call, or single demerit to his record? Impossible.

  As a student of human nature, Dee knew better. Nobody was that squeaky clean - just slick enough to get away with things. Scrape the gilding from any dime store saint and you always found just plain old plaster beneath. He’d bet the farm here again, that with the right touch of stage setting, he could prove the same true.

  Dee looked to a leather journal resting beside him. It was his demerit logbook and a personal gauge of disciplinary success. A brace of commonplace enemy scalps were hosted within, all lifted from throughout the company. But Dee was always on a lookout for the crown jewel to complete his collection. And a seniority number like 5728 would offer the perfect fit.

  Yet, even leery Dee did admit a grudging respect for the guy’s work record. He made road engineer in less than two years and seemed a competent smoke maker, who always brought his trains in, on time. Once, he’d even hauled the fast mail. Then a downstate wreck killed his spunk.

  5728 had periodically been offered numerous jobs in management. Included were road foreman of engines, traveling engineer, and accident investigator. But he’d turned every single one down and as the highest-ranking seniority number in this subdivision, seemed satisfied to just plod along, running the yard’s turn-around local.

  Dee flipped back a couple of pages to review the facts of that long ago wreck. It happened in late ’40, involving a Pacific-styled engine, wagonload of kids, and their trespass across CC&S property. He made a mental note to have a copy of the accident report sent over. Thinking more of the matter, Dee checked the engine number. 2105. He wondered if it was still around and available.

  The other Graczyk personnel file was that of employee number 8812, James, E. Perusing the young man’s recent road crew test results, DeLynne was impressed. He hadn’t seen such high marks in a long time. And 8812’s essay question replies showed exceptional articulation. But, most curiously, in the time since taking the test, 8812 hadn’t yet applied for a road fireman, student slot. Now, why was that?

  Dee decided to talk with 8812. Since there was no yard clerk here and a position would soon to be posted, he might check 8812 out for the job. The young pin puller could be a good, practical fit and as always, just maybe, a little something more.

  DeLynne scanned the paltry, few-hundred-car switch yard in thought. If he recalled correctly, Chester Phinnesey, the chief of motive power for the entire road came from a start in this very place. He might well have begun work here about the same time 5728 did. And maybe something in that common dirt origin explained why this piddling little dump had kept its sacred cow status, while being so pathetically out of date.

  Dee skimmed the list of demolition and scrap yard contacts he’d been gathering. It brought a baleful gleam to his eyes. Yeah boys, he thought again. Enjoy it while you can. Your cozy little nook ain’t long for this world.

  The young man reached for a small pocket mirror, angling it toward himself. He chased some straightening fingertips along his slicked red hair, then smiled at his visage. Looking good, you handsome rascal, you.

  A passing shadow crashed unexpectedly through the window glass. It splashed over Dee in a broad wave that made him drop the mirror and twitch in irritated surprise. It was the yard’s big, casual laborer. A pick, rake, wrecking bar, and shovel, were all balanced easily atop one powerful shoulder as the man stopped at the horseshoe pits.

  Dee watched him in a critical study. Since no personnel file existed on the guy, he was likely just part of the dying-out boomer generation. One of the temporary hands paid for each day’s work out of petty cash. Even so, Dee sensed something more at play here.

  Boots was returning from a yet another messenger run to the roundhouse, when DeLynne crooked a beckoning finger.

  “Who is that?”

  Boots shrugged.

  “A spare hand.”

  Dee sighed.

  “I figured that much. What I’m asking, is what do you know about him?”

  “What’s to know? He’s just a stray cat that showed u
p one day and stayed. Helps out transferring cargo from bad order cars. Does wintertime switch cleaning and right-of- way maintenance. He’s good, reliable help, and not afraid to work.”

  “How long’s he been here?”

  “A few years. Why?”

  Dee rocked back in his swivel chair.

  “‘Cause I know the look of a yard bird, when I see one. And if that boy ain’t never worn no stripes, he sure oughta’ be.”

  Boots fended the notion.

  “No way. He’s strong as an ox, but gentle as a lamb. In all the time he’s been around I’ve never even heard him cuss.”

  Dee brushed around Boots, starting for the door.

  “Uh-huh. Well, maybe we’ll just see.”

  Ulees was busy swinging his sledgehammer at a pit’s wooden framing as Dee approached.

  “Hi there.”

  Ulees came up short, surprised to hear a greeting from the man who’d ignored any of his own, previous bids. Still, he offered a peaceable nod.

  “Gonna get all that taken care of?” Asked DeLynne.

  “I am.”

  The yard manager flashed a cool smile.

  “Good. Say, Hoss, what’s your name?”

  “Ulees.”

  Dee repeated.

  “Ulees. Haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Guess, my people tried naming me after that one army general-president. But no one could get it right. So, they stopped partway.”

  “I see. Ulees - what?

  “McCall.”

  Dee sized the man up with unashamed scrutiny.

  “You got a mixed blood look about you. Who’s your people?”

  “Sprinklin’ of Barbados, Créole, and maybe some old blood Cherokee, I guess.”

  “Ah. Where y’all from?”

  Ulees straightened with the question and Dee found himself taking a step back. But there was no threat in the bigger man’s action. Instead, his answer came in a curious, almost self-indicting tone.

  “Mississippi.”

  Dee’s feigned smile returned.

  “That so? Me too. Where ‘bouts?”

  “Claiborne County.”

  Dee assigned the second point to memory.

  “Southwest corner. Poor place, ain’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  So, what’d y’all do down there in ole Claiborne County?”

  “Field hand work.”

  And how’d you come to wind up this far north?”

  “Train.”

  “Bet it wasn’t on no Pullman.”

  Ulees squinted.

  “Suh?”

  “Nuthin’.”

  Regarding his highly polished oxfords, Dee cut to the quick.

  “Say Hoss, you ever done time?”

  Ulees’ eyes locked on the man in truth.

  “No suh, I ain’t.”

  “You’re not liein’ to me now, are ya?”

  The laborer’s face went taut.

  “I am not.”

  Dee’s gaze cut away.

  “Uh-huh. Okay. Well, that’s a good thing.”

  He offered an encouraging motion toward the horseshoe pits.

  “You just go on ahead and get that all cleaned out and leveled off. Do us a good job, now, hear?”

  “I will.”

  Started back toward his office, Dee caught sight of the other local person he shared interest in.

  Jim Graczyk saw Ulees and the new yard boss end their talk while he was crossing the last departure tracks. As he neared, the new man raised an arm, graciously beckoning his way. Jim glanced about for someone else and was surprised when Dee indicated otherwise.

  “Yes, you! Can you spare a moment?”

  Jim touched curious eyes with Ulees.

  “Ah, yeah. Sure.”

  Dee’s manufactured smile reappeared.

  “Begging off early tonight?”

  “Looked to be a slack one,” answered Jim. “With the town centennial celebration winding down this weekend, I thought I’d mark off and go check things out. But, I’ll stay if you want.”

  DeLynne dismissed the offer with a hearty head snap.

  “Heck no! Friday night is indeed the best time for a guy to be out and about. Might just do the same thing myself, later on.”

  He then offered his hand, something not done for Ulees.

  “Don’t believe we’ve formally met. DeLynne Leplak.”

  Jim exchanged courtesies at face value.

  “Jim Graczyk. What can I do for you?”

  “Maybe there’s something you can do of benefit for both of us. Can you step inside my office a minute?”

  “Okay.”

  From his desk DeLynne lifted a folder containing the latest round of road fireman exams.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your grade on this here fireman’s test.”

  Jim grimaced.

  “Do that bad, did I?”

  “Not hardly. Just the opposite. The trainmaster showed me everyone’s score and by far you got the highest of all 17 men in the division who took the test - or anyone else around here for a good, long time. Your wording and logic on the essay questions show a certain style that you don’t usually see in this line of work.”

  Jim dismissed any special talent.

  “Composition always came easily to me in school. No big deal.”

  DeLynne searched his face.

  “Well, communication skills are very important these days. But, what also caught my eye was that since taking the test, you haven’t yet marked onto the student fireman’s board. Mind if I ask why not?”

  “Just delaying the inevitable. I will soon, I suppose.”

  DeLynne cocked an ear.

  “Don’t think I catch your drift.”

  “My dad and brother are the real family railroaders,” said Jim. “ I just got dragged along.”

  Listening to him talk, DeLynne realized that he actually liked something about the young man.

  “Don’t care for the work?”

  “Not really.”

  “I appreciate your honesty. So, why stay with it?”

  Jim offered a weak smile.

  “Ironclad family tradition, I guess.”

  “And just maybe a serious waste of talent.”

  Jim blinked.

  “Now, I don’t understand.”

  “What I’m saying is that maybe it’s time you considered something else in this industry. I’ve seen your school grade transcript, too. And anyone who seems to be as sharp as you, is obviously suited for better things than settin’ out car cuts or notching a throttle.

  “All of railroading is headed for some big, upcoming changes. And it’s going to be in the market for worthwhile people to groom and move on and up, in the company. The work’d be hard, ain’t no doubt there. Might even require a pretty tough skin at times. But, I for one, believe in its future and would like to help move it down that path with any deserving people that I come across.

  “The reason I stopped you is that this yard is going to be in the market for office help. Someone to shoulder the administration load and serve as a link between me, Mister Conroy, the yard, and the company. After seeing this test, I feel that could be you. Think you might be interested?”

  The unheralded offer staggered Jim.

  “I don’t know. I guess I never considered anything like it.”

  “Well, maybe you should. It would start out with a five percent pay increase and has pretty much regular, daytime hours.”

  More salary and dayshift work made Jim take serious notice.

  “Sure sounds good. But, I don’t have any kind of real office training.”

  DeLynne hissed.

  “That penny ante stuff can be taught. I could send
downtown for some kind of desk jockey. But they wouldn’t know a spike mall from a smoke jack. There, it’s your yard experience that matters. The job requires someone who understands traffic, its patterns and people; someone who knows the operation, has a strong background in car movement, and good verbal skills, like you.

  “There’s no reason that with some night school courses a guy like yourself couldn’t work his way up, to things in the freight agency, operating department, even sales or marketing - good paying white-collar stuff. So, what do you say?”

  The possibilities offered by this total stranger were tempting.

  “Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but could I have some time to think it over?”

  DeLynne gave an accommodating nod.

  “Is the rest of this weekend long enough?”

  “Yeah,” Jim replied, still mildly shocked.

  “Good. You can give me your answer on Monday, then. Now, go on out and enjoy your hometown celebration.”

  “I will,” said Jim. “Thanks again.”

  Dee watched one man depart and the other working. He considered the stout telephone set obliquely across his desk. A moment later, he closed the office door, dialing for long distance.

  “Hey, Uncle Bud. Yes, this is Dee. How are you, sir? Great! And Auntie Helen? Wonderful. Me? Just fine. I’m all settled in.

  “Say, any new word on the you-know-what transition dates? Uh-huh. Good. I’m makin’ up a list of salvage companies, for once everything is official. All we need to know is when to start that wreckin’ ball. Very well, okay.

  “What’s that - my love life? Ha-ha. Ain’t got much time for that right now. From what I’ve seen, these Midwestern gals aren’t my type. Anyway, I’m a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. You know. A hotshot Romeo.

  “Well, I just wanted to say a quick hello to everyone. So, pass along my best, will ya? Thanks.

  “Oh say, Uncle Bud. One more thing. Think you might have Sheriff Coughlin check into a little something for me?”