Viewing page 40 of 113

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

32

But there were great experiences in the railroading end also. Our favorite engineer was old Bill Tutlow, who took to the new power like a duck to water besides taking a fancy to us. When Bill was satisfied that Bob and I could handle the locomotives with a good drag behind us, particularly the braking, he'd sometimes send the fireman to the rear cab on a night shift, lounge in the fireman's seat, and turn the locomotive over to whichever of us happened to be riding with him. I'd run small locomotives a few times on the Erie Test track, back and forth light, but this was a whole new ball game that Bill put us in. I think we were superior for sometime to Bill on accelerating a train out of the yards, but braking that same train successfully was another matter , requiring practice, judgment and considerable skill. But we gradually got onto it. My masterpiece was pulling 102 cars, mostly empties, out of Jersey City yard without a stall. However, I never felt really at home with the automatic air brake, Once, when stopping a long drag headed down grade in the Bergen Hill Tunnel, I came painfully close to pulling out a drawhead by releasing the locomotive brakes just before we stopped. But I never had any actual trouble nor did Bob. It was as much fun as anything I've ever done.

We became particularly well acquainted with Eric Ericson, the traveling engineer assigned to breaking in our crews. Often, while having those midnight snacks with Eric, he and I discussed many things besides locomotives--family life, children, even grand opera. The latter was responsible for a story that has survived now for over four decades. Eric was no opera buff. He once inquired if a libretto was something to eat, asking it with such a straight face that I don't know yet if he was serious. The only opera star he'd ever mentioned was Enrico Caruso, who'd been dead nine years. Eric enjoyed kidding me and Bob about going to the opera occasionally. One morning Bob and I reported for work after having gone to the opera the night before. Eric had known we were going, and with great affability, delivered his masterpiece. In a booming voice, he inquired, "Well, how was that son-of-a-bitch Caruso last night?" This episode had a particular appeal to Bill Hamilton who was in our New York Office at the time and came over to check up on things with us occasionally. For years afterward, whenever I'd meet Bill anywhere, he'd immediately put his arm around my should and whisper in my ear, "Forie, how's that son-of-a-bitch Caruso?"

We became acquainted with Fred James, general foreman of the Kingsland Shops, where we took the locomotives for changing out two traction motors which developed grounded armatures. While Fred gave us excellent cooperation, he was so dreamy and remote some of the time that we wondered if he was either aware of us being around or actually quite knew what was going on. Perhaps he merely had a preoccupation with the future. He became superintendent of motive power and later assistant to vice-president.