A Good Day on the Gravy Train
History Hunts is not a railroad site. Railroads are included here because they were a big part of our past. Their routes were the skeleton upon which the body of our country grew. The railroads' pasts have been popular playgrounds for professional and amateur historians. Rail historians are creatures of countless multiple interest. Some are technically prone. Others simply like looking at the old trains. Some investigate the industries associated with the railroads. As an amateur, what I have found hard to find are actual insights into the day to day life of the railroad man and his family. Explanations of the communities that have resided near the rails and accounts of their daily lives are not that rare. What has been missing is the view from the cab. What was it like being an engineer or other member of the crew? What was it like being a child of a railroad man? Mike's recollections and the tone of his story enlighten more than its length would seem capable .
This week, I figured I must be living right. First, Everett, a "somewhat connected" member of the Southern Forest Heritage Museum sent me a document he has just written telling "the rest of the story" regarding the motive power of the Red River and Gulf Railroad at Long Leaf and beyond. And, this morning, I was shocked to see someone had signed my guest book. Then the signer laid out a long letter telling of his father's careers an engineer and fireman on a branch line railroad during both the steam and diesel eras. It so happened, I'm familiar and have photographed most of the places of which he spoke. I felt I'd passed through a time machine, suddenly understanding more than one was capable to assimilate in a day.
Seriously, I feel like I've just walked out of the King Tut exhibit, but more fulfilled as old trains blow my whistle more than old Egyptians. My investigations have always centered on drilling down to local life, investigating the obscure and illuminating it to star status. I won't have to do much of that here.
The following lines will be about an engineer and his crew. Their piece in the railroading puzzle was every bit as important as the Goulds of the industry. This write is short and you may think the intro overblown. I hope not. Imagine not standing as a child on the side of the rails and waving to the train, but being a child in the cab, waving to those along the way. That was my guest book contributor's perspective. An epiphany?
I'm sorry, I guess that was a little saccharin, I must admit. It was the best I could do dealing with my curdling jealousy.
This is from Mike's guest book entry. Gratefully, he would continue adding.
"The Lewisburg /Church Point railroad ran from Bunkie through Eola, Tate Cove, Ville Platte, Opelousas and then to Church Point. My dad worked for the Texas and Pacific Railroad for 42 years, and actually started with them building the depots and section houses along the "Church Point Branch". He was the engineer on the run from Alexandria to Bunkie to Church Point and back (same day) for the last 21 years of his career. They used to stop and buy fresh eggs, vegetables, etc. from the farmers along the route. One time, he brought a calf home. They had locked it in a box car, and they stopped at our home in LeCompte and my brother and I got him off. He had the same crew for 16 years, because it literally was a gravy train. They usually left Alexandria about 6AM, and were back home for 5 PM. Lunch was always "The Palace Cafe" in Opelousas. When I was a kid, I was allowed to make the trip with them".
I asked him what he meant by "Gravy Train", where the Palace Cafe was and more. Here are his answers and comments:
" Gravy train was a good description...Once they left the T & P main line at Bunkie, they had no other trains to worry about, since the 'branch' was a dead end at Church Point. The conductor would have his 'pick up' and 'set out' orders. That would let them know how much work there was for the day. Some days (not many) they would have to hustle, but most days they ran 15-20 miles an hour, waved to kids, flirted with the women hanging clothes, and generally had a good ride. Major switch points were Tate Cove (the Canal Oil refinery, and the carbon black plant), Opelousas (Lou-Ana Products, American Cotton Compress, and several wholesale warehouses), and Church Point (Church Point Wholesale Grocery). They used to bring tank cars full of wine from California to Church Point Wholesale for re-bottling. 'Gravy train' meant stopping in the little towns to buy smoked meats, vegetables, syrup and honey, etc., something you could never do on the busy main line!
The Palace Cafe is on US 190 in Opelousas, right across from the courthouse. It's about 3 blocks east of the old train line. Food isn't as good now as I remember as a kid, but it is full of Imperial St. Landry history. My mother was born and raised at LeMoyen, on US 71, and my grandfather was a prominent cattle rancher in northern St. Landry parish. I used to go with him to Opelousas for business, and we'd always eat at the Palace. Sometimes, I'd be in the next week with the train crew, and the waitresses would fuss over me.
My dad started on the railroad in 1929 as a carpenter building ticket counters and cabinets in the buildings the railroad owned. He had been apprenticed as a cabinetmaker back in Georgia as a young boy, and came to La. looking for work. He was laid off in 1932, and managed to hire on as a locomotive fireman on steam engines with the T & P. He worked steam engines until they were phased out in the early '50's for diesels. He hated diesels, because he said they had no 'heart'. He was promoted to engineer in 1950, after 18 years as a fireman (nothing moved fast back then but the trains themselves). He retired June 1, 1971, and never looked back. He loved the railroad, and especially steam engines, but said he had worked all his life, and now he wanted to do what he wanted. He lived another 18 years, and was killed in a tractor accident at the age of 82. His retirement was all he wanted it to be, and for that I'm grateful. He infected me with a love of the rails that I have passed down to my sons and grandsons. I cannot hear a steam engine whistle without tearing up, thinking how proud he was to be in that right seat, one hand on the throttle, and the other on the whistle cord. It was a pretty good job for a mountain boy from Georgia with a 3rd grade education. I have all of his railroad stuff, and wear his Hamilton 992B pocket watch on special occasions.
A typical crew consisted of an engineer, fireman, conductor, and 2 brakemen. As I said, Dad's crew was mostly older hands who appreciated the easy pace of branch line work. They could have made more money on the main line, but the work and stress was so much more demanding. His crew for the last 16 years of his career was: Mr. T A, fireman; Mr.'Red', conductor; Mr. Harold and Mr. Tom , brakemen. Only Mr TA is still alive, and I make it a point to talk to or see him at least once a month. They were dear friends to my father, and super guys to a kid. I have some photos I'll get together for you".
I'm making that last statement public. You are my witnesses.
I've also asked Mike for more stories from the rails. I bet Mr.TA has some.
Stay tuned. WooooooooooooooooWooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Technology and Tradition on the Church Point Branch
To the men who used them, they were more than just timepieces. No king ever held an orb that made them feel as important as the train crews that carried the biscuit sized Railroad Pocket Watches. Timekeeping on the nations railroads had become standardized in the late 1880’s, after multiple high casualty collisions between trains. Any man who worked on the road had a railroad time service approved pocket watch.
There were classes of pocket watches, just as there were classes of automobiles, or tools. Storekeepers, clerical folks, and shop mechanic typically carried B W Raymond, Illinois, or occasionally an Elgin. But the cream of the crop, and the ONLY pocket watch carried by main line train crews was the Hamilton 992B. 21 jewels, gold filled case, lever time setting, and a fancy chain were the mark of somebody important on the twin ribbons of steel. It was the mark of a brakeman, fireman, conductor, or engineer who had weathered the seniority system and had arrived at that top level of railroad hierarchy.
My fathers’ 992B was strictly off limits to my inquisitive hands as a small child. I can still remember the night he was getting ready to go to work, and told me to go get his watch. My feet never touched the floor as I went to his bedroom and with trembling hands, picked up the Holy Grail of railroading (at least to a 10 year old kid!). If I would’ve had 4 hands, they all would have been holding the watch that signified that my Dad was really somebody special. I sure didn’t want to drop his most prized possession.
In October of 1963, my Dad was coming off a year of convalescent leave for a combination of heart attacks, and depression caused by a crossing accident that took the lives of an entire family. My brother and I wanted his return to duty to be a happy occasion. Bulova had just come out with the “Accutron” wrist watch. It was the first wrist watch approved for railroad use. Operated by a battery, and timed by a miniature tuning fork, it was something special to two modern age young men. To Dad, it was the spawn of the Devil!
When we presented the watch to him, he seemed to be at a loss for words. We thought he was just emotional. But as he turned the wrist watch over in his hands, he finally mustered the words he really didn’t want to say. “It’s a wrist watch!”, as if it was a rattlesnake he had in his hands. We had to show him the ‘Railroad Approved” legend on the dial, and the instruction manual that told all about this latest marvel of the Space Age. It didn’t make too much difference; he just couldn’t trust something that didn’t even resemble his beloved Hamilton, and ran on a battery, of all things. What was the world coming to?
He wore the Accutron for about 3 months, but always had the Hamilton in his pocket for backup. His crew would tell us about him looking at the wrist watch, and then looking around before he pulled the Hamilton out to see the real time.
In his later years, he gave me the Accutron. He bragged on it, and told about how much he had liked it, but it was all words spoken to ease the feelings of a son. The battery was dead, and there were no scratches on the crystal, so I knew it hadn’t been worn much.
I have both watches now. Sometimes I wear the Hamilton 992B, even using the leather belt holster he had made because pants quit coming with watch pockets.
It’s hefty feel, heavy ticking, and antique look assure me that all is well with the world. The Accutron gets out some too, and when they were little, my grandchildren would marvel at the high pitched hum that came from the watch. My oldest grandson, who is legally blind, asked why the Accutron didn’t tick like the Hamilton. I gave him some bull story about it being a space age marvel He promptly deflated me by saying; “Real watches tick”. I’m sure his grandfather was laughing as he looked down on us, two train lovers, holding two watches, one ticking, and one humming, both with my fathers love engraved on them.
Mike W., son of the Railroader, has sent me a few of his priceless pictures from his and his father's past. I'm just going to transfer his note here and let him explain them.
The first shot is from our backyard in Lamourie, January of 1948. The dog is Butch, and the train is #24 passenger, with Daddy firing. The snow was about 8" deep.
ME: Lamourie sits on US 71, or close. It is above LeCompte and below Alexandria. It gets the award for the most French sounding town name in Louisiana. And, "firing" refers to his father being the fireman on this steam locomotive.
The second is Daddy after his first run as a full fledged engineer, rather than a lowly "promoted fireman" (more on the railroad hierarchy later). The engine is a EMD GP-9, a workhorse combo road unit and also set up for yard switching. Date was October 1952
Third is Daddy and me, on EMD F-7 #201, heading out of the depot at Alexandria, pulling T&P passenger #27. Date is 1955. I was 10 years old, and king of the world!
Fourth is my dad.......in Georgia, circa 1981. I included this one to show the pocket watch on his belt, in the spiffy little holster he had made because of pants with no watch pockets. ...that was almost as bad as a watch that ran on batteries!
Loving and Living on the Avoyelles Branch
My preface:
For those who might not be familiar with the "Railroader" series here on History Hunts, let me bring you up to speed. Mike left a few lines in the guest book a while back reflecting that his dad had worked for the Texas and Pacific Railroad in more than a few capacities, including being a fireman on steam engines and an engineer on the diesels. I recognized Mike as a treasure chest of memories from a "golden age" of railroading, one of my keen interest. We corresponded. Then, Mike, feeling pressure from several sides, finally got down to putting some of those memoirs on "paper". His sharing of those stories with us is a gift. As I have said before, this level of historical reporting is rare. The personal angle applied to these stories is rarer. Thank you, sir.
This one is a grinner:
LOVING AND LOSING ON THE AVOYELLES BRANCH
Boy, was she a beauty...a petite dark haired, dark eyed French lass of Avoyelles Parish, who just happened to be in the back yard every time the T&P local passed behind her house near Mansura.
It didn’t take long for the crew to start noticing her, especially since she made it a point to wave to them as they trundled down the line between Bunkie, Marksville, Port Allen and points in between. As on most branch lines, the condition of the Avoyelles branch necessitated a slower pace. Usually those tracks only received a lick and a promise of mainline level maintenance.
The young lady got bolder and bolder, finally venturing up to the fence separating her yard from the right of way. The closer she got to the track, the prettier she was. Young Gerald Gaspard, the junior brakeman, and only single guy on the crew, fell deeply in love with the lady. He started buying her small gifts, and talked the engineer into slowing down so he could toss them to her.
Things started heating up in the trackside romance, and while against all railroad rules, young Gerald talked the engineer, Mr. Waller, into stopping so he could do a little face to face courting. He got her name, and a phone number, and fell even more deeply in love when she pecked him on the cheek as he turned to get back on the caboose.
This went on for several weeks, with Gerald throwing off presents, and Yvonne blowing kisses all the while. One day, Gerald got Mr.Waller to stop the train and went to the fence to see ‘his’ girl. While he was kissing her, the back door to the little frame house flew open, and out came a huge man, calling and cussing in French, packing a double barreled shotgun. Yvonne promptly made a run towards the neighbor’s house. Gerald could speak French, so he was the first to realize that the man was cussing him for kissing his wife, and intended to render Gerald incapable of kissing his wife, or any other man’s wife, for that matter.
The locomotive was about 10 car lengths up the track. Dad and Mr. Waller were not watching the happenings to the rear. Cabooses had whistles on the back to provide warning when a train had to back up. While Gerald was running for the track, Mr.Holsomback, the conductor, was blowing the whistle for all he’s worth. This happened in the days before two-way radios on trains. On a steam engine, even at rest, there’s a lot of noise, so the head end crew was not aware of the situation developing to their rear.
As Gerald made it to the rear platform of the caboose, the angry husband brought the shotgun up and let a round loose towards the caboose. It broke the glass in the cupola, and the engine crew heard the shot. When Dad looked out the fireman’s side of the steam locomotive, he saw two men running for all they were worth towards the engine. Mr. Waller shouted out: “Fred, I think that SOB just shot my train!”. About that time, another round hit the side of the caboose. Mr. Waller dumped the brakes, opened the big throttle valve, and tried to get traction in a hurry. All the while, the two caboose dwellers were coming up the fireman’s ladder, as the angry husband was running down the side of the track, reloading as he ran.
The engine finally got traction and the little train slowly pulled away from the angry husband. Needless to say, there was a hurried up conference further down the track to fabricate a cover story to explain away the shotgun damage to the caboose. On the next run into Mansura, Gerald and Mr. Holsomback made the run past Yvonne’s house lying on the floor of the caboose. Alas, there was no Yvonne there to wave hello, or blow kisses. And, Gerald damned sure wasn’t going to throw her anything, anyway. He was teased unmercifully for years about coming so close to getting shot over a few kisses on the Avoyelles branch. When Bob Waller retired a few years later, Mr. Holsumback made him a wooden plaque that named him as “The best getaway train engineer on the T & P Railroad”
This is Mike's latest write reflecting the life and times of his father who
worked for the Texas and Pacific Railroad. His is an insight few have a chance to envision. I do appreciate, as I'm sure you do, the fact he has taken the time to write them out for us, and the fact that I have to constantly prod him to move along.
Mike has timed his latest addition perfectly. Dave and I were in that area Saturday and saw the bridge supports that were a part of the T&P. That story is forth coming and can be eventually accessed FROM HERE.
Below is Mike's recollection of his father's story. If you can't imagine the feel, or hear the rumbling of a failing barrier to natural mayhem, or know the terror of the Mississippi gone wild, read it again. So many owe so much to the effort of these railroaders:
High Water Heroes on the T & P
"Everyone remembered 1927. There wasn’t anyone over the age of 20 in central Louisiana who didn’t remember the endless water unleashed by the levee failures on the Mississippi, Atchafalaya, and Red Rivers. Loved ones had been lost, homes destroyed, and the fabric of life along the rivers forever torn and tattered.
The Old River Control Structure had been built after the Great Flood, designed to control the diversion of water from the Mississippi into the Atchafalaya. Without it, the Mississippi would bolt down the shorter Atchafalaya, and even in low water, flood downriver towns like Morgan City. The structure was built along the lower arm of Old River, just southeast of Simmesport. Old River was an ancient loop of the Mississippi that had been left when the river changed course. It had never been tested by a serious flood.
In the spring of 1945, the Mississippi went on another rampage. Levee building all along its course by the Army Corps of Engineers had kept it within the banks, but the weak spot was Old River. As the engineers watched stunned, the river started eating under the wings of the control structure. They estimated it would be only days before the structure collapsed into the swirling waters.
The Texas and Pacific Railway crossed Old River on top of the control structure, connecting on the north with the tracks going to Vidalia, La. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and the engineers knew they had to plug Old River, and fast. Bringing fill material by truck would be too slow, and there were no side dump gondolas anywhere near. Mr. R. H. Blassingame, Superintendent of the T & P in Louisiana offered a plan.
He wanted to fill gondolas with large rock, move the tracks from on top of the control structure, and align them to run up to the edge of Old River, and shove entire cuts of cars and rock alike into Old River. His plan was accepted by the engineers, and track crews worked 24 hours a day to move the track to the edge of the water. The first time, only six cars were readied, and an all volunteer crew shoved them toward the swirling water. When the time was right, the brakeman opened the coupler on the speeding locomotive. The brakes were applied on the engine, the reverse lever pulled back, and the engine stopped short of the water. The loaded cars sailed out over the water and landed almost upright.
Once the plan proved feasible, a coordinated effort brought loaded gondolas up from Baton Rouge, and down from Alexandria. They were made up into cuts of 12-15 cars, and then shoved into Old River. Crews worked with the danger of a coupler sticking and pulling them into the water, but they still made the dangerous run towards the water.
After 2 days and nights, there was an unbroken web of steel gondolas and limestone boulders sitting on the bottom of Old River. Water on the other side of the makeshift barrier had slowed to a trickle. If Old River’s concrete failed, there was now a back up in place. The track crews, engine crews, brakemen, and all the support personnel had done the impossible. They had kept Old Man River from rampaging again. After the water receded, the railroad brought in cranes and retrieved most of the gondolas. Some they never found…
My father was a young fireman on one of the crews that accomplished this feat. He was proud of his part, and kept a certificate from the U S Army Corps of Engineers thanking him for his service. Almost all those heroes are gone now, but I’m told that every now and then a commercial fisherman will snag his net and bring up a piece of metal that can be traced to a gondola car. It’s a souvenir from a time when heroes were common, and went about their life afterward believing that they had just done their job".
Reflections on a Dark Day
Mike has shared a few stories about his father, the railroader.
The first one was posted this morning.
The second one I'm placing here and on Back Road Riding because there are those that would like to keep you around, even you Fred. I received this one earlier today and have tried to decide how to present it. It's a tough one. It is emotionally draining and I will rate it "R" for that category. It you don't want to get bummed out, stop here, turn around and leave. If you want to sharpen your intelligence regarding railroad crossings, read on. The first story Mike sent telling of his father's career created a picture of him and his crew blissfully swaying to and fro down a peaceful branch line with no other traffic on the rails. The second story is one which enforces the fact that bliss can turn into tragedy on a dime. I hope that you will stop, look and listen whenever you are about to cross a rail line. If you die, it is your fault and your loss is not the end of it. That horror can scar many for generations. A few minutes reading this could save your life. Here's Mike's note.
Steve,
I've shared the good, and hope to share plenty more about the extraordinary times I was able to live in as the son of a railroader. I've given you some insight into my dad that was positive. Now comes the saddest part of his career. In October of 1962, during cane season, the Church Point local was running back to Alexandria after a Saturday trip to Church Point. Cane was high, like it should be that time of the year, and visibility at crossings was limited. Dad was running about 35 MPH, and the three men in the cab were bantering back and forth about the World Series. Dad hated the Yankees, and T A Richey was a die hard Yankees fan.
Standard crossing horn signal was 2 long, a short, and then another long held until the engine entered the crossing. Engineer and fireman always called out to each other if the crossing was clear, or if cars were stopped, so that they could relax a little. At the LA 106 crossing at St. Landry, cars were stopped. Dad open the throttle another notch, and leaned back into his seat, his hand still on the horn cable, blowing that looooong last note before entering the crossing.
>From around the stopped cars came a car, obviously oblivious of the horn, the 200 ton locomotive, and all the danger coming down upon it. Dad immediately appilied the emergency brakes and dumped the throttle, but it was too late. The coupler on the engine centered the passengers door of the car, and the shriek of grinding metal filled the cab. Trains do not stop on a dime, or for that matter, on a silver dollar. Investigation revealed that the car was carried 275 feet down the track. Inside was a family of 5. Father, mother, and 3 small children never realized what had hit them. When the train stopped, the crew scrambled down to front of the locomotive . The car was wrapped around the nose of the locomotive. Inside were the mangled bodies of the parents and 2 of the children.
Dad heard a noise from under the front of the locomotive, and crawled on the rock ballast to find the source. He came out with a little 2 year boy, and sat down on the side of the track holding him. He held him until the boy died, stood up, and suffered a heart attack.
He didn't work for 1 full year, my senior year in high school. He suffered another heart attack at the hospital in Ville Platte, and was a long time recovering. But the physical healed easy. Until the day he died, he said he saw that little boy's face looking at him. The family was on their way to a wedding at the Catholic church in St. Landry, within rock throwing distance of the crossing, and were late. The little boy was to be the ring bearer in the wedding.
It was a lot of gravy on that little branch line, but sometimes it was a huge dose of pain. I know, because I saw it every day he was alive after that child died in his arms. I saw him tense up at crossings when I rode with him in later years, and I saw it in his eyes when he held his grandchildren...where would that little boy be if he'd been a little more vigilant, blew the horn a little bit louder, been running a few miles slower or faster.
He and his crew was absolved of all blame. People stopped at the crossing testified he'd done everything right, that the driver had run around them, and that the horn and bell were operating.
It never mattered. The little boy haunted him the rest of his life. He'd killed at other crossings, but he didn't hold a baby while it died. I hope that when he finally died, the little boy met him on the other side, hugged him, and told him everything was alright. He deserved that.
Mike
More Backup
The Railroader's Boss
The Texas and Pacific Railway, better known as the T & P, was started in Texas in 1881, and became a Jay Gould line in 1900. Gould owned 50.1% of the T & P all the way up to 1928, when his bigger line, the Missouri Pacific, assumed control of the smaller line. Among the 49.9% minority shareholders, the Vollmer family of Fort Worth held the most shares. When I was a child, Mr. W. G. Vollmer was the president of the T & P.
He was impressive if for no other reason than his size. He was 6’6’, weighed about 265, and had been an All American football player at SMU in the 20’s. He came from money, had money, but never ever let his wealth color his relationship with his employees. He laughed easily, and a lot. His family used their wealth to help the less fortunate, and W. G. Vollmer treated every employee as an important cog in the workings of the railroad.
The Alexandria yards had a dead end spur that ended just behind the big two story yard office. When Mr. Vollmer came down from Fort Worth, Business Car No. 1 was spotted on this dead end track, right by the parking lot, and men passed by his car going to and from work. He roamed the yard during the day and night, stopping by the roundhouse and car shops, drinking coffee in the shanties, and riding the switch engines. He wanted to know about each mans family, if all was well with his job, and if the railroad was treating him right.
In the evenings, Mr. Vollmer would sit on the rear deck of his private car, in slacks and an undershirt. Anyone could come and sit with him, and Tom, the porter/cook, always had something cool to drink, and ice cream for the kids. A man could sit and talk to Mr. Vollmer about anything related to his job, with absolutely no fear of any type of retribution. He listened to everyone, from the Superintendent all the way down to the lowest laborer, and when you were on the back of Car No. !, you were treated as an equal in the running of the railroad.
I learned a lot about employee relations sitting with my Dad and Mr. Vollmer, listening to them discuss different things. My dad always brought Mr. Vollmer produce from his garden and sometimes fresh fish for Tom to prepare for him.
I grew up thinking that all CEO’s treated their employees the same as Mr. Vollmer did. Sadly, when I got older, I found that he was the exception rather than the rule.
The T & P had an extensive network of employee recreation clubs, know as Red Diamond Clubs. They had monthly meetings, with the food provided by the railroad. In summer, boxcars of sweet green Arkansas watermelons came along the main line, and each terminal got their share. Alexandria had a huge icehouse, and the melons were iced down and then a big party was held, with burgers, ice cream, and watermelon. In the winter, Christmas parties were held, complete with Santa Claus and gifts for everyone. Each employee got a hand signed Christmas Card from Mr. And Mrs. Vollmer, mailed from Postal Car #1. When an employee’s child graduated from high school, a $25.00 savings bond was Mr. Vollmer’s gift, along with an admonition to do well in life so that the workers on the T & P would be proud!
By the time Mopac took over complete control of the T & P in 1966, Mr. Vollmer had died. My dad often said that his heart would have been broken by the ruthless way that his beloved T & P was ripped apart, and sold to the highest bidders. MoPac kept only the most lucrative parts for itself, and let the rest either rust, or ruin, or pass into history.
I could write a small book on how well the T & P treated its employees, but in this day and age of corporate greed, it would sound like a fantasy. W. G. Vollmer was the exception rather than the norm, and sometimes I wish I could go back to the 1950’s, when a tall man with sparkling eyes, a true sense of humor, and an endless supply of ice cream sandwiches made a young kid think that his Dad was someone very important. Why else would he be sitting on the back of a fancy business car dressed in his work khakis, talking to the president of the finest railroad in the world? He had to be important to rate that honor!
He was impressive if for no other reason than his size. He was 6’6’, weighed about 265, and had been an All American football player at SMU in the 20’s. He came from money, had money, but never ever let his wealth color his relationship with his employees. He laughed easily, and a lot. His family used their wealth to help the less fortunate, and W. G. Vollmer treated every employee as an important cog in the workings of the railroad.
The Alexandria yards had a dead end spur that ended just behind the big two story yard office. When Mr. Vollmer came down from Fort Worth, Business Car No. 1 was spotted on this dead end track, right by the parking lot, and men passed by his car going to and from work. He roamed the yard during the day and night, stopping by the roundhouse and car shops, drinking coffee in the shanties, and riding the switch engines. He wanted to know about each mans family, if all was well with his job, and if the railroad was treating him right.
In the evenings, Mr. Vollmer would sit on the rear deck of his private car, in slacks and an undershirt. Anyone could come and sit with him, and Tom, the porter/cook, always had something cool to drink, and ice cream for the kids. A man could sit and talk to Mr. Vollmer about anything related to his job, with absolutely no fear of any type of retribution. He listened to everyone, from the Superintendent all the way down to the lowest laborer, and when you were on the back of Car No. !, you were treated as an equal in the running of the railroad.
I learned a lot about employee relations sitting with my Dad and Mr. Vollmer, listening to them discuss different things. My dad always brought Mr. Vollmer produce from his garden and sometimes fresh fish for Tom to prepare for him.
I grew up thinking that all CEO’s treated their employees the same as Mr. Vollmer did. Sadly, when I got older, I found that he was the exception rather than the rule.
The T & P had an extensive network of employee recreation clubs, know as Red Diamond Clubs. They had monthly meetings, with the food provided by the railroad. In summer, boxcars of sweet green Arkansas watermelons came along the main line, and each terminal got their share. Alexandria had a huge icehouse, and the melons were iced down and then a big party was held, with burgers, ice cream, and watermelon. In the winter, Christmas parties were held, complete with Santa Claus and gifts for everyone. Each employee got a hand signed Christmas Card from Mr. And Mrs. Vollmer, mailed from Postal Car #1. When an employee’s child graduated from high school, a $25.00 savings bond was Mr. Vollmer’s gift, along with an admonition to do well in life so that the workers on the T & P would be proud!
By the time Mopac took over complete control of the T & P in 1966, Mr. Vollmer had died. My dad often said that his heart would have been broken by the ruthless way that his beloved T & P was ripped apart, and sold to the highest bidders. MoPac kept only the most lucrative parts for itself, and let the rest either rust, or ruin, or pass into history.
I could write a small book on how well the T & P treated its employees, but in this day and age of corporate greed, it would sound like a fantasy. W. G. Vollmer was the exception rather than the norm, and sometimes I wish I could go back to the 1950’s, when a tall man with sparkling eyes, a true sense of humor, and an endless supply of ice cream sandwiches made a young kid think that his Dad was someone very important. Why else would he be sitting on the back of a fancy business car dressed in his work khakis, talking to the president of the finest railroad in the world? He had to be important to rate that honor!