Reading the young man’s mind that day, Guzmán had amicably broken the silence to move things along.
“Anything you don’t understand, Jimmy?”
“No.” He’d answered. “Guess not.”
“I figured it was best to get things taken care of right away. You know, just over and done with.”
“Yeah. Best way. Right. Thanks, Sunday.”
“Okay, then. You just sign and it’ll be a done deal.”
Jim took up a pen and eyes low, purposely delayed the formation of each single letter as he endorsed the card. But, soon enough, his signature and the matter, were over.
Jim and Sunday shared a joint study of the drying ink, then Guzmán was gone.
“Take care, kid.”
“You too.”
Little since had actually changed in Jim’s work environment. He was still among the same people he’d known his entire life, still privy to the same everyday banter between crews, their talk of cranky automobiles, irksome in-laws - and now, maybe thankless kids.
But, he’d wondered, from then forward, how would anyone think of him? Would they speak in hushed tones as he might pass, or simply write him off as the opposition and pretend that he wasn’t even there? And all the result of a moment’s stupid pride.
As far as the arranging of shipments, loads, cars, and trains, DeLynne had been right. An unrealized organizational part of Jim had surfaced to thrive in his new role. But the rest of his foray into the salaried world had been tough; sitting witness to a parade of petty crew write-ups levied against friends by his hardboiled boss. And now came the grounds tours he personally was assigned to lead, for demolition companies indifferently bidding on the yard’s ruin.
Jim put all such thoughts aside today though, as he descended the final steps, toward sounds of his mother’s housekeeping. Just beyond the door, he’d find her. And on this, the birthday of his departed, unknown sister, he conjured a bright face that the woman deserved.
The family’s lost baby was one of those topics not purposely ignored, but understood as best left unspoken. And although again, she wouldn’t be mentioned now, as he reached for the doorknob, Jim was determined not to burden his mother with any distress of his own.
“Morning, Mom!”
Sarah smiled at her son’s buoyant greeting.
“Hello dear. Sleep well?”
“Never better!”
“Good. Got time for waffles or an egg?”
He shook his head.
“Nope. Just some quick java.”
Filling his cup from the always simmering pot, today Jim had an uneasy sense of being scrutinized. Sure enough, when he came about, Sarah’s eyes were honed to an acute gaze that he’d never before seen. Her attention was discomforting and Jim tried lightening the moment with an exaggerated tug at his belt, buttons, and zipper.
“I forget something?”
The woman’s eyes softened, but remained.
“No. Nothing. I just want you to know how proud we are of you.”
His disquiet increased.
“Thanks, Mom. But why?”
“For being the first of our family to work without a shovel or crowbar. The first Graczyk businessman, ever.”
Jim shrank at the unwarranted praise. Additionally, he couldn’t help but sense something more, veiled in her manner.
“I’m only a clerk, Mom. A long way from anything big time. And maybe just another yard job not long for this world.”
Sarah raised her chin.
“Tut tut! It’s the biggest step anyone in this family or whole neighborhood has ever made and we’re very proud of you.”
He blew a dismissive snort.
“Well, you, anyway.”
The woman shook her head.
“Nonsense. Your father, too. He just isn’t obvious with his feelings.”
Jim’s gaze swept aside.
“Certain ones, maybe.”
Sarah locked her jaw in declaration.
“Always remember that your dad is a simple guy, who grew up in a tough home, in tough times. Nothing was ever just handed to him and more often, some little thing he might’ve had was either taken or even given away. Maybe he doesn’t handle change so well. But, you’d go a long way to find a more honest and loyal man.”
Jim sighed in agreement.
“I know and if I could, I’d change things around here in a blink. For him, me, and us. But, I can’t. Just like I could never be his kind of railroader. If I had to work there at all, switching was what I liked to do. Road crewing was his dream for me. Not mine. And to be honest, where I am now, I really don’t know that I want, either.”
Sarah absently swiped a dish towel at some errant water drops.
“So, if railroading isn’t what you want in life, can you say what is?”
Jim stalled at a vague implication in her words, tossing out a quick alibi.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you do,” she countered. “But, you just haven’t thought about how to get it.”
Mother and son’s eyes welded in a moment of unspoken communion.
“Gotta go,” he said. “Love you.”
A new grin curled Sarah’s mouth.
“I know. See you later.”
As if recalling a forgotten item, she drew a hasty breath.
“Oh, dear, do you think you could do a really big favor for me on your way home?”
Jim answered without hesitation.
“Name it.”
“Well, I’m having a special letter typed up for your father and wondered if you’d save me a trip by picking it up after work.”
“Sure.” He said. “But remember, I don’t get off until six. Won’t all of the town offices be closed by then?”
“No. No. It’s a lot closer than that - at the Siwicki’s.”
A cold surge flushed through him.
“Where?”
“The Siwicki’s.” Sarah repeated. “Lorraine is doing it.”
His look became one of a man who’d rather chance gunfire.
“Gee Mom, I don’t know.”
“Why not? They’re nice people. She’s a nice girl.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then, why?”
His words fell off and he again, fell prey to Sarah’s discerning eyes. Her reply came soft and sage-like, issued with that special affinity, which mothers have for troubled sons.
“One thing I’ve learned over the years is that sometimes a situation doesn’t have a simple, right or wrong answer; just what works out best for the people involved.
“The letter will be ready after your work trick is over. So, will you please stop by and get it, as a personal favor for me?”
Feeling naked and unworthy, Jim bobbed his head.
“Yeah. I will.”
“Good.”
Sarah reached for her special sugar bowl slush fund and drew out a crisp five-dollar bill.
“Please give this to Lorraine in payment. Explain that I hope it covers her time and supplies.”
Jim considered the new silver certificate, before slipping it in his wallet.
“Could you maybe let them know that I was coming by?”
She powdered his cheek with a kiss.
“Sure, honey.”
“Thanks.”
As always, Sarah playfully shooed him toward the door, dismissing both her son and the topic with that familiar wave of hands.
“Uwazaj!”
That night’s trek was nothing short of a gallows-walk for Jim Graczyk. The only thing worse than his sense of dread was an irrational sprig of hope deep inside that he yet held for himself and Lorraine. He’d rehearsed a nonchalant dialog numerous times all through the day. Still, the young man felt inadequate and unprepared, when actually moun
ting the home’s cement steps.
As Jim feared, it was Lorraine who answered. Even casually dressed she looked resplendent and with her appearance his determined preparations withered, leaving a wretched dunce standing in their place.
Lorraine, as well, had constructed a casual greeting of her own. Though, for her too, any feigned lightness fell off in a mix of surprise and discomfort, finally coming face to face.
“Jim?!”
“Hi.”
The pair both did their best, in forcing neutral smiles. Yet, each threatened to capsize at any moment and Lorraine thankfully steered the matter along with some cumbersome formality.
“You’re here for the typing.”
“Yeah. Mom asked me to stop by after work and pick it up.”
She graciously held open the front door.
“Um, come in, please.”
Jim declined.
“I’m fine here. Thanks.”
“No. Please do.”
To speed things along, he obliged, but stopped just within the threshold as Lorraine stepped away.
“I’ll get that letter.”
Cooking smells and mealtime sounds added to his feeling of isolation and Jim busied himself in a quick study of his shoes. The kitchen activity ceased though and a new voice sounded genially from across the room.
“Who is that? Well, hello there, Jimmy.”
It was Lorraine’s mother and Jim offered another hasty greeting.
“Hello, Missus Siwicki.”
“How are your folks these days?”
“Fine, thanks. You?”
“Good.”
He glanced courteously beyond.
“Mister Siwicki?”
“Running late as always. But, doing well, also. You be sure to give your folks our best.”
Jim nodded.
“I will.”
Niceties exhausted, the woman lingered on. Thankfully, Lorraine came to the rescue, reappearing with the correspondence.
“Here you go.”
Jim took the missive, subtly offering the folded five-dollar bill in exchange.
“My mom hopes this will cover your time and cost.”
“Oh my.”
Lorraine’s eyes flared at what represented nearly a half-day’s current secretarial wage. But she graciously waved it off.
“No, no. I couldn’t possibly. Besides, the little bit of honest-to-goodness work made me feel good.”
The hand and bill remained extended.
“Well, maybe something for Geri, then.”
Lorraine’s refusal was firm. She offered a head shake and overlaid her hands on his, gently curling the money in his palm as she turned him away. Her near-intimate gesture drew a flash of scrutiny from the older woman.
“Absolutely not. You tell your folks that it was all my pleasure.”
Jim conceded the point, grateful to be ushered from the house.
“Well, okay.”
Lorraine motioned to his new manner of dress, politely changing subjects and purposely speaking loud enough to be heard as the door swept shut, behind them.
“So, you took the other job? How wonderful! How is it working out?”
He offered a diminishing shrug
“Fine.”
“Good.”
The couple found themselves briefly sealed off on the porch, allowing Lorraine to speak low and directly.
“Jim. About that other night. I want you to know that there’s no hard feelings. It was no one’s fault. What happened - just did. Okay? I wish you the best of luck in your new job. And I know that you’ll do well in life. So, bye-bye now.”
Focused on the impeccably typed envelope, Jim bobbed his head.
“Yeah. You too.”
He turned away and started down the porch steps.
CHAPTER 26
Although falling pitifully short of Mayhew, Ulees’ hopes of cleansing rain waters did materialize for another part of the country. A barrage of heavy storms crashed ashore from the Atlantic Ocean and pounded the southeastern coastline. Heading inland, they finally played themselves out still deep in the Ohio Valley. Not a solitary drop of rain arrived to quench these parched autumn plains. Yet, their effect was felt in the Midwest just as certainly, by flash flooding that swamped trackage and washed out critical bridge embankments of neighboring southern roads.
Insignificant and soon to be dismantled Mayhew found itself instantly transformed into a gateway for the funneling of much diverted northwest traffic. The yard’s few phone extensions lit up in unison when word first arrived of the trouble on Tuesday afternoon. Its normally dozing teletype machine likewise, bolted to life with a frothing launch into high gear. All would stay hot for the ensuing three day crisis.
Considering recent word of the yard’s demise, the expected response might’ve been for town workers to capitalize on the turmoil with a show of force and a work slowdown. But that wasn’t the nature of things around there. The place would stay a loyal beast of burden to the end, more concerned with its own self-respect in getting the job done, than in issuing any payback. And when an emergency call went out for all available employees to report in as soon as possible - even with their longtime workplace in its death throes - veteran crews of all three tricks arrived to slog through the mess as a synchronized unit.
Its regular yard engines were already overloaded and Boots pressed any available road units into additional service. Manning a 4-6-2 Hudson, even Joe’s turnaround crew became just one more switching gang.
The yard’s meager paging system was taxed beyond capacity. The small number of first generation cab radios, too weak for engines to send or receive, just a few tracks away. So, Jim Graczyk also became an ordained runner, personally delivering messages to engine crews and switchmen on the fly.
Darting between rolling car cuts, laboring engines, and the onslaught of detoured through-trains, Jim gathered up arrived manifests from conductors by the handful. He feverishly logged, sorted, and reassigned cars, contents, and destinations; creating new worksheets for both switcher and outbound crews. Between office tasks, Jim even acted as an extra pin-puller, helping to keep the yard’s own business in motion during the emergency.
Mayhew workers camped out with their jobs. They expertly broke down incoming freights and built up departing ones; trading off, on the taking of quarter-hour catnaps and sharing in free box lunches and gallons of black coffee supplied by Georgee’s diner. Word also came down that once the emergency was over, it’d be an open door with free drinks awaiting everyone at Eddie’s saloon.
Seventy-eight hours later the mess was cleaned up and the CC&S, along with five other Chicago railroads, back in action. As always, the Mayhew guys had risen to and bested the challenge dumped on them, their mulish determination proudly pulling off one for the record books, even as their last paychecks drew near.
Jim Graczyk stood proudly at their center. He took a slow, gratifying pull of cool, predawn air and stretched his spent muscles. For the first time, he realized how much he ached and how rank he smelled, having lived and worked in his same, sweated clothes for nearly four days. Swiping the back of a filthy hand across his equally dirty forehead, Jim shared a weary grin with exhausted coworkers. A precious feel of his lost heritage returned.
Among the last departing traffic, one train stood out to the young man. It was headed south, destined for downstate flood repair work. Loaded with flatcars of new rails, crossties, and heavy equipment, it carried additional cargo in the form of Ulees McCall. The man raised a silent hand in passing. His gesture said this would be a oneway trip and the young Graczyk offered a low wave of understanding, in return.
A couple of tracks over, Jim spied his father locking down a locomotive. Joe studied his son a moment and as always, no obvious expression betrayed the man’s thoughts. Still, Jim detected wh
at might’ve been just the slightest nod of favor.
As was his managerial style, DeLynne Leplak had come and gone throughout the traffic jam without participating. He’d tactically kept a safe, distant, and low profile whenever a possibility of actually pitching in, arose. But, he always seemed to be first in line for free meals, also managing to grab showers and fresh clothes, in midst of the action. Dee expertly deferred the phone calls of frothing freight expeditors to Boots or Jim. Yet, he was certain to be on hand as the voice of any favorable updates for the downtown office or local newspapers.
In the last hour though, even with a resounding success in hand, the man’s mood had curiously soured. Whatever dampened his joyous demeanor arrived first, by phone. Shortly, it was formalized over the teletype.
Jim and Boots were both on hand when Dee slammed down the phone receiver after a final call, hovering impatiently about the automatic typewriter. Awaiting a few lines of subsequent print, he tore the finished communiqué from its roll in a fury that nearly tipped the entire machine.
Dee stood motionless for a time afterward. Glaring at the message, his eyes spared a moment to frame Jim. He said nothing, but took the printout into his office. There, he engaged in a fresh series of animated phone calls, ranting though the heavy window glass in pantomime.
Jim and Boots were too exhausted to dwell on his peculiar actions. But DeLynne had time for nothing else. His gut was churning with notions of subversion and he simply could not believe what he read. A two bit, turn-around engineman was dictating terms to this railroad - and headquarters was actually condoning it!
To Dee, it all stunk of cheap collusion; some behind-the-scenes manipulation by schemers purposely out to trash his delicately engineered career path. Considering Jim a couple more times, he finally rapped a brusque, beckoning finger against the office window.
His words were peevish and blunt.
“Have you been honest in your dealings with me and this company?”
Disarmed, Jim could only stare.
“Well?” Dee repeated.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Just answer me.”
“Of course, I’ve been honest.” Jim defended. “Why?”
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