To Become A Brakeman

Jaybird reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of Bugler tobacco. He then took out a folded section of yellowed newspaper, tore it into a quarter sheet, plucked out the last of the pouch's contents, gently rolled the tobacco in yesterday's farm foreclosure notices, and rolled a crude cigarette, licking the flap to make it all stick together. A man's land wasn't worth much more than that paper puffed into a hobo's lungs those days. The stationmaster already knew Jaybird would be bumming a dry match for his cigarette, so before Jaybird could say anything, he struck a match on the wooden platform beam and handed it to him. Jaybird took the lit match, carefully cupped his hand around the flame, and took a couple of strong drags to ensure that the cherry burned hot and bright. Jaybird and the stationmaster stood on the station platform, just staring off into the distance. There wasn't much to talk about those days that would brighten the spirit. The stationmaster figured he heard pretty much everything an old tramp like Jaybird had to say, so he didn't bother striking up any small talk. They just let the sun slowly dissipate the morning fog as it crept above the ridgeline, as they listened to the soft, rocky flow of the river in the distance.

To call Avery Station a real train station is a bit of a stretch. A wooden one-room shack with a tin roof and sagging pine platform, the station was heated with a worn-out potbelly stove for keeping warm on drizzly damp days down in North Cove. It was a great place to get out of the rain and wait a while for one of the two daily passenger trains on the Clinchfield, one northbound headed to the coalfields of Kentucky and the other southbound to South Carolina, way down in the heart of Dixie. Next to the station was Miss Dover's store, an equally small and unattractive building, about ten feet by twenty feet in size. It did have some rather cheerful advertisements for Pepsi, R.C., and Co-Cola tacked onto the outside walls with penny nails. Miss Dover came out and greeted the gentlemen, concentrating her glance on the stationmaster more so than the likes of Jaybird. She knew the former had plenty in railroad wages to spend while the latter might bum or try to steal from her when she wasn't looking.

One often wondered how Jaybird got his name. To hear him say it, he called himself that because his wailing on his old tin harmonica in the night is like a little old jaybird calling out for a suitor. Now, nobody gives themself a good nickname. Everyone knows that one night, passengers on the Spartanburg southbound saw him passed out drunk next to the North Cove water tank, naked as a jaybird. Either way, the nickname stuck, and nobody, some suspect not even himself, knew his actual name. 

Many hobos rode the rails those days. Just hopping on boxcars, aimlessly wandering from town to town, seeking odd jobs and free handouts wherever they could. With his warped-brimmed stovepipe hat and Salvation Army voucher trench coat, Jaybird was hardly different from the rest, except he seemed to know the Clinchfield Railroad exceptionally well. He memorized all the different locomotives, whistle pitches, and timetables from Erwin to Spartanburg. The engineers, firemen, and conductors all know Jaybird well. Jaybird longed to be a railroad man himself, but he knew his place. If it hadn't been for the time when he was a boy, caught swinging around on the North Cove coal tipple, or the other time he was caught with a pocketful of licorices from Miss Dover's store, the railroad probably would have given him a chance. 

The stationmaster kept Jaybird busy and in his place by giving him little jobs such as stacking cordwood or sweeping the platform. Seeing the stationmaster check his timepiece, Jaybird listened for the 8:15 coal train. 8:20 rolled by, and Jaybird knew that it was running late. There must have been an obstruction on the track on up the mountain. 8:22, and Jaybird heard the blast of the whistle. An impressive black 2-8-2 locomotive of monumental proportions rounded the curve. The metallic sound of the wheels pressing firm on the steel tracks progressed as the locomotive chugged closer. The shrill of the Westinghouse air brakes and the hiss of the steam coming out of the valves drowned out the wheels. The engineer waved his striped corduroy cap at Jaybird as he eased off the throttle and pulled the brake lever. The giant locomotive came to a resounding halt. The air pumps continued to gruff rhythmically as the train's crew pulled the spout from the water tank down to the tender. A creature of this size is always thirsty. Leaning against his favorite beam, cigarette in hand, Jaybird looked on as the crew finished their tasks. He finished his cigarette and stamped it into the hard-packed dirt with his oversized brogans. 

___

A couple of months passed by, and the stationmaster received his induction notice and was sent off to basic training down at Fort Jackson. Soon, he'd be liberating Paris from the Nazis, God willing. In his place was Miss Dover. Now, in that day and age, it was highly unusual for a young lady to take a man's job on the railroad, but during war times, everyone pitched in however they could, and certain social norms had to go by the wayside. Miss Dover accepted her new position eagerly, trusting that her little sister could run her store next door. Miss Dover was trained on her duties well by the stationmaster before he left. 

Miss Dover was at Avery Station all by herself in the evening. It was a lonely existence for a young woman, but she was used to being a loner. After all, her little store has kept her in content solitude for a long time. She reckoned that she preferred it that way. She glanced out the window and saw that familiar goofy stovepipe hat bobbing up and down the path to the station. She wondered what Jaybird wanted since her sister closed her store for the night and went home. 

"Jaybird, the store's closed. I can't get to the icebox for a Co-Cola."

"Doesn't make no difference to me, miss."

"The southbound passenger train passed through here an hour ago."

"That's alright. I ain't headed south. I'm headed north toward Virginia."

Miss Dover could not imagine for the life of her why Jaybird would want to travel to Virginia. There was no way that Jaybird wanted to work in the coal mines deep in the heart of coal country. He would have to work fourteen hours a day and never see daylight again. 

"What are you headed to up in Virginia, Jaybird?"

"Change of scenery. I'll head up there and do up there what I do down here."

Miss Dover just went back to her business. She figured he could just as soon be worthless up there and be out of her hair for a few days. She glanced over to ensure he wasn't pocketing any licorice, then she remembered that she was in the station, not the store. 

Jaybird took off his gloves and warmed his hand by the potbelly stove. Miss Dover, figuring there was really nothing she could do about Jaybird's presence, just ignored him and set out typing out an order for the next northbound freight. The only noise was the crackling of the flames in the stove and the clacking of the keys on the station typewriter. Jaybird rubbed his hands together for the warming friction. 

Miss Dover clipped the order to the string on the order hoop and glanced at the station clock. Three minutes until the northbound arrived. She stepped out of the station, hoop in hand. On her way out, she ushered Jaybird out the door and locked it. She didn't want to take any chances on him stealing any money out of the cashbox. Jaybird, being long-accustomed to such gestures, obliged without skipping a beat. 

They could hear the whistle off in the distance for one minute until the train arrived. 

"Ray Harvey's at the throttle," Jaybird mused.

"How do you know?" Miss Dover scrutinized.

"That's his whistle pattern. Based on the whistle pitch, that engine is one of the 2-6-6-2 Mallets the Clinchfield bought from Baldwin thirty-odd years ago."

Miss Dover mused for a moment about how an old tramp such as Jaybird knew or cared about the technical features of trains. She did find it somewhat impressive that he could differentiate the different locomotives based on the sound of their whistle. 

The tracks began to vibrate, and the giant locomotive came into sight, letting loose a mighty scream of the whistle. The brass bell clang in time to the puffing of the black smoke out of its smoke stack. Sure enough, Ray Harvey was waving out of the cab, ready to catch his orders. Miss Dover hoisted up the order hoop as far as she could. She was afraid that old Ray would fall out of the cab trying to catch the orders. He caught the orders without incident, and Miss Dover sighed in relief. The locomotive continued puffing by pulling ninety empty hoppers, readying itself for its long journey up the mountain through many tunnels and around many curves. 

Miss Dover started fumbling for her keys to let herself back into the station, but Jaybird stared intently at the passing train rather than trying to hop on one of the many empty hopper cars passing in quick succession.

"Come on and get out of the cold, Jaybird." Miss Dover directed, surprising herself with her newfound hospitality towards this wayward man.

"Something ain't right," Jaybird whispered as he stared down the track.

"Suit yourself. I'm going in where it's nice and warm, and you can brave the elements all you want, Jaybird."

Suddenly, they were jolted by the noise of a mighty crash. Startled, Miss Dover screamed, and Jaybird sprinted toward the passing train. When Jaybird reached the wreckage, he was relieved to find Ray and his fireman uninjured but delirious from the shock. Jaybird pulled them out of the cab and onto the ground to safety. The two men sat on the ground to collect their consciousness before assessing the damage. 

Jaybird rushed back to the station to check on Miss Dover. She was sobbing in fear, huddled on the platform.

"Jay, I…I dropped my keys in all the excitement, and now I can't find them. We have to get inside and call dispatch quick." 

Jaybird broke the window pane in the door and reached in, and turned the deadbolt. Miss Dover rushed in the door, nearly knocking down Jaybird. 

"The northbound freight missed the mainline and went onto the siding!" Miss Dover screamed on the phone. She looked up and saw Ray and his fireman walking back toward the station, bewildered. Miss Dover let out quiet praise for her Lord up above. She started to shed tears. Jaybird wrapped his musty arm around her and consoled her.

___

The stationmaster returned to North Cove from France in a flag-draped coffin and was given a hero's burial, complete with the playing of "Taps" and a twenty-one-gun salute. A day later, Miss Dover was offered a full-time job as the stationmaster of Avery Station. The section supervisor called Jaybird into his office as well.

"Jaybird, I know all of these years you hobos have been a nuisance on this railroad, and I know you've built a reputation for being a petty thief and a rounder. An honest man needs work these days, and I'd like to offer you a position as a brakeman on the Clinchfield Railroad. I had a change of heart after the wreck and how you handled it."

Jaybird couldn't believe it. He never thought his lot would be considered good enough to work on the railroad. After all, this was his railroad all these years. He knew every engineer, fireman, and conductor from Spartanburg up to Elkhorn City. 

Jaybird couldn't wait to tell Miss Dover the news. When he did, though, she looked at him sadly. 

"Wait, that means you'll be riding all of those old trains and not hanging around the station?"

"And earning an honest man's wage."

Her head slumped.

"I'll stop and say 'hi' every time we need to fill up our tenders with water at the tank or coal at the tipple."

"Please do, Jaybird. Please do."

Jaybird did not pick up on Miss Dover's newfound affection for him. He tipped his worn-out stove pipe hat.

"Ma'am."

Jaybird began to walk away.

Miss Dover glanced from side to side to make sure no one was looking. She dashed over to Jaybird, embraced him in her skinny arms, and kissed him square on the lips.

Jaybird was a little befuddled. He didn't imagine any self-respecting female being into the likes of a hobo such as himself.

___

Thirty years later, Jaybird retired from the railroad. He had long since moved up the ranks from his days as a brakeman and that particular role went away with the steam engines. And because the steam engines were replaced with mighty diesel, Avery Station was also fading into the past. The little building's roof was slowly caving in. The water tower and the tipple were torn down. 

Jaybird's wife, Mrs. Elaine Dover O'Connell, arrived at their little house by the railroad track. Together, they unloaded the groceries from the car's trunk and took them inside. Afterward, they sat out on their porch, rocking in their rocking chairs and watching the various freight trains whiz by, none of which stopped at North Cove anymore. Jaybird was eager because his grandkids were on their way over, and he couldn't wait to tell them another hobo story from back in the day.