By Forrest Whitman
I’ve spent a lot of my adult life sleeping, eating, and working in cabooses. These days I live in a grounded Burlington Caboose. It’s located near mile post 41.77 on the Moffat Tunnel Sub. That’s the former D, & R..G.W. (“dangerous and rapidly growing worse line” as we used to joke). Today that main line is owned by the Union Pacific, but is jointly used by the B.N.S.F., a consolidation of three lines including the former Burlington. The logo on the side stills says “C.B. & Q – Route of he Zephyrs.” It was purchased for $100 when the Burlington sold off many of its old wooden heavyweights. The buyer was a fellow named Woody who’s now a resident of the Big Rock Candy Mountain, where my Dad, my hobo uncle Wen, and all good dogs go.
I spent five years back in the 1960s working off and on for three roads and I’m kind of a connoisseur of cabooses. The worst were The New York Central. These were metal crummies lined up at 63rd and State in Chicago. We’d often spend sixteen hours in and out of them transferring loads of who knows what from east coast lines to local warehouses and westbound lines. The nickname for us operating crews there was “baldies.” I never knew why, but when we’d call the yard master on some other line they’d always make some crack about the baldies showing up late. The only advantage to those crummies was a big metal tank used for ice and beer.
The best cabooses were the Burlington over the road “way cars” as they were called, just like mine. In fact, I’m quite sure I worked out of that very caboose, since they were pooled out of Chicago going west. I loved running west toward the Mississippi River, sitting up in the angel’s seat and watching for hot boxes on the curves. We always had coffee on the coal stove; good thing since we worked 16 hours. Even if you were out switching some pig yard in God knows where, you could climb back in out of the 2:00 A.M. rain and have a cup of awful java. My favorite overnight was in Savanah, Illinois by the gently flowing big river where you could walk to the coldest beer and best BBQ by just hopping over the Milwaukee Road tracks.
These days my caboose has electric power from a line, not a generator. I have a phone, and now and again internet, if Qwest is in a rare, good mood. I’ve had Ed Quillen as a guest, and believe me he’s great. My dog Gus loves him too, for his warming ways. That guy gets up at 2 or 3 A.M. and throws wood into the stove. Also these days I spend lots of time in Salida. The attraction here is the lovely Frances Black. Still, life in a caboose is pretty nice too. Nothing like the sound of a big mixed freight whistling off in the middle of the night to get sweet dreams coming. g
