Monthly Calendar-Report for December 2014

Stacker descends the Bypass on Three. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

The December 2014 entry of my own calendar is not that good.
It’s a stacker descending Track Three down from The Hill on the Bypass built by Pennsy in 1898.
As originally laid out through this area, Pennsy was difficult. There were torturous curves.
This Bypass was built to circumvent those curves, but quite a bit of the original mainline still exists. It exists as a branch through Portage (PA). The Bypass begins at Portage.
Pennsy kept its original mainline because it passes Sonman, once a coal-mine, now just a loading facility.
It was the site of a mine-explosion in 1940 that killed 63.
Coal gets trucked to it, then heaped at Sonman for transloading into railroad coal-cars.
I’m told the coal is metallurgical and shipped abroad. It’s used in steel-making. It’s not coal burned to generate electricity, so-called steam-coal.
That’s the Sonman branch into the main at right. The branch also connects at its other end to the Bypass in Portage.
Eons ago the original Pennsy crossed this area to the left to go through the tiny coal-town of Cassandra (“kuh-SANNA-druh;” as in the name “Anne”).
The Bypass bypassed Cassandra, but has to do a deep rock-cut.
It’s also the location of Cassandra Railfan Overlook, an old bridge over the tracks through the rock-cut.

An eastbound threads the rock-cut at Cassandra Railfan Overlook. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

A Cassandra resident noticed railfans were hanging out on the bridge, so made it a railfan pilgrimage spot.
Eastbound trains are really hammering, climbing the grade to Allegheny summit.
The Bypass makes their climb fairly easy. It used be there were lots of curves around and through Cassandra.
A road crosses the Bypass on a bridge. That bridge is also used to mount signals for the railroad.

The Jamestown Road overpass. (Photo by Bobbalew with Phil Faudi.)

It’s the Jamestown Road bridge, and I don’t feel I’m very successful there any more.
Approaches to the bridge are arrow-straight from both sides.
Yet here it came, a westbound stacker on Three.
I was on the overpass.
I cranked my telephoto out as far as it would go: 300 mm.
If the train is short enough the entire train will be in my picture on that Bypass.
And it looks like that stacker might go back as far as Cassandra Railfan Overlook. At the Overlook the railroad curves gently left.
The Overlook is visible in the distance, but a signal-bridge partially obscures it.
It looks like that stacker might be long enough to still be on that curve at its tail-end.
I wasn’t with Faudi (Phil Faudi [“FOW-deee;” as in “wow”]) when I took this picture, but Jamestown Road bridge is a Faudi location.
Phil is the railfan extraordinaire from the Altoona area who used to lead me around on train-chases along this line.




Nice, but too snowy. (Photo by Willie Brown.)

—Up here where I live there’s a fairly good chance we’ll have snow in December.
Which is why I always try to do a snow-picture for December in my calendar.
Also January and February.
But this picture, good as it is, is overkill.
It’s too snowy.
Photographer Brown has snagged a really good shot, but to me it’s January or February.
We’d probably have snow up here in December, but not like this.
A Norfolk Southern train of empty coal-cars heads back to a mine for more coal. It just unloaded to a barge on the Ohio River. The train is near Powhatan Point (Ohio).
What a fabulous shot. A branch-line train on a narrow single-track branch. It’s nice to see a picture like this after so many mainline trains.

(Note the red barn.) (Photo by Willie Brown.)

Another Powhatan Point picture. (Photo by Bill Gantz.)

Brown had a similar picture in this calendar, the famous “Red-Barn” location of an NS coal-train leaving Bailey Mine in southwestern PA.
Another picture of a Powhatan Point coal-train was in this calendar. It was taken by Bill Gantz. I wonder if it’s the same train on the same branch?
The lead locomotive #3333, is an EMD SD40-2, the “2” meaning it has advanced solid-state modular electronics, as opposed to the mechanical switches and relays in earlier EMD diesels.
SD-40s are 3,000 horsepower on six-wheel trucks. They are turbocharged.
Geeps (“GP”) had four-wheel trucks but seem to have been succeeded by six-wheel truck locomotives.
“GP” stood for “General-Purpose,” and the GP40-2 was the last of EMD’s four-wheel truck road locomotives.
“SDs” are EMD’s six-wheel truck locomotives: “Special-Duty.”
General-Electric’s current diesel locomotives are six-wheel trucks.
For years it was three traction-motors per truck, but now manufacturers are going back to two traction-motors per truck, still six wheels, but the center-two wheels are idlers.
EMD’s early passenger-diesels, the E-units, were that way, only two traction-motors per six-wheel truck.
The center wheels on an E-unit were idlers.
It’s a fabulous picture, but too snowy for December. As I recall, the December picture in my own calendar (above) was taken in February. But there had been a big thaw, and the amount of snow left was like December.




Bitchin’! (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

—The December 2014 entry of my Oxman Hotrod Calendar is a great-looking hotrod, but I’m not sure I’d wanna bend it into a corner.
It’s a ’28 Model-A five-window coupe on ’32 Ford rails.
But it has a 392 cubic-inch Chrysler Hemi (“HEM-eee;” as opposed to “HE-meee”) motor, the so-called “ultimate American V8.”
The 392 Hemi was a development for 1957-58 of the first version of the Hemi, which debuted in 1951.
That motor probably weighs 200-300 pounds more than what was in there originally.
The early Hemi has cast-iron cylinder-heads. With splayed valves in a hemispherical combustion-chamber, flanked by two rocker-shafts, a Hemi head probably weighed 70-80 pounds more than the average Chevrolet V8 cast-iron head.
Of course, the Hemi breathed quite well. Drag-racers fell to using the Hemi. The extra weight was worth breathing well at speed.
But I don’t know if a Hemi would make much sense if you wanted your hotrod to be drivable.
A friend of mine, now deceased, was building a Model-A roadster hotrod. It had a souped-up ’56 Pontiac V8. That motor was so much heavier than what was in there originally, about 100-200 pounds, the car’s front shocks were overwhelmed.
But they were the stock Ford Houdaille shocks. I’d like to think the owner of this calendar-car installed shocks that could cope with the additional weight.
But still, I can’t imagine trying to bend this thing around a corner. It would wanna continue straight.
The owner’s penchant for drilling things makes this car.
The front axle-beam is drilled, as is the visor, of all things.
The top is also chopped.
There wasn’t a Ford coupe of this era made that couldn’t benefit from a top-chop.
Although doing so might scrunch the driver.
Otherwise the car was left alone, although the fenders and hood were removed.
And the owner didn’t apply flames. Flames would have ruined it.

All I hafta do is dream. (Photo by Bobbalew.)

I saw a hotrod at a recent car-show that was very desirable: a red ’32 Ford three-window coupe with Chevy motor.
I should have asked the guy what he’d take to part with it. I’ve always wanted a hotrod, although a recent Porsche (“poor-SHA”) Boxter might make more sense.
I’m sure a hotrod would be a handful, and would require constant fiddling.
There was another guy at this show who’d brought his T-Bucket hotrod. Asked about how it drove, he said it could get “squirrely.”




Spit! (Photo by Philip Makanna©.)

—If the P-51 Mustang was the apogee of American WWII warbirds, it could be said the SuperMarine Spitfire was the British apogee.
The December 2014 entry of my Ghosts WWII warbirds calendar is a SuperMarine Spitfire.
Although the Spit (Spitfire) was before the Mustang, but not much.
In fact, the Mustang was designed to meet British requirements.
Although by then British requirements had caught up with aeronautical design.
The Spitfire did not meet British requirements, although it was such a phenomenal airplane the requirements got updated.
What I’ve heard, and I’m not sure of this, is the Spitfire is a racer turned fighter-plane. That there was a racing seaplane the Spitfire mimics.
The scuttlebutt is the Spitfire is what made the difference in the Battle-of-Britain, where Hitler’s Luftwaffe was laying waste to England.
But it was the Hawker Hurricane, a somewhat stodgy design compared to the Spit, but earlier.
I’ll let my WWII warbirds site weigh in:
“Undoubtedly the most famous British combat aircraft of WWII, the Spitfire is as deeply ingrained in the collective psyche of most Britons as the P-51 Mustang is for most Americans.
First flown on March 5th, 1936, the Spitfire sprang from the design desk of R.J. Mitchell, who had previously submitted an unsuccessful design for a similar fighter, the Type 224.
Once given the freedom to design an aircraft outside of the strict Air Ministry specifications, his Type 300 emerged as a clear winner; so much so that a new Air Ministry specification was written to match the new design.”
Eventually Hitler had to abandon his goal of defeating England. And England was the base for Allied bombing-runs against Germany.
To me, this is not a very good photograph. Makanna has done some very dramatic shots, including of the Spitfire, but I can’t find any — they were years ago.



The greatest railroad locomotive of all time. (Photo by John Dziobko.)

—As I’ve said many times, can there be an All-Pennsy calendar without a GG-1 in it? (“Jee-Jee-ONE;” I only say that because a friend was mispronouncing it “Jee-Jee-Eye.”)
After all, the GG-1 was the most successful locomotive Pennsy ever had.
In my humble opinion, the GG-1 is the greatest railroad locomotive ever made. It could put 9,000 horsepower to railhead, whereas current diesel-locomotive technology tops out at 4,400 horsepower.
The December 2014 entry in my All-Pennsy color calendar is five GG-1s awaiting duty in a Philadelphia yard. The calendar says six, but I count five.
But what I noticed first is the coach to the left. It’s probably Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines (“REDD-ing;” not “REED-ing”), an old PRR P-70 coach re-lettered for duty on PRSL.
Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines is a 1933 amalgamation of Pennsy and Reading lines in south Jersey of too many parallel competing lines. PRSL served mainly the south Jersey seashore.
The original Reading line to Atlantic City was abandoned with the amalgamation, as were various Pennsy lines to other seashore resorts.
PRSL was not electrified. In fact, in the late ‘40s it was still using steam-locomotives, the reason I became a railfan.
I was scared to death of thunderstorms, but I could stand right next to a steam-locomotive.
Time to trot out my GG-1 photographs:


STAND BACK! (90 mph.) (Photo by BobbaLew.)

As a teenager I was lucky to live in northern DE, not far from Pennsy’s New York City to Washington DC electrified line.
I saw many GG-1s, and it seemed every time I did, they were doing about 90 mph!


Over the Flyover into Edgemoor Yard. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

I could tell many GG-1 stories, but I’ll relate only one.
My paternal grandfather, known as “Pop-Pop,” apparently rode Pennsy’s Congressional Limited behind a GG-1.
The Congressional Limited used to be Pennsy’s premier all-Pullman train from New York City to Washington. By the time my grandfather rode it, it had coaches. —I also rode it myself in 1959, and it had coaches then.
My grandfather was blown away, despite being normally unemotional.
In 1954 we were returning from my summer boys camp in northeastern MD. We were on Route 40, which more-or-less parallels Pennsy’s New York/Washington main. Route 40 crossed that main in Elkton, MD on an overpass. A southbound GG-1 passenger express boomed underneath.
“Must be the Congressional,” he said, with obvious awe in his voice.


Over Shellpot Creek on the Flyover. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

As he got older, he and my grandmother moved into an apartment in Edgemoor, DE, not far from Pennsy’s New York/Washington main.
We’d be inside, but a train would flash by.
We could hear it.
“Must be the Congressional,” he’d say.
As I age myself I wonder if anyone will understand what a great locomotive the GG-1 was.
I consider myself lucky to have been blown away so many times by GG-1s.


#4935. (Photo by Tom Hughes.)

There is my nephew, Tom Hughes, whose maternal grandfather worked on GG-1s a short time in the shops in Wilmington, DE.
Quite a few GG-1s are left. None are operable, but the best I’ve seen is #4935 at Railroad Museum of Pennsylvania near Strasburg, PA.
I fact, the electricity delivered over the overhead wire that powered GG-1s is now different, and wouldn’t work with a GG-1.
We just have to look on in awe — the greatest railroad locomotive of all time.




1967 Hemi-Charger. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

—The December 2014 entry in my Motorbooks Musclecar calendar is a 1967 Dodge Hemi-Charger.
The guys at Chrysler were aware of the smashing success of Pontiac’s G-T-O, introduced in the 1964 model-year.
The G-T-O was essentially a hotrod version of an established car, Pontiac’s mid-size Tempest.
So the boys at Dodge decided to try the same thing, a hotrod version of their intermediate car, the Coronet.
But they needed an angle, something to differentiate from a Coronet.
They grafted a fastback roof on it, and introduced it in 1966 as the “Charger.”
To me, it didn’t look that good. Later Dodge Chargers looked much better.
One lives nearby. I think it’s 1966; dark-green and nothing special, only a 383 TorqueFlite.
Years ago when I lived in Rochester (NY), I had a young neighbor who thought the world of the first fastback Chargers.
He loved their fastback lines.
To me, a fastback doesn’t notch as it approaches the car’s tail. Later Chargers have very swooping lines, but they notch.
They also were too big for this kid, early and later.
Chrysler called ‘em “mid-size,” but they were still pretty large. Not gargantuan like a Plymouth Fury, which I rented once.
That thing’s hood was big enough to land a Navy Corsair fighter-plane.
This calendar-car also has a “Hemi” motor, the gargantuan torque-generator that could melt the rear tires.
That’s following the musclecar formula: lever a hot-rodded motor from a full-size car into an intermediate.
That was the G-T-O formula; its motor was the 389 from a full-size Pontiac.
The tranny appears to be TorqueFlite; there’s no clutch-pedal.
And the tachometer is down on the center-console.
Drag-racers would want a four-speed floor-shifted standard transmission, and they’d put a tach atop the dash — where they could see it.
The stupidest tach-locations I’ve seen were outside on the hood. Is that clown-design?




Too late, and somewhat a failure. (Photo by Bert Pennypacker©.)

—The December 2014 entry of my Audio-Visual Designs black-and-white All-Pennsy Calendar is Pennsy’s 4-4-4-4 T-1 duplex, marching the Cincinnati Limited out of Cincinnati Union Station on B&O trackage-rights.
The train is bound for New York City.
The T-1 wasn’t articulated; that is, its front driver-set wasn’t hinged to a solidly-mounted rear driver-set.
What it really was, was Pennsy’s 4-8-4, but with four drive-pistons instead of two. That is, its two driver-sets were solidly-mounted to the locomotive frame.
The fact it had four drive-pistons on a single frame made it a “duplex.”
It also lengthened the driver wheelbase, so the T-1 is essentially a straight-line locomotive. It wasn’t good at negotiating tight curves.
The front driver-set wasn’t as heavily loaded as the rear driver-set, so had a tendency to slip.
And slipping could occur at elevated speeds, even 100 mph.
In which case the locomotive-engineer had to back off the throttle, reducing steam input to both driver-sets.
So the locomotive had to slow just to rein in the slipping.
Duplex design is a Baldwin Locomotive trick. It reduced the weight of locomotive side-rods, which hammer the rail as the drive-wheels rotate.
Pennsy also had freight duplexes, the Q-1 (4-6-4-4) and the Q-2s (4-4-6-4). Only the Q-2 was built in quantity, and was trumped by the economics of dieselization.
Pennsy was trying to continue the use of coal-fired steam locomotion. But dieselization was appealing.
The T-1 and the Qs were post WWII. Pennsy did not develop steam locomotives in the late ‘20s and ‘30s. 4-8-4s are prolific on other railroads, but Pennsy didn’t have any.
Pennsy was investing in electrification, and when train-weights exceeded what a single K-4 (4-6-2) could pull, they could afford to double-head K-4s.
That’s two locomotive crews per train, but Pennsy was moving so much traffic they could afford it.
So Pennsy didn’t develop steam-locomotives ‘til after the war. In fact, during the war they were caught with old and tired locomotives.
They couldn’t develop anything better. They had to go outside to purchase what they needed.

Belpaire.

An original Loewy T-1.

The “J-1” is essentially Chesapeake & Ohio’s T1 2-10-4 slightly restyled. It lacks the trademark square-hipped Pennsy Belpaire (“bell-pair”) firebox.
It was Pennsy’s war-baby; not a Pennsy design, but needed to move the torrent of traffic.
The T-1 was originally styled by Raymond Loewy, and looked fabulous.
But only two Loewy-styled T-1s were built.
Pennsy operating-men monkeyed with Loewy’s design to make it easier to work on.
Skirting was removed, and the smokebox chamfers reduced.
The Pennsy T-1 still looked impressive, but was smoky.
The T-1 also has Franklin Poppet valve-gear, very hard to work on compared to Walschaerts (“WELL-shirtz”), what most PRR steam-locomotives had.
Franklin Poppet was more precise than Walschaerts; but failure-prone.
Franklin Poppet was like the poppet-valves in a car-engine.
In fact, the locomotive shown, #5500, was the only one with revised poppet valve-gear.
But worst of all was slippage at elevated speeds. Can you imagine trying the rein-in driver-slippage at 100 mph?
But what really skonked the T-1 was dieselization. Steam-locomotives required water and coal-towers. All diesels needed was a fuel-rack; and the fuel was liquid, not solid.
And diesels deliver constant wheel-torque. A side-rod steam locomotive delivered thrusts that could break traction.
Steam-locomotives also required a gigantic phalanx of experienced technicians to maintain them.
With dieselization Pennsy was no longer developing its own locomotives.
Well, not bad for Bert Pennypacker.
Pennypacker had a habit of shooting anything and everything. He could be called a locomotive portraitist.
As such, his photos were kind of plain.
Except once-in-a-while he’d stumble on a good photo-location, or snag a dramatic photo.
That’s what I more-or-less depend on myself. I use Phil Faudi’s photo-locations on Allegheny Crossing, although my brother and I have found a few ourselves.
I also am not shooting anything and everything, like helper-units pushing the back end of a train.
Although I have, since those helper-units look like lead units. Some of my best photos are helper-units.

---

December is when I usually do extra pictures which may be in my calendars. I have five worth doing, but my Norfolk Southern Employees’ Photography-Contest calendar has an excellent photograph mucked up by Photoshop, which I can’t correct.
It also has a picture of Nickel Plate #765, but it ain’t that good
I only run three pictures, -1) the cover of my own calendar, -2) a Peter Harholdt picture in the front of my Motorbooks Musclecar calendar, and -3) an “in memoriam” to Dean Jeffries in my Oxman Hotrod Calendar.


Oh my goodness! (Photo by BobbaLew.)

In 2013, Norfolk Southern, owner of the old Pennsylvania Railroad lines across PA, recruited restored steam-locomotive Nickel Plate 765 to pull employee-appreciation trips in the state.
765 would pull trips up The Hill up Allegheny Mountain, which includes The Mighty Curve (Horseshoe Curve).
As I’ve said many times, Nickel Plate 765 is by far the BEST restored steam-locomotive I’ve ever seen.
I’m told this is the doing of Rich Melvin, leader of the restoration project.
He wanted 765 to run just like it had in service, hard and fast.
I rode behind 765 years ago. We were doing 70 mph uphill, working steam.
I will never forget it. It got me crying.
The Hill is a challenge. 12 miles of 1.75-percent grade; that’s 1.75 feet up for every 100 feet forward.
765 was pulling a string of coaches, yet had Norfolk Southern’s #8102, the Pennsy Heritage-unit, pushing the other end.
Okay, where do I photograph 765? My brother and I had come to Altoona to see 765.
I set up at the top of The Hill in Gallitzin (“guh-LIT-zin;” as in “get”) where Pennsy tunneled under the summit of Allegheny Mountain.
It would be on Track Two, next to where I set up.
We could hear it coming, assaulting the heavens up the other side of The Hill.
765 had to whistle for the tunnel.
And only steam-locomotives have whistles. Diesel-locomotives use air-horns.
Here it comes through the tunnel, blasting the tunnel-roof, working steam.
It burst out of the tunnel doing about 30 mph, speed-limit for passenger-trains on The Hill.
765’s engineer — it may have been Melvin — let out a whistle-shriek of triumph. 765 had MADE The Hill.
WOW!
Getting a picture was near impossible. Anyone and everyone, railfan and non-railfan, was out to see 765.
Steam-locomotives are pretty much the reason I became a railfan. Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines was still using steam in the late ‘40s.
But among all the PRSL steamers I saw, which includes Pennsy K-4s and E-6s, none were like 765.
765 is SuperPower, steam-locomotion hot-rodded.
The “Queen of the West End;” 765 was the favorite Nickel Plate locomotive years ago.
And Melvin and his crew restored it to run like it used to.


A ’66 396 Chevelle SS. (Photo by Peter Harholdt©.)

The Harholdt picture is a ’66 SS Chevelle, 396 cubic-inches, Chevrolet’s version of the G-T-O.
—What musclecars were, a hot-rodded version of the full-size motor in the lighter mid-size car.
(The first G-T-Os had the 389 from a full-size Pontiac.)
396 is the Chevy Big-Block. My brother-in-Boston has an SS, but it’s a 454 ’71.
He had me drive it. I dared not goose it.
Every once-in-a-while a Big-Block SS Chevelle passes my house; probably also a 454 ’71.
I can hear it coming. Induction-noise, not the exhaust.
Exhaust-noise is the unmuffled Harleys.
I’m always amazed at how far we’ve come since the musclecars.
Musclecars carry the styling in vogue at that time. They have long trunks, and aren’t aerodynamic.
Today’s cars look like jellybeans, but don’t have the wind-drag a musclecar would have.
Today’s cars also aren’t swilling gas at 5 mpg.
Plus they don’t hurl you off-road like a musclecar might.
The early Mustangs are very attractive, but not the exceptional car a recent Mustang is.
Like it or not, a musclecar is an antique.


Jeffries’ car. (It better not rain.) (Photo by Scott Williamson.)

Sometime in 2013 car-customizer Dean Jeffries died.
This was his car, a mildly hot-rodded ’33 Ford two-door sedan.
And it was drivable; his daily driver.
Jeffries was at first a painter. His first work was flames and pinstriping cars.
Which explains the extravagant flames on his car.
I usually don’t like flames, but they look pretty good on this car; as if they belong. And Jeffries did real flames, not dayglo blue or green.
Jeffries later went on into full customizations.
With Jeffries gone, this car has probably already changed hands.
We can only hope its new owner doesn’t touch it.

DELETE!

Every once-in-a-while I get a junk e-mail, probably fresh from Ebola, probably with a virus.
What follows is from “Ulyana Potanina” (WHAT?), from where I can order weight-loss and “Blue ovales” medications (what again).
“View all products . Weight Loss and Blue ovales medications
Good day
This current post address is select by a accidental from the list of the your Social Insurance company. Hospital social medications Pfizer and official Astra Zeneca maker.
Weeklong privilege worth for nationals. “
That’s a direct copy/paste of the e-mail.
Can this writer speak English at all?
Has he ever heard of past tense?
What, pray tell, is “Social Insurance?”
I collect Social-Security, but have no idea what “Social Insurance” is.
I got another; something about online degrees.
I’ll copy/paste again:
“Your Diplomal for University graduate - available, receive and check your paperl
Obtain the certificate of degree you deserve, based on your present knowledge and life experience....
Now you can receive a Qualification papers much more easier. Get it online!
We are ready to start to be engaged in your business immediately, Improve your qualification. Confidentiality assured! Give us a call us to learn the details
For the USA residents: I3I O494 O112
The residents of other countries: +131-O494 0112
They are absolutely reliable, I will answer all your questions !!!”
(This writer seems attracted to the “l” key.)
Sure, sign up and get your doctorate for no work at all, just 89 bazilyun dollars.
I don’t even visit the online colleges.
Something for nothing, plus the e-mail infects your ‘pyooter.
Do they get any hits at all?
Yes, a sucker is born every minute, but I’m not one.
Thank goodness this laptop junks this stuff, but my iPhone doesn’t.
Although I could probably get an iPhone app that did it.
If I keep getting snowed with this malarky, I might just hafta.

• “‘Pyooter” is computer.

“Revolutionary and magical”

I worry about not having madness to blog.
Last night I felt like I had run the well dry.
But just-in-the-nick-of-time Steve “Godhead” Jobs, head-honcho of Apple back in 2007 when the iPhone debuted, gave me a topic.
“Revolutionary and magical,” he called it.
My niece’s daughter’s birthday was last Saturday, November 22nd. Her family wanted to eat out to celebrate her birthday.
They didn’t call me because I was supposedly going to south Jersey for Thanksgiving.
But that tanked due to weather.
I had to return home.
So I called about celebrating her birthday.
They planned to eat out Sunday, November 30th.
They would meet at a restaurant at 4 p.m.
So I put it on my paper calendar.
Now to put it in my iPhone.
I use voice-recognition.
“Dinner with Debbie,” I said.
It got that.
Location:
“Elmwood Inn.” It got that.
Start-date and time:
Sunday, November 30th at 4 p.m.
Next step: which calendar, “work” or “home?”
Since I’m retired, I never have a work-calendar.
It does “work” by default, so I attempted to switch to “home.”
LOCK! Wouldn’t do it.
Nothing worked at all; all my phone would do is shut off, and I wasn’t expecting that.
Second attempt:
It locked after location; couldn’t even do a start-date and time.
Third attempt:
I got past the start-date and time, but after that it locked again.
I gave up. So much for “revolutionary and magical.”
My iPhone keeps telling me I could upgrade to a new operating-system, but it won’t let me do it.
It seems to lock after I agree to all the folderol.
Wondrous magic, but it won’t let me upgrade the OS.
And my Apple guru says it’s probably bug-fixes, like maybe fixing the reason it locked in my calendar-app. —He couldn’t update it either.
Time to drag into the ‘pyooter-store that sold me the iPhone, and maybe even an Apple-store.
What happens if one of the bugs needing fixing is what locks up upgrading?
Jobs died of pancreatic-cancer a while ago. My iPhone is a “5,” and its operating-system is up to version iO8.
And it keeps lobbing an iCloud log-in at me, which I don’t need.
I don’t do much with my iPhone, nowhere near what it could do.
To me it’s mainly a phone, but I also have my grocery-lists in it, my calendar when it runs, and I use it down in Altoona to access my Internet weather-site to check the local weather-radar.
I also use it as a camera.
It also gets my e-mail, and often I use it to respond.
But when it comes to my grand-niece’s birthday-gig, I guess I gotta rely on ancient technology: pencil-and-paper.

• “Debbie” is my niece.
• “‘Pyooter” is computer.

Thanksgiving-feast skonked

As a grief-stricken widower, I am continually advised to interact with people, as if that will counteract my incredible sorrow.
Well, okay, but I’m a loner. Always have been. People make me nervous.
Usually those advising enjoy interacting with people. I’ve always kept to myself.
Be that as it may, I’ve attempted to include more people in my life.
But like it or not, I always return alone to an empty house.
It’s nice to have people around, but they are only a distraction — a distraction that melts away.
I have befriended various people I would have never befriended with my wife still around.
And I imagine I’ll continue doing so despite different values. —They still make me nervous, but only slightly, like I don’t want to do or say anything that sets them off.
It turns out that various of my south Jersey relatives hold a Thanksgiving-feast each year. It’s held at a younger cousin’s house.
I found this out from another cousin, and suggested maybe I should attend. —The brokenhearted widower trying to be with people.
So we’d do it. Planning was set in motion. Arrange to board dog, make contact and verify house-location, and map out my long trip to south Jersey.
Actually I would stay with my younger brother in northern DE, then leap over the Delaware River to south Jersey on Thanksgiving day.
A trip to my brother is about 7-8 hours, in other words, all day.
I would drive down on Wednesday, November 26th, and return on Friday, November 28th.
I had to begin planning this at least a month in advance.
I had to make sure my never-ending surfeit of medical appointments, etc., didn’t conflict.
And boarding a dog for a holiday isn’t something you arrange at the last minute.
So I set out yesterday morning on my long journey to northern DE. A nor’easter was rumbling up the east coast; heavy snow was predicted on my route.
There was no snow when I departed my house, but it was cloudy. That was an hour-and-a-half after leaving off my dog, which was at 8:45, and I had got up at 6 a.m.
It takes about 25 minutes just to get to my dog-boarder.
My car needed gas, so I stopped at the famed ArrowMart in tiny Prattsburgh.
ArrowMart is probably the only gas-station in Prattsburgh.
And you’ll note I spelled it “Prattsburgh” with an “H,” not “Prattsburg.”
(My spellcheck is hip; it’s flagging “Prattsburg.”)
For years the highway-signs entering Prattsburgh had it as “Prattsburg.” Meanwhile the Post Office and town platt-maps had it as “Prattsburgh.”
We used to worry about this stuff at the Messenger Newspaper, because if it ran as “Prattsburg” the CONSERVATIVES might call and loudly excoriate our head-honcho. They also might do if if we ran it as “Prattsburgh.”
We were the dreaded media, and therefore too liberal.
CONSERVATIVES would claim they could do a better job.
Now the highway-signs into Prattsburgh spell it with an “H.” —The old signs were replaced.
But I noticed my ArrowMart gas-receipt  still has it as “Prattsburg.”
Snowflakes were beginning as I left ArrowMart, and by Bath it was snowing lightly.
The roads were still clear, so I got on Interstate-86, headed for I-81 at Binghamton.
The snow got heavier and heavier as I continued east. The highway started to ice-up.
East of Elmira (“el-MY-ruh”) a black Toyota RAV4, that had been passing me, slid off the road into the center median.
No damage, but I began to wonder.
That RAV4 didn’t hit anything; not even a guardrail.
I probably continued another 10 miles, then decided to give up.
It’s a 65 mph road, but I was down to 50-55 mph, gingerly trying to avoid a spinoff.
I got off on a ramp to U.S.-220, and circled around to what I thought was a ramp back on.
It wasn’t. It was a Scenic-Road, probably the original highway, that parallels the old Erie Railroad and the Chemung River. (Erie is now Norfolk Southern.)
I-86 was nowhere in sight.
Thank you NY. In PA they tell you if there’s no re-entry.
I followed this scenic road at least 10 miles, then came into a little town with a crossroad that claimed it intersected I-86.
I got back on. So began my long journey home, about three hours.
I also had to shop the supermarket in Canandaigua to get supper.
My cousin from south Jersey called when I finally got home; I had e-mailed him I had to give up.
He suggested I drive down Thanksgiving Day.
“Not that simple,” I said. Just setting up this trip took a whole month.
Everything is scheduled to the hilt.
And it’s the old waazoo.
The laundry doesn’t do itself.
The bed doesn’t make itself.
The dishwasher doesn’t unload itself.
The laundry is 10-15 minutes.
The bed is 15-20 minutes.
The dishwasher is 20-25 minutes.
These things add up. So rollout to breakfast complete is over two hours.
Sure, I could just re-arrange my bed in maybe five minutes — in which case I get to climb into a mess at bedtime.
So free Thanksgiving dinner with the oldsters at the church up the street.
During which time I kept to myself, as always; since I knew no one.

• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.
• The “Messenger Newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired almost nine years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)

B-A-C-H

The classical-music radio-station out of Rochester (NY) I listen to, WXXI, is public-radio.
Most of its financial support comes from memberships.
Since it’s the only radio I can stand, I listen to it all the time.
As soon as I walk in my house, WXXI goes on.
That is, everything except opera, which I can’t stand. Bellowing and screaming!
Uh-oh......... they goosed her again. Why can’t they let that poor girl alone?
I’m a so-called “sustaining-member.” I allow WXXI to charge my checking-account $50 a month. I figure they’re worth it, since I listen to it as much as I do.
I guess being a sustaining-member makes me special.
A matron from WXXI called me up to follow up a letter she sent.
.....to get my opinions, and see if I wanted to take part in planning.
I don’t remember no letter. I remember a previous phonecall.
This most recent phonecall supposedly wasn’t a solicitation, and she didn’t seem to be after my wallet.
I commented it was the only radio I could stand, and had it on right then.
Did I wanna take part in station-planning: a future phonecall.
I responded my input would be B-A-C-H. “I’m a Bach junky,” I said.
So in other words, I didn’t wanna take part in station-planning.
“Just keep the Bach coming,” I said.

If I don’t see a traffic-light, it doesn’t exist!

Sometimes I’m thankful I drove Transit bus 16&1/2 years.
It made me overly conscious of idiots, and some of the things they do.
This has saved my ass hundreds of times.
I find this to be especially true at the supermarket on Saturday afternoon.
Not just the crammed parking-lot, but also Granny in her battery-powered shopping-cart charging the freebie-stations.
Bam-slam: “Oh my golly!” Apples all over the floor.
“Gimme that dip, if you please, honey! SHLURP!”
I look both ways before I start into an intersection, traffic-light or not. And I expect anything from other drivers.
Just because someone has their turn-signal on, doesn’t mean they’re gonna turn.
I also check my right-side mirror in locations where some glowering intimidator might pass me illegally on my right, middle finger upraised. All because I was only doing 10 mph over the speed-limit, not 50.
And I don’t follow the advice of back-seat drivers. The one driving is me.
One morning my wife was driving me to work at Transit.
We were motoring blithely down the street, when suddenly back-up lights winked on in a car 75 feet up its driveway next to a house.
“LOOK OUT!” I screamed. “This idiot is liable to back out right in front of us!.”
He didn’t, of course, but that’s the old bus-driver jones.
We’d notice things like back-up lights flashing on — and go into defensive mode.
I was motoring with another retired bus-driver — I too was retired by then — down an extremely busy street in a nearby suburb.
We’d advance about 100 feet, then stop, then advance another 100 feet, and stop again.
“Do you see how much slop I have in front of me?” I observed. “That’s my bus-driving experience,” I said. “I wanna be able to stop without throwing my passengers out of their seats.”
I had maybe six car-lengths, yet we were crawling at about three mph.
All-of-a-sudden a black Lexus changed lanes right in front of me, unsignaled of course.
“Did you see that?” my friend cried. “He cut you right off!”
“Yep,” I said; “which is why I have so much slop in front of me, to allow for idiots like that.”
The fact I had six car-lengths ahead of me left him a hole to charge into. But no drama or histrionics were needed on my part.
And I’d say I was gonna get to my destination about the same time as him. Assertiveness might save him two-three minutes.
So he changed lanes. He was gonna have to stop just like me.
One of the supermarkets I patronize has its parking-lot exit into a main road protected by a traffic-light.
The light changed — I had a green light.
But a semi was in the process of running the light. His light probably changed to yellow as he approached.
So my light changed to green, and like the old bus-driver I am, I looked both ways before driving into the intersection.
Yep, here comes Granny in her CR-V, blithely following the semi. So by now she’s running a red-light.
Did she see the light at all? I doubt it; she didn’t act like she did.
If you can’t see a traffic-light, it doesn’t exist. —Ahem, I’ve lived in this town long enough to know where the traffic-lights are.
If a semi is blocking my view of a traffic-light, I don’t just blithely follow the semi.

• “Transit” equals Regional Transit Service, the public transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY, where I drove transit-bus for 16&1/2 years (1977-1993). My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.
• A “glowering intimidator” is a tailgater, named after Dale Earnhardt, deceased, the so-called “intimidator” of NASCAR fame, who used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him pass. Glowering intimidators usually shake their fist at me, blow their horn, and give me the middle-finger salute as they roar past.

It’s a phone

(Photos by BobbaLew.)

My neighbor’s son lives across the street with his father.
He’s in his fifties, and still pretty spry.
His father is 79, and inherited his house from his father, who died some time ago.
Son has become a pretty good friend. He helped repair my lawnmower a few times.
His father is also a good neighbor, although we’re always making snide remarks, and giving each other the business.
Son apparently attended an estate-sale, yard-sale, whatever. He knows I’m a railfan, so bought what’s pictured above.
It’s a model of a Southern Railway Ps-4 Pacific (4-6-2).
But it’s also a telephone. Plug it in, and it makes whistle, bell and chuff-sounds when it rings.
The Southern Ps-4 is perhaps the prettiest steam-locomotive ever.
And it’s actually green. The president of Southern Railway wanted green-painted locomotives, just like in England.
Most railroad steam-locomotives were black, with a silvered smokebox.
Although Union Pacific had a series that was gray; its 800-series of 4-8-4 Northerns.
Only one (#844) is left, and it still operates. It was never retired. But it’s no longer gray.

#1401, which I’ve seen.

Only one Southern Ps-4 is left, #1401 on display in the Smithsonian in Washington DC.
It’s not operable.
The fact it’s not outside keeps it from decaying.
My model looks pretty good.
It’s fairly large, not O-gauge, but larger than “S.”
What impresses me most is the side-rods and valve-gear.
It’s very well done, and looks just like the real thing.
Baker valve-gear, which the Ps-4 had, is right out where you can see it. It’s outside the drive-wheels, not inside like earlier Stephenson valve-gear.
Baker is relatively intricate to model.
Yet every rod and lever is there; I’ve seen some models that scrimp on valve-gear.
Of course, its just a stationary model; it doesn’t hafta work.
Look hard, and you see flaws.
The reverse cylinder, a plastic casting, isn’t attached to the valve-gear. And I notice both sides have the driving-wheels in the rods-down position.
Rods-down was the most photogenic view, but rod location wasn’t identical side-to-side.
The rods for one side were 90 degrees ahead of or behind the opposite side.
And that reverse-cylinder is what reversed the valve-gear so the locomotive could back up. It was attached to the valve-gear by an actuation rod.
Details — details.
It still looks mighty good.
The rods are even carved away inside, just like the real thing.
I don’t know what I’ll do with it. My smartphone also has a locomotive whistle as its ringtone.
My brother-and-I recorded it long ago.
I’ve been tempted to dump my landline. I never answer it any more; I don’t have caller-ID on it, and it’s usually someone after my wallet.
I give out my cellphone-number any more; if someone important, like a relative, calls my landline, they’ll leave a message.
But for now, this Ps-4 telephone keeps my landline going.

• “O-gauge” is 30 millimeters (1.181 inches) to 33 millimeters (1.3 inches) between the rails, S-gauge is 0.883 inches (22.43 millimeters) between the rails. Lionel toy trains were O-gauge; A.C. Gilbert’s American-Flyer trains were S-gauge; which I preferred because American-Flyer was two-rail, as opposed to Lionel, which was three-rail. —My phone is one inch between the rails.

U.P. #844 in gray.

Trains of the ‘40s

Trains of the ‘40s.

Since I was so pleased with “Trains of the ‘60s,” I decided I should get “Trains of the ‘40s,” a more recent magazine-format booklet by Classic Trains magazine.
But “Trains of the‘40s” ain’t “Trains of the ‘60s.” What I liked about “Trains of the ‘60s” is it had many articles by David P. Morgan, editor of Trains Magazine in the ‘60s, a really great writer, and the reason I subscribed back in 1966.

DPM.

I’ve subscribed ever since.
David had pretty much same appreciation of railroading I had, and also made me think.
“Trains” was first published in 1940 by Al Kalmbach as an adjunct to his Model Railroader Magazine, first published as the January 1934 issue.
It could be said “Trains of the ‘40s” is pretty much Kalmbach, although there are other writers from that time that Kalmbach published in Trains.
But there are multiple articles by Kalmbach, and he ain’t Morgan.
I feel like “Trains of the ‘40s” is required reading. It ain’t the fabulous stuff of Morgan.
The ‘40s was a very important time for railroading. It could be said our nation won WWII because of the railroads.
Huge amounts of freight and passengers gravitated to the railroads. And unlike Germany, our railroads weren’t being bombed.
A vast ocean insulated our infrastructure. We were slow to get rolling, but once we did we were unbeatable.
Hitler tried to sabotage our railroads, but the plot fizzled. Targets were Pennsy’s tunnels over Allegheny Mountain, and Hell Gate Bridge in New York City, among other locations including Horseshoe Curve.
But the tiny band of saboteurs got caught.
I don’t know as the saboteurs would have made much difference. The tunnels would have been reopened, and Hell Gate rebuilt.
Too much remained, and was put to heavy use.
Destroyed tunnels and bridges would have slowed things, but detours would have been found.
“Trains of the ‘40s” does a giant treatment of the saboteur plot. But I can’t get much interested; it’s not Morgan.
Despite railroading’s contribution to the war effort, there was more at play after the war ended.
Railroading thought it was gonna be pre-eminent; but didn’t notice the car and airlines.
Railroads were switching to diesel locomotives, and investing heavily in streamlined passenger-cars.
“Trains of the ‘40s” recognizes that. There’s a giant article on GM’s “Train of Tomorrow.”
Like HELLO; it’s General Motors. They manufacture automobiles.
It seems all business organizations follow a cycle, rise followed by decline and fall.
In the late ‘40s the railroads began falling apart. Now even GM has declared bankruptcy. Awash in the good fortune of their technology, they become targets, then falter of their own weight.
The railroads performed miracles during WWII, but then declined after the war and collapsed in disarray.
There is one article in “Trains of the ‘40s” I’ll read, a treatment of Spuyten Duyvil interlocking north of New York City, published by Kalmbach long ago.
Spuyten Duyvil is the junction of the Hudson and Harlem rivers north of Manhattan. It’s where New York Central divided into freight and passengers into Manhattan Island.
Freight went down Manhattan Island via the West Side Line, and passengers continued along the Harlem River toward Grand Central Terminal.
But I probably won’t read much else.
There is one article by DPM I’ll probably read, about coming dieselization.

---

I have read the article by Morgan. It’s 1949, so before his finding full flower.
I’ll publish the first paragraph; it seems to have the flash he later developed.

“The courtship of the diesel locomotive by the railroads has run it’s erratic course from a shy flirtation on the back porch of Jersey Central to a formal wedding, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer.
The question is no longer one of proposal but simply, ’How long will the honeymoon last?’’’

But it’s more like an assignment, not a reflection. Like Kalmbach told him he needed a report on dieselization by the railroads.
Morgan had a similar long report on Denver & Rio Grande Western in “Trains of the ‘60s” that was much better — more interesting.
And this was from a steam-junky, which Morgan was, and I still am.


Oh my goodness! (Photo by BobbaLew.)

Exner Imperials

A ’61. (Photo by Richard Lentinello.)

The January 2015 issue of my Hemmings Classic Car magazine has a giant treatment of what it calls “the Exner Imperials.”
That’s Chrysler’s Imperial, fielded to compete with GM’s Cadillac.
Virgil Exner was Chrysler’s chief stylist in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s.
He was hired by Chrysler in 1949, and became Chrysler’s styling-director in 1953.
He was responsible for Chrysler’s “Forward-Look,” an attempt to make Chrysler styling competitive with GM and Ford.
The magazine says the “Forward-Look” began in the 1955 model-year, but to me it began in 1957.
The ’55 Chrysler products were a step beyond earlier Chryslers, but in 1957 the “Forward-Look” came into full-flower.
I also remember the “Forward-Look” as being trumpeted first in 1957.
The “Forward-Look” seemed to involve giant fins.
The 1957 Plymouth was much larger than previous Plymouths, and had giant fins.
My wife’s parents bought one, and my wife said it was worst car they ever owned.
It rusted out immediately.
It also was the car my wife learned to drive on, a gigantic barge.
My wife was intimidated, and her mother not least bit understanding.
Like her father, my wife was “automotively challenged.”
There is no way she could have learned standard-shift. Thankfully the Plymouth was automatic.
I didn’t understand her myself at first, but came to. I regret wanting to take over for her father early-on.
When my wife drove, I felt I was driving too.
“No, we got plenty of time. They’re not going to sideswipe us. You don’t need to back off.”
The “Imp” has been around since 1926, but always seemed to be a stepchild of the mighty Chrysler brand, especially in the ‘50s.
I became aware of Imperials because the Mayor of Erlton (“ERL-tin;” as in the name “Earl”), the suburb of Philadelphia in south Jersey I grew up in, who lived across the street from us, got one, a black ’55 model.
It was impressive, but shared body-panels with Chrysler.
Imperial didn’t start standing alone until they mounted the taillights atop the fender-fins, which began in 1956.
Imperial began using its own body-panels by 1957, and even moved into its own assembly-plant.
But shortly it moved back to Chrysler’s main plant in Detroit to take advantage of rust-fighting measures that began there.
To my mind, the standout Imperials are the 1961 model-year on, when the standalone headlights began.
At last the car looked as good as intended, a competitor to Cadillac.
As I recall, a fellow-student’s father had one while I was in college. It was a ’61, a grand car, and also pretty. The standalone headlights looked good — and there were four, as was the styling-custom at that time.
Of course now a ’61 Imperial looks ridiculously large, a giant land-barge.
And just about all of Chrysler’s offerings back then were as large. Only Valiant and Dart were small.
Exner lasted until replaced by Elwood Engle in 1961.
But the Exner Imperials lasted through the 1963 model-year.
And now, of course, Imperial is gone.

• RE: “automotively challenged........” —means difficulty driving, unable to do it confidently. The supposed antidote was to “take charge,” but my wife, and her father, couldn’t.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years is now gone. I miss her dearly.

Nellie Bly

Nellie Bly.

I happened to miss the radio airing of Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac the other morning (November 14th, 2014).
The classical-music station out of Rochester (NY) I listen to, WXXI, airs it at 8:20, and I turned on my radio at 8:20.
So Garrison was already on. I had missed his treatment of Nellie Bly. I would have to Google “Writer’s Almanac” to see what he said. I would also Google “Nellie Bly.”
The morning host at WXXI, Brenda Tremblay (“trom-BLAY;” as in “trombone”), who I occasionally e-mail, mostly because unlike some she responds immediately, told me she thought the world of Nellie Bly.
Nellie Bly was actually Elizabeth Cochrane (May 5, 1864 - January 27, 1922), an intrepid female reporter for various newspapers, mainly the New York World.
She was an adventurer, and would try anything.
“Nellie Bly” was her pen-name.
She had various adventures, time living in Mexico, her insanity-asylum exposé where she feigned insanity, and circumnavigation of the globe alone in 1889.
She began November 14, 1889, and finished January 25, 1890; 72 days.
Tremblay’s veneration of Nellie Bly reminded me of my childhood fascination with Amelia Earhart.
Earhart was the first women to successfully cross the Atlantic Ocean flying solo, a repeat of Charles Lindbergh’s flight in the “Spirit of St. Louis” in 1927. She did it in 1932.
And I’ve seen video of Lindbergh’s takeoff from Roosevelt Field in Long Island. He barely got it airborne; his plane was heavy with gasoline.
Earhart also disappeared attempting an around-the-world flight in 1937. She was never found.
Nellie Bly became so famous the Pennsylvania Railroad named a train after her; New York City to Atlantic City.
And I think it was still in Jersey when I was born (1944), which meant it ran the old Camden & Amboy between Philadelphia and New York City, although there were ferries at each end.
The Camden & Amboy later become Pennsy’s Bordentown Branch.
The Camden & Amboy was the first railroad in New Jersey.
Not too long after, the Nellie Bly was switched to partially in PA south of Trenton. In Philadelphia it headed toward Atlantic City.
That’s a dog-leg, but via the Camden & Amboy was also a dog-leg.
There was no direct railroad from New York to Atlantic City. Central of New Jersey was fairly close; it went down the center of the state, and New Jersey is narrow. But CNJ wasn’t Pennsy.
I think the Nellie Bly was still running in the ‘60s when I got married (1967).
But now of course it’s gone.
And I doubt many people know who Nellie Bly was.
She was the first investigative reporter.
Has anything been named after Dr. Phil or Oprah?

Bluetooth follies

As I finished next month’s calendar-report, which I try to do in advance, and am well ahead this time.....
.....I worried I may not have any material to blog.
But as I said to Marcy once, my cohort at the Daily Messenger newspaper in Canandaigua, when she asked how I had so much madness to blog:
“Marcy, it’s everywhere!”
So here I am yesterday blithely motoring toward Canandaigua to work out at the YMCA.
My cellphone rings. My car has Bluetooth, so I fingered the answer-button on the steering-wheel.
After the usual surfeit of “hellos” that seem to come with cellphone use, a bubbly chipper girl started feverishly yammering at me at the speed of light — except it was a machine.
Oh, a call I wouldn’t have answered, except my cellphone, which has caller-ID, is in my back pants-pocket.
Something about reducing my student-loan debt with some program recently introduced by “Obama.”
Um, I graduated college 48 years ago, and paid off my student-loan debt in about two-or-three years. Including my National-Defense-Student-Loans (NDSL), a program initiated by President Johnson.
And people quite often ran from their NDSL debt.
“Obama?” Do you mean “President Obama?” The mention of “Obama” seemed hard, like she could hardly say it.
I get stuff like this all-the-time on Facebook and in my e-mail. Scotch your credit-card debt, refinance your mortgage, do a reverse-mortgage to get immediate cash.
For what? To buy a speedboat or Corvette?
Not interested! What interests me is not owing anyone anything, which I don’t.
I own my house and car, and pay my credit-card balance in full every month.
I was reminded of a fellow-worker’s comment: “Welcome to Ontario Honda. Please deposit your checkbook, wallet, and all credit-cards on our table, and we’ll happy to help you.”
It was “Ontario Honda” because this guy’s father worked there as a salesman.
I always did well at Ontario Honda.
“If you wish to speak to our representatives, please press ‘one’ now.”
Can’t! I’m Bluetoothing. My cellphone is inaccessible. My car-radio has 10 “preset” keys; perhaps they’re the same as a telephone keypad. I don’t know; never tried it.
“If not interested, please press ‘five’ now.”
Again, Can’t! I can’t do nut’in’.
“Beep-beep-beep.” Deafening silence from me; the call ended.
I don’t answer my landline any more. No caller-ID; and it’s always someone after my wallet.

• The “Messenger newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired almost nine years ago. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• “Marcy” is my number-one Ne’er-do-Well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Messenger. The “Ne’er-do-Wells” are a group of people I e-mail my blogs to.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about one-two hours per visit.
• RE: “My car has Bluetooth.....” —For those not technically savvy, my cellphone will radio to a Bluetooth receiver, in this case my car. I can thereby answer cellphone calls while driving, through my car-radio. I could also make cellphone calls, but I don’t because it’s unreliable.

David

David. (Trains Collection.)

A while ago, in a blog titled “Trains of the ‘60s,” I decried the fact I couldn’t find a picture of David P. Morgan, the one-time editor of Trains Magazine.
DPM is pretty much the reason I subscribed to Trains back in 1966. I’ve subscribed ever since.
DPM seemed to have the same view of railroading I had, that it was very dramatic.
70 mph behind a steam-locomotive is something I’ll never forget.
I once was trackside on the old New York Central west of Buffalo.
It was slightly upgrade.
By then I think it was Conrail.
So here came a westbound freight-train, assaulting the heavens as it climbed the grade.
I was blown away, and I think DPM would have been too.
DPM also showed me how incredibly efficient a railroad was. That it moves so much more freight than trucks, and used a tiny right-of-way compared to an interstate.
He also showed me those wanting continued rail-service were often begging welfare; that the cost of continued rail-service wasn’t borne by them, it was borne by the railroad.
I wrote a Letter-to-the-Editor of the Rochester (NY) newspaper because it wanted continued rail-delivery of newsprint via a subway connected to Penn-Central.
Obviously I’m not DPM, but I consider him my mentor.
His influence is immense.
To me, railroading is very dramatic, and I try to convey that drama just like David.
I write fairly well, but it’s mainly my rail-photography. And also the photos I steal from my brother. When he snags a photo better than mine I use his.
The February 2011 issue of my Trains Magazine has a pretty good photograph of David looking up from his typewriter.
Things sure have changed, and I’m glad they have.
Years ago, in the early ‘70s, I was covering motorsport for a small weekly newspaper in Rochester called City/East.
I was doing it on my wife’s Smith-Corona portable I still have.
It was a struggle.
I’d hafta add something, or correct errors, and I had to toss my first report and start over.
Then there was the typesetter problem. Someone would typeset my story on a Linotype, and I’d have to proof it to make sure they spelled “Ferrari” right.
Now things are much better. My “typewriter” is this here laptop, and I’m using a word-processor. Would that I had that back in the early ‘70s.
That word-processor has a spellcheck. It flags misspellings and mistypes.
And I can correct things right in this ‘pyooter. I don’t have to start over.
Rudimentary as his operation was, DPM generated some incredible stuff.
He’d witness some drama, and then convey what he’d witnessed.
But David didn’t like to be photographed; I don’t either.

• My wife died April 17th, 2012, but I still have her typewriter.
• “‘Pyooter” is computer.

Honesty is not always the best policy

The other day, Monday, November 3rd, 2014, I decided to give an honest answer to the “How ya doin’” question, instead of the socially responsible answer.
A guy from Victor Power & Equipment came to return my snowblower, which they had repaired.
It had gushed gasoline all over my garage-floor when I started it. They replaced the carburetor.
I hadn’t analyzed, much as I’m mechanically inclined, since I was gonna turn it over to them to replace a tire larger than the one they already replaced.
Different tire-sizes made it crab. I could have pulled the wheel, but the cotter-pin was froze. I didn’t have the tools to press it out.
“How ya doin’?” the guy asked.
“Horrible,” I said. “My wife died a while ago, and I can’t get over it.”
THUD! Went over like a lead-balloon.
The poor guy was completely flustered. He had no idea what to say.
Obviously, honesty was not the best policy.
My brother from northern DE calls me every Sunday afternoon.
My niece from Fort Lauderdale was up to visit.
Her husband, who works for the F.B.I., had been given a temporary assignment at F.B.I. headquarters in Washington DC.
They moved up to an apartment, and rented their house in south FL.
So she could easily visit my brother. Washington DC is not far from northern DE.
My niece’s mother, my sister, died almost three years ago. My niece seems to have got over it, attached as they were.
My niece wants me to be chipper and humorous like I was before, but I’m not happy. I’m still brokenhearted.
I feel bad I can’t be the person she expects.
Like my wife died over two-and-a-half years ago. Why am I still brokenhearted?
So obviously an honest answer to the “How ya doin’” question is the wrong answer.
I ended up giving the poor guy an out. “Other than that,” I said; “I guess okay.”

• Victor is a town about 12 miles away. My snowblower is a Honda, and can only be fixed with Honda parts, including tires. Victor Power & Equipment is a Honda-dealer.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her dearly.