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65

This was actually probably a lucky day for us because, had we continued this fooling around the yards, we might well have been injured or even killed. From that time on, I reverted to my original practice of confining my NYC yard inspections to the highway bridge at East Syracuse where I'd stand and watch what was going on. Of course, everything was steam at that time and there was a huge enginehouse near the bridge, which passed over the very west end of the yard where it necked down and the freight cut-off line swung northwest to loop around the north end of the city at Onondaga Lake although the passenger tracks continued straight west toward Washington Street and the pass through the business district. From my vantage point on the bridge at this spot, I could watch the thrilling sight of the big freight engines accelerating the mile-long trains out of the yard westbound, the equally long eastbound freights drifting into the yard from the cut-off, and as a bonus, all the main line passenger trains whipping by at full speed in both directions. One luxury I indulged in on these trips was to buy a nickel package of Necco wafers, either assorted or all chocolate, and consume them while I stood there watching the trains. At a later time, I'd have smoked a few cigarettes instead, I suppose. It was an education in railroading to watch the freights and absorb the names of practically every railroad in the country as well as Canada, and I became an expert, remembering most of them to this day. I also got a thrill out of just the smell of the place, the steam, the sulferous smoke, the dust and cinders, to say nothing of the sounds of locomotive exhausts, the smash of coupling cars the whistles the bells of the engines, the click of steel wheels on rail joints. I loved it all and I didn't dream that some day I'd become a part of it on a very exciting and different basis than anything I'd seen in my explorations. And before I leave this particular location, I should record that prior to the experience with the railroad detective, on one occasion I remember going down off the bridge at East Syracuse and hopping a short ride on an outgoing freight, and being a bit alarmed as the train accelerated, that I wouldn't be able to jump off safely; I don't think I ever tried that again -- it was was a foolhardy thing to do!

I also used to ride my bike out to Collamer, a hamlet on the aforementioned freight cut-off, where I'd watch the big freights go by at full speed. I'd walk along the right-of-way out there in the country just to be near the tracks and I was impressed with the many articles of scrap iron and steel that lay in the grass. I got a notion that if I collected some of this, I could sell it in town to some junk dealer. So one day I walked a little play-wagon all the way to Collamer, collected a few small items of scrap and walked them all the way home! It must have been a 5-mile round trip. But I never sold the stuff and I was probably lucky I didn't get arrested again for trespass -- I like to think I did this [[underline]] before [[/underline]] the other experience; if I didn't, I was pretty dumb.