On Time

by Paul Kozerski

  The disciplinary team went quiet to the brash interruption and Dooley halted in place, looking on as Sunday boldly commandeered the floor.

  “Before we all waste a bunch of time and just wind up with the same answer, I move for a complete dismissal of all charges, right now.”

  Stunned faces of both sides locked on the man and his ludicrous request. The typing also ceased. But, Sunday merely smiled at the dazed stenographer.

  “Rest your fingers, honey. This won’t take long.”

  The woman rattled with a quick flush, while DeLynne’s gaze sharpened at the impudence. Yet, he patiently settled back, folding his hands in a moment’s accommodation.

  “Well now, is that a fact?”

  “Yep.”

  DeLynne swept a reinforcing motion across the stacked heap of evidence.

  “Considering what’s displayed, I certainly admire your gumption, Mister Guzmán.

  Domingo shrugged as the typing resumed.

  “All in the way you look at it, I’spose. Plenty of petty-ante justice has been dished out around here recently, that people have taken. But this time we’re not just talking about a crew blamed for a train stalled by wet sand or getting wrote-up for making smoke from a load of bad coal.”

  Sunday faced Joe and Vint.

  “These men are my compadres and no kangaroo court is going to hang them out to dry.”

  “I resent that!”

  The downtown rep shot up and jabbed a stiff finger at the accused.

  “This will be an impartial hearing and those crewmen will be dealt with fairly, for having broken rules applied to every piece of power and property owned by this railroad.”

  Sunday acknowledged the stacked documents.

  “That’s a lot of paper showing how bad engineer 5728 is supposed to be. But, does any of it talk of the many times he’s brought in a broke engine? I bet not. But, we all know better, don’t we?

  “We know how his files also show the times he was commended for lashing ‘em down with bailing wire, shoring ‘em up with blocks of wood, or whatever it took to get his trains in. Or, how many times he’s helped out at wrecks and with hurt employees. That’s how much 5728 has always cared about this company’s power and property.

  “And at the end of that dyno run, it was no different. No matter what speed that engine hit, I personally put my hand to every single crank journal. And there wasn’t one of them any warmer than a loaf of fresh oven bread. I’d bet you all a week’s pay that we could go out there right now, strip off those main rods and not find any bearing that was even scuffed.”

  DeLynne twitched with a patronizing grunt.

  “And that’s all it takes to know what kind of damage may have occurred to company goods, your personal, laying of hands?”

  The downtown envoy joined in a derisive chuckle. But, Sunday ignored both, looking instead, to the union grievance man.

  “Nothing to say, Stosh?”

  “Mister Dombeck.” Corrected the personnel rep.

  Sunday bowed in apology.

  “Sorry - Mister Dombeck.”

  The regional union rep motioned helplessly to the affidavits.

  “It’s all set there in writing, Domingo. And more.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Guzmán surveyed the man’s attire.

  “Doing pretty well these days, Stanley. Nice threads. Sweet little Pontiac, Star Chief parked outside.”

  For the first time, Dombeck bristled.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Guzmán offered a wistful smile.

  “Distractions, maybe. I remember a time, not so real long ago, when you didn’t have that kind of stuff. A time when you wore frayed chinos like the rest of us and fought twice as hard for half as much. Now, two good, long time workers you personally know, stand ready to lose everything and you have nothing to say.”

  DeLynne moaned.

  “Okay. We’ve contended enough with your interruption. Nothing pertinent is being accomplished by this diatribe. So please sit down, until given your proper chance to talk.”

  The roundhouse boss began an indulgent return to his chair.

  “Could you at least start by explaining what speed violations were made?”

  The downtown man framed Sunday with a tedious glance and lifted a copy of the company operating rules.”

  “As the union local man, you above all, should have one of these uniform code booklets and a thorough understanding of its rules.”

  Sunday blinked.

  “Gee, I think so.”

  “Good. Then, you’ll know that even if this road doesn’t run much in the way of its own passenger service, 80 miles per hour is still on the books as the maximum speed sanctioned for a high-speed steamer.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And 100 miles per hour is the maximum allowed for diesel passenger trains of other roads using our trackage. The steam dynamometer train, though, was hauling freight and therefore governed by a restrictive, 60 miles per hour.”

  Sunday digested the statement.

  “Was the stretch of test track where the steam train hit passenger speeds, approved for 100 miles per hour?”

  “Being of an experimental nature, that area is still in the development phase and has no assigned rating. Even so, that’s irrelevant here.”

  “Trains normally use it, though, right? And it is a test track.”

  “Just what is your point?”

  “Well, how about this? Since Train 2982 was a kind of test, couldn’t that fact prove that the test track easily supported its top speed?”

  “Again,” said the downtown guy, “that has no bearing on the safety charges filed here.”

  Sunday raised his voice.

  “Oh, I say it does. I say the train run by these men was also termed a special, which allowed it to operate at passenger train maximum speeds while out on an approved mainline.”

  The personnel man looked on.

  “Okay. And as I’ve just said, the maximum speed for steam powered passenger traffic on approved portions of this road is still rated at 80 miles per hour. That’s 20 miles per hour below of what is allowed for a diesel-powered passenger train and 48 miles per hour below the speed which train 2982 was ultimately clocked as having attained.”

  “I agree.” Sunday replied.

  The room went quiet. DeLynne smiled at the unintended corroboration, while Vint and Joe stared in cold disbelief.

  Again though, the roundhouse lead man never blinked.

  “So, you’re saying that the top speed attained by Special Train 2982 was logged as officially being 128 miles per hour?”

  DeLynne’s face darkened at Sunday’s tightening noose.

  “Yes.”

  Sunday looked to the company suit and Stosh Dombeck.

  “And you agree?”

  More damning nods.

  “Then maybe everything is open and shut in a different way.”

  “Please tell us how.”

  “For starters, I see a proud new speed record and bragging rights for the road in quick delivery service. But, on the flip side, I also see a big time violation against the company.”

  The downtown personnel man threw out a silencing hand.

  “That’s it! Enough! Sit down and follow procedure or I’ll stop this whole thing!”

  Again, Sunday began to oblige. As he did, he stuck fingers in his shirt pocket. Out came the card Joe had received days prior.

  “No need to. Because, I think this will be the show-stopper.”

  The HR man huffed.

  “What? A standard clearance card. Big deal.”

  There, Sunday offered a conceding nod and quietly did return to his chair. But, a gnawing vacuum was left hanging in midair tha
t demanded attention.

  The HR man sighed.

  “Okay. For the sake of continuity, what does that, or any clearance card, have to do with this hearing? Please finish your statement.”

  Sunday shrugged

  “Are you sure? I can wait my time.”

  “No. Spit it out now and be done.”

  Sunday pointed to one of the rule books.

  “In there, you might want to check page 52, paragraph four. I think it says that an engine crew appointed for operating a special - like train 2982 was - must also be passenger train qualified. But, if you check their records, you’ll see that neither crewman had run a pass train anytime in the last 12 months, like it also says they must do.

  “To me, that means giving them a rating to crew 2982 was illegal from the start. It also means that the CC&S could be charged by the Brotherhood of Railroad Engineers and Firemen, the American Association of Railroads, and the federal government, as having contributed to your so-called safety and speed violations by appointing an unqualified crew to run the train in the first place.”

  An icy silence bulldozed the proceedings. A moment later the office exploded with a frantic crackle of turning pages. The previously sophisticated company prosecutors now rifled through chapter and verse like hectic students at an open book test.

  Sunday looked on with silent relish as a shared, stupefied look confirmed his challenge.

  “So,” he continued, “like I said before, shouldn’t all charges against these men be dropped, here and now?”

  The disciplinary team hovered in a quick and unprepared loss. Suddenly disarmed, they were additionally unaware, that beyond, the yard’s normal resonance was beginning to thin and fade.

  “Certainly, that rule was waived in the name of the dynamometer run,” defended the downtown prosecutor, trying to stall and regroup.

  DeLynne’s voice rose in an equally desperate tone.

  “Yes! It had to be!”

  Sunday tossed his head.

  “Was it?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then show me. In writing. From all that paper. Here and now.”

  Sunday also snapped his fingers in recollection.

  OH! And while we’re at it, let’s also talk of a route deviation that happened on the way between Watseka and Danville.”

  There, the overloaded company team found a countering point.

  “Their route led to Carbon and the 2982 crew runs it daily!”

  “Yes and no,” Sunday replied. “You see, re-ballasting work was being done on that section of mainline then and diverted both trains into another district. Now, the diesel run had a bunch of well-wisher guests aboard. That included the division superintendent and traveling engineer. Their presence might’ve covered any travel for the diesel. So, going six miles inside the Salsbury District was no big deal for them.

  “But, the steam crew had only your cab auditor onboard and I don’t think he could authorize anything. So, when 2982 went outside of their jurisdiction, a required pilot engineer should have been in the cab. But, there wasn’t any, was there?”

  Sunday faced Stosh.

  “I’m sure you’ll agree that your company rules are very strict in that regard, as well, Mister Dombeck.”

  Any feeble hope of a prosecution counterattack withered. None could answer while Sunday positioned himself for a personal note.

  “I’ve also got wind of a rumor that while Train 2982 was traveling at 100 miles per hour, Mister Leplak was overheard to murmur something about the crew being had. That smells like entrapment. Maybe we could ask him exactly what he meant.”

  The downtown man barked at his stenographer.

  “Strike that last statement and stop recording!”

  It was Guzmán’s turn to smirk.

  “So, now we go off the record, huh? Well, off the record, I say that your kind of railroaders might walk on water, but you sure can’t run a train.”

  The roundhouse boss paused to cock an ear.

  “Say - speaking of running trains - anybody notice how quiet it suddenly is around here? I hope nothing’s happened. Maybe someone should take a peek outside.”

  He stepped away, offering easy access to the drawn blinds at his back. The downtown man rushed to them, followed by DeLynne.

  “What!”

  On the ground below stood a sea of quiet men; the total available manpower of the Mayhew freight yard. All three yard tricks and train crews were gathered up, silently watching the office. Among them, was a smattering of newspaper reporters.

  DeLynne spun about, eyes rabid.

  “What’s this s’posed to be - a work stoppage? That’s illegal! Blackmail!”

  Sunday looked innocently on.

  “Who says that? I don’t see any picket or protest signs. Do you? Does anyone see an angry mob? Not that long ago, we had an emergency and everyone was asked to be here, then. Maybe this is something like that.”

  He made an exaggerated study of the gathering.

  “To me, it just looks like a group of what - concerned bystanders? And people are allowed a break time.

  “But, what do I know? So, go ahead. Throw out everything I’ve said. Even though you say it’s all just some flimsy technicality. Go on now, fire Joe and Vint.”

  Guzmán let the dire notion soak in, then proposed an alternative.

  “Or, you might announce the proud new speed record this road has set with the last of its steam power. Either way, you’ll be in all of tomorrow’s papers, guaranteed.

  “See, those guys you don’t recognize out there are reporters from the Daily News, Sun-Times, and Tribune. And bet on it, that when you step outside this office, even the little old Mayhew Bugle-Ledger will snap you as a full, front page picture, for sure.”

  DeLynne felt a prickly lump sprout in his throat.

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  The frustrated HR man joined in.

  “This is coercion! Collusion! Blackmail!”

  Sunday grinned patiently.

  “Big words I might not understand. So what? What’ve we got to lose, our jobs? You go ahead and make your call. Like I said, you’ll be in all the papers, either way.”

  DeLynne glared, hate-filled, but hamstrung. He sensed the foundation of his carefully structured career shifting dangerously about. For the first time ever, a sickening taste of unthinkable capitulation seeped into his mouth.

  “Maybe,” he began, eyes averted, “the charges levied against the crew can be reviewed.”

  Sunday was uncompromising.

  “No dice.”

  “Abbreviated.”

  “Nope.”

  “What then?”

  “Like I said. Dropped. Forgotten. Here and now.”

  In a blink, the mighty penal team was reduced to a flock of sheared sheep.

  “All right.”

  “All right, what?”

  “Forgotten. The incident is closed.”

  Guzmán shoved over a copy of the charges.

  “Please put that in writing on the top sheet of your complaint and have everyone sign it. Make sure we get copies, too.”

  The headquarters man took a pen, but insisted on going down indignantly.

  “I still say that dropping the charges because of some two-bit technicalities doesn’t mean a thing. This is all irregular. Not binding.”

  “Not if it’s witnessed and endorsed.” Sunday answered.

  He addressed the spinster stenographer a final time.

  “Do you also happen to be a notary public, honey?”

  “Why yes,” she blushed.

  “Got your stamp with you?”

  “Always carry it.” She declared, proudly.

  He offered a sultry wink and pulled out his wallet.

  “Could you please slap
your witness mark on the records when everyone is signed? I’ll pay for any fee.”

  Sunday looked to the prosecution a last time.

  “And by the way, if you do decide that a speed record should be recognized by the company, I want the 2982 crew put in for extra pay as a bonus for service above and beyond.”

  Sunday regarded Stosh a last time.

  “But, you can hash that out with Mister Dombeck. I’m just a small time union steward.”

  The lead man motioned Joe and Vint toward the door. He let them pass first, his unprotected back offered daringly to the company officers.

  Cheers greeted the vindicated crew outside. Eager newspaper columnists charged up.

  “How does the railroad feel about a new speed record being set for its line?”

  Sunday pointed behind.

  “We’re happy. But the company officials are in there. Be best to ask them.”

  Joe blinked in awe as reporters shouldered through, invading Leplak’s office.

  “Clearance card – never crossed my mind. And where’d you learn to talk like that?”

  Sunday shared a tight smile.

  “Can’t dare say much right now. Too many ears. But we had a pat hand going in.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll fill you in, sometime.”

  Vint leaned over.

  “Be honest about one thing. Were you really trying to save our bacon back there, or just aiming to get little Miss Muffet all hot and bothered?”

  The engine boss shrugged off his grandstanding.

  “Whatever works. There was some roundhouse talk of just stripping Liplock down and tossing ‘em bare-ass naked in a fresh reefer headed far away. But, freezing to death would’ve been too easy on him. Seeing the little rat squirm here was way better.

  “Let’s forget all this though and get you back on that job board.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Termination proceedings against the steam dyno crew were swept aside. The company speed record was made official and entered in its history books. Although no bonus checks appeared for Joe and Vint, shortly after, a job transfer did arrive for DeLynne. As part of his normal rotation or something more, its coincidence was the cause of happy speculation. Certainly, no one objected as Dee spent his final Friday packing to leave. But even then, it was soon obvious that he would not move on, without some calculated parting shots.