Five Steps

Five Steps


“Rinke – You're  firing for Johnny Shea today, Jamison, you fire for Hume, Scannell today you're helping in the roundhouse.  The rest of you clowns you know you jobs, so get to work.  This isn't an ice cream social here” the foreman bellowed, as he navigated past the tools, dissected locomotives and the various clutter strewn around the roundhouse floor.  The air inside the roundhouse was so thick with smoke and haze that it captured the early morning sun's rays and transformed them into diagonal pillars that looked to be supporting the windows high up the wall.
As the foreman approached the small group of men gathered around the open boiler of the ancient 2-8-4 locomotive, Leroy Rinke, a tall, stocky, blond young man, quickly said in an astonished voice, “Boss, you want me to fire for Johnny Shea?  I usually fire for Sylvester Hume.”
“Kid, I know damn well who you usually fire for,” the foreman barked back,  “I said you are firing for Shea, so get your ass out there. He's got 251's steam head up and he's ready to go.” the foreman finished. He then turned and quickly walked back toward the door, disappearing into the haze.  Leroy thought about following and arguing, but realized it would do little more than get everyone's overalls soiled, and future life in the yard would be hell.
As soon as the heavy wooden door slammed shut and the foreman was out of earshot, the men slowly drifted back to the rear of the locomotive, out of sight of the door.  It was always a possibility that the foreman would walk back in to catch the employees in their bitch session. 
When all had congregated, Leroy was the first to speak, “What the hell did I do to get stuck with Shea?”
Mark Jamison, who had twelve years on the railroad, replied, “I don 't know, but I am glad I'm not you.  From what I hear, the last fireman got carried out of the cab on a stretcher.  Supposedly, old man Shea stuffed the guy's arm into the firebox because he didn't call him sir.”
“Yea, Fred Eckert told me that he saw one of Johnny's firemen stumble out of the cab with a broken arm and a big cut over his eye.” said Pat Scannell, the lucky fireman who got to work in the roundhouse today.
Jim Larson, another fireman in the group added, “George Schmidt told me, that he heard, that once, Johnny took a crap right on the coal pile and made his fireman shovel it into the firebox.  And I've heard that every day he buys a whole bag of oranges and eats every one of them before he gets to Portage.”
After a second, Gunnar Olsen, an old brakeman said quietly, “You guys don't know Johnny, he is not all that bad, He's was driving that old 251 before you were even pissing in your diapers. Just do your job right and for heaven's sake don't ask him how he got the glass eye or about his oranges.  Now Leroy you better get out there before he comes in here after you.”
Leroy just stuck his hands in the pockets of his hickory stripe overalls and looked at the floor.  “Well, wish me luck.” he said.
Mark quickly replied, “I'll take care of your girl friend if you don't come back.  She likes me better anyway.”
The group burst into laughter and quickly separated, taking up their day's work positions.  Leroy continued looking at the floor, reminding Gunnar of a pouting child.  So, Gunnar, being the elder of the group, comforted Leroy, saying “Like I said Leroy, just do the best job you can, and listen to what he has to say.  He knows more than all of us put together.”  As he finished, he slapped Leroy on the back and said, “Go get em kid.
“Thanks” Leroy said without enthusiasm and walked for the door.
Through the last three years, Leroy had moved up from the track gang, Now the twenty-two year old had graduated to fireman.  Being a farm boy he was used to physical labor and even enjoyed the work.  His stocky frame was well suited for the hard railroad life. But what he enjoyed even more, was the comradeship of the railroad brotherhood.  Soon It wasn't long before he was assigned under an experienced, old, engineer, named Sylvester Hume. 
Sylvester was one of those nice guys that had moved up through the ranks of the railroad by doing consistent work.  Leroy liked the old engineer, and realized that although, Sylvester was good at what he did, he was not exceptional. The farm boy had learned early, that when you were consistent, and showed up for work every day, you could make the railroad a good career.  Even though it never crossed the big kid's mind not to show up.  It wasn't what someone did on the farm, so how could it be different now.
Leroy looked across the turntable at big old Baldwin locomotive coupled to a mixed freight drag.  He could just make out through the dim  morning light the 251 on the side of the cab.  But more importantly he saw the silhouette of the engineer in the cab window. Nothing looked different in this light, but he knew that silhouette was the mean SOB that could make or break his career. 
“No point in delaying any longer” Leroy thought.  Kicking a clinker with his left boot, he straightened out his six foot frame and looked up at the sky and said a prayer out loud.
“Lord if you are up there, get me through this, and make sure that Irishman doesn't kill me.  If you do, I promise I'll go to church every Sunday this lent.”
The big kid then looked back at the silhouette in the cab and took his first steps into the real railroad world.  He walked with an air of purpose to the side of the locomotive, stood beneath that window and yelled, “You Johnny Shea?  I was told you get to have me fire for you today”
The engineer turned and looked down at Leroy.
Leroy froze inside.  The silhouette turned and the fireman for the first time, got to picture of the devil incarnate.  An old man in his sixties, gray stubble of a beard,  with one brown eye looking off into the distance and all the while the other green eye pierced through you like the headlight on one of the new Alco diesels  On his head sat a spotless hickory stripe hat tipped off to one side.  In his mouth a two inch stub of a cigar that hadn't seen I match in days. 
This was Johnny Shea, the engineer from the land beyond hell.  Without an instant of hesitation, Johnny just looked down out of that cab window, took the cigar out of his mouth, spit a wad of chew at Leroy's feet and said in his Irish drawl, “You listen here, you snot nosed, pup, I didn't ask for you, I was forced to take you after I stuffed the last runt like you into the firebox.  Now get your pimply ass up here and get the steam head up so I can get this train out on time.” 
He then spit another wad of chew with such accuracy, that it hit Leroy's boot without getting a drop on his pants or on the ground.  Shoving the cigar stub back in his mouth he just “Humphed” and focused his one good eye back on the activity ahead.
Leroy shook his head side to side, wiped his boot against the air hose to remove the spit and climbed up into the cab. Grabbing the shovel, he looked around the cab to get a feel of his surroundings.
The fireman involuntarily gasped out loud as he noticed a netting bag of oranges on the floor beneath the engineer's seat.  “Oh my God, Jim Larson was right.” he thought. “Maybe Gunnar is wrong and the stories are true.” he continued, and then to his further amazement he noticed the locomotive was equipped with an stoker system.  So he turned to the old engineer and asked, “Do you want me to fire by hand or use the stoker?”
Turning and looking at Leroy with his good eye, Johnny said, “I wouldn't give a hair on St. Patrick's ass for that stoker.  You'll fire the way I tell you, and when I tell you.  Do you understand?”
Not budging from his seat, Johnny continued sternly, “Now, when I tell you one shovel, you throw one shovel, not a half a shovel - not three quarters - one full shovel.  When I say two shovels you throw two shovels and so on.  Got that?”
“Yes sir” Leroy stammered as he stepped on the pedal that opened the clam doors to check on the fire. 
Johnny returned his attention to the activity ahead and replied, “Good, then we will get along just fine.”
Looking up at Johnny, Leroy grabbed the poker and stirred the coals to spread them out.  The engineer looked back,  nodded, and once again returned his eyes to the front of the engine.
That green eye, piercing through him while the other stared off into the distance made the young kid so nervous that he nearly dropped that poker into the firebox.
“This is going to be one hell of a day.” he thought, “How am I going to look this guy in the eye when I can't focus on the one that sees me.” Eventually, the hours of firing locomotives took over his body and the training took over his mind, he regained his composure and got ready to settle into a routine. 
After a few minutes, Johnny looked at the steam gage, tapped it with his finger and quietly said, “Four shovels, let's get this girl ready to move out.”
Leroy quickly opened the firebox and threw in four perfectly proportioned shovels full of coal  making sure that they were spread for maximum heat. He quickly glanced at that mean SOB in the engineer's seat for approval. None was given since he never took his gaze off the front of that locomotive.
In a minute, Johnny said aloud, “Here we go.” and pulled back the throttle lever.  The 150 ton locomotive eased forward from the stop, ever so gently. 
Leroy stood in amazement, as he had never felt a locomotive pull away from a stop like that.  Especially with a heavy freight drag. Old 251 eased forward until the slack was out of the coupler, then it was as if that locomotive just leaned into the load of 1000 tons of steel and farm products, took a deep breath and  without a slip of the drivers, coaxed those cars into motion.  Not a grain of sand for traction or a slipped wheel.  Just the sheer determination of that locomotive and the steady hand of the engineer, and off they went. 
First, Leroy figured it was just a coincidence.  He swore to himself that the old Irishman would never be able to do it again.  Soon the old engineer and the young farm born fireman wound that train through the Milwaukee yard for about a mile, until they reached the yard limit. Here they had to hold for a switch to be thrown.  And once again, when the locomotive started, she just eased forward with the grace of a cat.  Leroy could only lean on his shovel in awe as that old son of a gun could sure run that throttle.
“Give me a couple of shovels” Johnny barked as the train picked up a bit of speed climbing out of the Menominee Valley in Milwaukee. Leroy jumped and followed the commands as they were issued.  Sometimes it was one shovel, sometimes it was four.  Leroy tried to figure the pattern but he couldn't find the reasoning in the engineer's brain.
Watching that Irishman as he piloted that locomotive through the city and into the countryside. Leroy realized that it must be similar to the way a conductor guides his musicians in a symphony.  Knowing what is going to happen long before any act happens.  Every sound, every vibration, every bump is analyzed and logged in the engineer's brain.  Every stroke of those driver rods is evaluated for potential problems.  The gruff old Irishman had become one with his machine.  He didn't need to watch the steam gage, he felt in every muscle of his body when that fire needed stoking.  He sensed the curves and the hills before that metal strained, he knew when to ease off the throttle, when to apply the air brakes and when to let that old girl have her head as she raced down those tracks. It was second nature as he bellowed out “three shovels,”
Leroy just listened to the commands and acted out of habit. Soon they were working in rhythm, and that smoke stack barked with pleasure as 251 steamed across that Wisconsin farm country.    This rhythm continued for about forty miles while passing those farms and blowing through the small villages on the mainline. The pair really had that engine singing.  With the engineer's instructions and the farm boy's muscles. they kept that steam pressure pegged without ever once blowing the relief valve.   
Wanting to prove that he was no tenderfoot  in this business, Leroy opened the firebox door to check the fire and spread it around a bit. 
As if breaking out of a trance, Johnny quickly turned and yelled above the pounding of the drivers, “Keep that door shut, your wasting the Milwaukee's coal.  If you're good, you don't need to spread those coals. Here – let me show you how to fire a steam engine.” 
Since the train was on a flat stretch, with no grade crossings, Johnny hopped off his seat, grabbed the shovel from Leroy's hands, scooped a heaping shovel of coal from the pile, stepped on the door opener, threw that coal into the box with the precision of a surgeon,  He turned and repeated the process with such precision that the firebox door was only open of a split second.
Returning to his seat, the old engineer said, “A steam engine runs off of heat boy.  Every time you open that door you are wasting heat.  I don't want to see you chocking the monkey with those chicken crap shovel fulls.  You open that door and get it shut.  You understand boy?” 
With that, Johnny just yanked back on the throttle to give old 251 more room to move.
Leroy just shook his head, yes, in embarrassment. As the young fireman scooped up his next shovel, he then decided that, maybe the way to make the day go easier, would be to make this old coot feel important. Let him think he could teach the young kid something.  Gunnar had told him to learn from Johnny, so in the process, Leroy, thought he would learn something also. 
Leroy said above the roar engine, “Mr. Shea, After watching how you did that, I can tell that you've been running this locomotive longer than I've been alive.  I know I ain't as good as you'd like, so if you don't mind, I'd like you to teach me to be the best fireman on the Milwaukee Road.”
Johnny Shea never took his eyes off the track but responded all the same, “Sonny I ain't gonna be no school marm and wipe your snotty nose, but I will show you how to fire a steamer.  Now grant it, you'll never be as good as me.”
Taking the cigar out of his mouth Johnny continued, “This ain't gonna be a skill you will use all of your life.  Old hogheads like me, and this old lady, under your feet are in our twilight. It won't be long before the sun sets on this old machinery. Them diesels will be running up our asses in a few years and we'll be sent to the cutting torch.  But if you learn how to fire a graceful old lady like this one, you can run any machine the railroad will throw at you.”
Now the Irishman turned his gaze off the track in front, stuffed the cigar back in his mouth and shifted it from one side of his mouth to the other.  As he pinned his one good eye on Leroy, he said. “I can see you've been brought up real good, so I'll teach you.  But you get smart with me, and I'll bust you right in half.  Don't think you'll be getting any favors, or be slacking off.  You'll be shoveling your ass off for a while.  Once you get used to it though, you'll find it gets easier.”
Johnny then returned to his duties, guiding that locomotive and dragging 1000 tons of merchandise to it's final destination.  As he looked forward he shouted out loud, “Oh shit,  We gotta sit this train in the hole up here,  I was so damn busy spouting off to you that I almost missed my signal.  One shovel and we'll hold for a spell.”
As they eased the train into the siding, Leroy leaned against the side of the cab and wiped some of the grime off of his forehead with his sleeve.  He watched, as Johnny applied the brakes and eased the train to a stop as effortlessly as his knack for getting it moving.  Johnny's traditional engineer's hat was no longer spotless, but covered with the same soot as his facial stubble and his overalls.  Leroy could not decide if it was the grime, or if he was getting used to the old man.  In any case, the old Irishman didn't seem so demonic, sitting there on his square box seat.  However, Leroy still couldn't get used to the glass eye that just looked right past you while the other, with it's different hue looked deep into your soul.
As soon as everything had settled down, Johnny took the cigar stub out of his mouth, spit out the window and stuffed the cigar in his chest pocket.  He then reached beneath his seat, to pull out a grimy, crumpled brown paper bag. Soon he took out a sandwich wrapped in white paper and took a bite.  Chewing, he turned, and said, “ The first thing you gotta learn son, is how a steam engine works.  This old lady runs on heat.  Nothing else matters.  Heat! Remember that son. Nothing runs on this girl if you don't have the heat.”
The old man took another bite and continued, “ Now what makes this heat?  Fuel, fire and air.
Three simple things to remember, Fuel, fire and air make heat.  That is all she cares about.  Feed her fuel and air.  She'll take care of the rest.  You got that son?
“Yes sir,” Leroy replied as he dug through his side pocket and pulled out his own sandwich and took a bite.
“That's pretty easy sir.  But when I was going to spread the coals to even out the heat transfer, you told me not to.  Why?”  the young lad asked.
Johnny answered as he finished his last bite of the sandwich, “That is the second rule, save your own energy.  Think smart! So when you think about it son, you were repeating steps. You only need to open that door when you shovel in the coal.  Pay attention, remember where you threw the last shovel, you won't need to push the fire around.  Just shovel it in the right spot to start with.  This old lady is just like the love of your life.  Which I suppose you haven't much experience with, but you pay attention to her, you recognize every move, every sound, every hiss and pop.  That way you will know what she wants and when.”
Leroy shook his head in understanding, and asked, “How can I pay that much attention while I am shoveling and doing my work.  You can sit and concentrate on what is going on.  I have to be working back here.”
Johnny had taken a cookie out of his pocket and was now chewing quite contently. As he finished he said, “Leroy, shoveling should be automatic.  Don't think about that, think about the rest of the job.  Remember, it is not how strong you are, or how fast you go, but, how smart you do something.  You remember that throughout your life and you'll get a lot further than those other chicken livers back in that roundhouse.”
Leroy had finished his sandwich by this time and pulled an apple from his pocket.  Looking at the oranges laying in the dust and oil on the floor the young man's mouth began to water.  It had been many years since he'd treated himself to the fruit he considered the ultimate delicacy. 
Risking another verbal lashing, he asked, “Mr. Shea, would you considering trading one of your oranges for my apple?  My apple is good, but it's been a while since I had an orange.”  He let the last of the sentence trail off as he suddenly felt foolish and like a grade schooler trading lunches.
Johnny turned and said,”Son, first I told you I ain't no school marm in charge of trading lunches.  If you want an orange, ask your mother to buy one for you.  Second, they ain't rightly mine, and last, I see Ralph's headlight coming, so you better stick that apple back in your pocket and warm that shovel up.  We'll be moving again as soon as Ralph drags his freight on by.  So give me five shovels and let's see if you learned anything today.”
Leroy turned away quickly, more to hide his embarrassment than to fire old 251.  Just when he thought he was making progress, the wall went back up.  So the young fireman brushed aside the rebuke as part of working with an old Irishman and went to work shoveling.  Thinking about what Gunnar told him earlier in the roundhouse, “... just do the best job you can, and listen to what he has to say.  He knows more than all of us put together.” Leroy thought hard about each of the old engineer's words.  He then began to concentrate on his work to develop a rhythm. 
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps – start over.
As Leroy passed through the steps he realized that Johnny was right.  When you broke down the job that way, it was mindless.  By the time Johnny gave the “Here we go,” Leroy had found his stride. He was  beginning to listen to the nuances of the locomotive and his surroundings.  He heard the pings of the boiler sheeting expanding with the added heat and pressure.-  he could hear the air in the brake lines as Johnny released the brakes - each time he stepped on the door opener he heard the whoosh as the roaring fire sucked air into the firebox - with each shovel, he could hear differences in the sounds.  Now he had to learn what each sound meant and it's consequences.  That was the tough part and would require time.
Meanwhile, Johnny pulled back on the throttle and let 251 strain against the laws of physics.  Objects at rest tend to stay at rest.  The old engineer didn't know about physics, but his entire body could feel every aspect of that law - the strain of the steel - the feel of the drivers as they grasped for traction on the hard steel rails - his body could sense when the physics of cohesion was about to be broken, or when the rules of thermodynamics were reaching their limits as his steam pressure was being over ridden by the forces of gravity.  Though he had never reached the eighth grade, Johnny Shea, was more attuned to the rules of physics than the professors at the colleges in Milwaukee. 
The old steamer forged ahead, so that by the time the freight got up to track speed, Leroy was feeling pretty smug and had a self confident smile on his face.  He stopped to listen to the sounds of the locomotive and tried to catalog them in his brain.
Suddenly a sound penetrated his concentration, as he looked toward the sound, he felt the one eye piercing through him, “For the love of St. Peter, what in the hell are you doing standing there, get that damn smile off your face.  I said four shovels.” the engineer was yelling.
Leroy shook his head quickly to shake off his trance, grabbed the shovel and got back into the shovel routine.
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
He felt embarrassed that he'd been caught daydreaming.  And now for sure he'd catch more of the wrath from the old engineer.  It didn't take more than a minute to begin.
Starting innocently enough the engineer asked, “You got a girl son?
Between shovels Leroy shook his head yes.
Johnny continued and asked, “You do the naked rumba with this girl?”
Leroy looked at the engineer with a bewildered look on his face.  He didn't really know what the question was.  He had an idea, but couldn't figure why an old engineer would be asking.
Johnny looked at him and boomed, “For St. Peter's sake son, have you ever done the dirty with this girl of yours.  I'm ain't your priest or your mammy, so speak up.”
Leroy turned a bit red, figured it wouldn't hurt, so he told the truth, “Yes sir a couple of times.”
The old engineer glanced quickly at the rails ahead, and then turned back toward the inside of the cab and the fireman, “Good, then you know what it's like.  Now you listen here son, old 251 is your girl.  Right now you are between her legs, tickling her honey spot.  Your job is to satisfy her.  So you concentrate on her.  When you are on top of your girl, with your wiggly little worm inside of her, you can concentrate on her.” 
The engineer paused to blow the whistle at a grade crossing.  Soon he continued, “Next time you are with your girl, you ask her, if she would mind, that you were thinking of another girl when doing the naked rumba with her.  I will bet your sorry ass that it will be the last time she opens her legs for you.” Johnny chuckled quickly, but started his lecture again, “  This old girl beneath your feet doesn't like it either.  So while your tickling 251's  honey spot, don't let me catch you dreaming of someone else.  Now get back to work”
Leroy thought of telling the old man he was trying to do what he had taught him earlier.  He decided otherwise, since it would only appear as an argument.  He stepped on the door opener, threw the coal into the fire and stepped back into his routine.
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
As the freight roared past the Columbus station, Johnny reached out and grabbed the train  orders from the hoop.  As he read them, he said aloud, “Leroy, it looks like you'll be getting a break up ahead.  We have to head into the hole at Fall River to wait for 376, then hopefully the Hiawatha should be breathing right up 376's ass so we can clear both.  If my gut feel is right we'll be sitting for a half an hour.  Let the fire slow a bit.  No point in wasting coal.”
Leroy took off his cap and wiped his brow while he watched the old man carefully study the track ahead.  Soon he slowed the train to a crawl and finally brought it to a full stop.  The switchman walked up from the caboose, unlocked the padlock, moved the long handle in a semicircle to move the points of the switch.  With the points aligned, Johnny eased the train forward and into the siding.  Looking backward, he kept creeping forward until the switchman signaled that the caboose had cleared the switch and they were clear of the mainline.  Johnny let the locomotive come to a stop and set the brakes.  Without saying a word the old man reached up and removed a quart mason jar of coffee from between two steam pipes. As he sat back down, he reached into the space between the seat and the cab, and he pulled out a metal coffee cup that looked as if it had been around the world several times.  Johnny quickly poured the cup full, screwed the lid back on the jar, and set it back between the pipes without setting the cup down or spilling a drop.  The engineer then stood up and walked back into the tender, relieved his bladder over the side, and returned to his seat without saying a word, sipping his coffee as if enjoying the companionship of an old friend.
Leroy just sat against the side of the cab and sighed with relief for the break.  So far it had been a rough, but not unbearable day.  He still thought that the could break through the facade of the old man to find out who he really was.  Brushing caution aside he asked, “Mr Shea, you married and have kids?”
Johnny turned and sat facing the fireman.  He sat motionless for a second, spit out the window and then said, “You mean to a woman? No.  The only girl I ever married is the one your sitting on.”
Leroy looked at the man and tried not to focus attention on the far off glass eye, “You never fell in love or wanted to get married?”
Johnny shook his head slowly and replied, “Oh it's not that I never wanted to.  I just never seemed to find the time or the energy to keep a girl satisfied.  I started with the railroad when I was twelve.  When I was eight, my father sent me over from Ireland to live with my grandmother's uncle who worked for the B & O railroad out in Baltimore.  He signed me on to the railroad as soon as he figured I was strong enough to lift a tie.  From there I just kept on working my way west, until I hit the Milwaukee Road.  By that time, I was nineteen and didn't know anything but trains and tracks.  So I just let the railroad assign me to wherever they needed the help.  I've been living on the road all of my life.”
“So you don't have any relatives near by?” Leroy asked hesitantly.
“No, none of my brothers or sisters ever followed me over to this country, I haven't  heard from any of them for years.  I guess since my Dad died” Johnny said with a grin.
“Really?” Leroy asked in surprise. “ I can't imagine growing up without any parents or any brothers or sisters.  Even though I am not particularly close to my family, I still like knowing that I have a family if I need something.  It must have been lonely.”
The old engineer pulled the cigar out his mouth, then with a hint of sarcasm, he said, “You're still pretty wet behind the ears son.  In my day, there were many people with no families.  Either orphans, abandoned, or just immigrants like me.  I'm not any special case for sympathy.  There are guys like me all over this railroad.  In my day you survived with what was given to you.  You kids now days have everything handed to you on a bed of green shamrocks.”
Off in the distance a whistle signaled the approach of the eastbound freight.  Johnny quickly stuffed the cigar back in his mouth, turned back, and poked his head out the cab window.  Ducking back in he said, “376 is approaching, hopefully the Hiawatha ain't far behind.  We'll wait five minutes and I'll have you build the steam head back up.”  Gently patting the wooden window sill of the cab Johnny continued, “Yes son, this old girl here is my only true love.  I've been with here since the day Baldwin rolled her out of the shop in 1923.  We've made love every day since then.  When she's in the shop for maintenance, I go to see her every day, just to ease both of our minds.  She sure is a good old girl, been real true to me, but I'm afraid I'll outlast her.  I heard last week, that they are going to scrap all mainline steam within a year.  I'll never bear to see her go under the cutting torch.  I don't know what I'll do without her.”
Leroy looked at the old engineer, and for the first time he felt that he understood him.  The young fireman actually felt sorry for the old man.  It was no wonder he was so bitter, Johnny Shea's entire world was crumbling beneath his feet.  And as mean and nasty as he was, it was never enjoyable to see someone lose the love of his life.
Suddenly with the pounding of the drivers and a cloud of black smoke, engine 376 roared past dragging 86 cars and a caboose, bound for Milwaukee and points east.  As the smoke cleared, Leroy looked out the window and noticed the headlight of a diesel locomotive far off in the distance, but approaching fast.  Grabbing his shovel, the fireman cleared his mind of the past conversation and prepared for his work.  After looking up at Johnny, who gave him the nod of approval, Leroy got back into his rhythm:
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
Soon the fire was was again complying with the laws of physics, it added calories to the water, which caused it to boil and store the calories to be released as pressure and power in the cylinders of the giant locomotive. 
After several trips back and forth to the coal pile, Leroy, was startled by the roar of the diesel as it flew past the aged steam locomotive.  This was the dawn of the new era and the sunset of the old.  With each trip of that diesel, the fate of the steam locomotive was becoming increasingly clear.  Leroy still shuddered each time one of the sleek stream liners flew past.  The sound of the diesel engines, with their high pitched whine, and the non-melodic blat of their air horns, would never penetrate a man's soul like the rhythm of seventy-four inch driver wheels pounding on steel track and that lonesome moan of the steam whistle on a cold moonless night.  Leroy, again, looked over at Johnny Shea and felt sorry for the man. This man who had outwitted the forces of mother earth and survived all alone for over sixty years, was now watching as everything he lived for was disappearing.  Leroy looked into the old man's face as the diesel roared past.  There was no emotion, not even a hint of distaste, yet the younger man knew how that sight must be eating away at the old man's heart bit by bit.  Johnny just stared ahead at the signal, chewed on his cigar, and called out as he pulled back on the throttle, “Here we go, son, let's keep that fire up and make up some time here.”
Leroy kept his rhythm,
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
With the fire going strong, Johnny's gentle hand kept that steamer pounding the rails as only someone with his experience knew how.    When they passed the station at Rio and Johnny got his orders, he turned to Leroy, and asked, “You want take over here?”
The fireman froze in his tracks, “What?”
Johnny repeated himself, this time more loudly, “Do you want to take over for a while?”
Not knowing what to say Leroy just shouted “Sure.”
In a second, Johnny got down off of his seat and grabbed the shovel from Leroy's hand, saying, “Get you ass up there before we get in trouble.  I assume you know how to run one of these,” he said pointing to the throttle. 
Being a fireman, the young man had watched many hours as the engineers ran their locomotives, but he never actually had his hands on the throttle.
Johnny just turned to the coal pile saying, “We'll be straight and level for a long while, so you just keep her steady son.”
Leroy got up on the seat and stuck his head out the cab window. 
Oh, what an exhilarating feeling! - the wind and smoke blowing past your head - watching the driving rods thrusting back and forth – watching those huge steel wheels propel him along the track at sixty miles per hour. This was power!
Leroy gently, pulled back on that throttle to get a feel for what would happen.  Back and forth he'd move that lever, waiting for the engine to respond.  Oh what a thrill! 
He was so involved with the throttle, that he had completely forgotten about Johnny.  In a few minutes the would-be-engineer regained his composure and looked around the cab for the real engineer.  He quickly spotted him using the shovel to knock the coal pile forward.  Satisfied, Leroy immersed himself back into the thrill and concentrated on the job at hand.  Intermittently, the fireman glanced backward and soon noticed something peculiar.  As Johnny dug through the pile, every so often he'd pitch a couple of shovels over the side.  He'd then disappear behind the back of the cab for a few seconds only to emerge and repeat the process over again.
Although Leroy was mystified as to what was going on, he didn't have time to dwell on the dilemma.    With keeping the train on the tracks, on schedule and not getting caught breaking every rule in the book, he didn't have the luxury of deciphering the engineer.  The young man's hands were trembling with excitement so much that he could hardly hold the throttle, and each time he hit a grade crossing he would just blow the whistle and pray to God that no one would cross in front of him. 
Meanwhile in back, Johnny just kept shoveling and moving that pile around.  Periodically he'd throw a few more shovels full over the side.  While up in the cab, Leroy just kept concentrating on the tracks ahead, thinking that since the old man was fussy about the fuel to feed his sweetheart, he must have found a bad bunch of coal and didn't want to feed some crap to his prize lady.  So the fireman just charged along like he knew what he was doing.
Yielding to temptation as the train rounded a slight curve,  Leroy turned and looked back to revel at the spectacle of 100 box cars strung along the heavy steel rails behind his engine.  And to think all of this was under the control of his hand.  His head began to swim at the sight, and the overwhelming sense of power.  Suddenly he saw a flash of orange from behind the cab, then another.  He watched more closely until it happened again.  It took a second to break through his inner realm before he realized that the old man was throwing the oranges over the side of the tender. 
Now the breath completely drained from his lungs, he grasped for air but found none, he quickly reached deep inside of himself to pull his concentration back to the surface of his brain.  Then he quickly turned forward and stared at the silver rails charging at him. As he thought more about the oranges, his chest tightened and tears welled in his eyes.  Maybe it was the smoke, or the wind, or maybe it was the bright sun.  There was no fooling himself, this crotchety old engineer, had squeezed open a door that he had slammed shut many years ago.  Now the memories, long ago locked up, were flooding out overwhelming his brain and clouding his judgment.
As if out of the smoke and dirt of the cab, Johnny appeared, handed the shovel back to Leroy and said, “She's all yours again Son.”
Wiping his face with his sleeve, partly to hide the tears, and partly to clear his head.  Leroy stepped out of the seat and with a hint of embarrassment about the tears, he said quickly, “ Not used to the wind and smoke I guess.”
Johnny just climbed onto the seat, grabbed the throttle, tapped the steam gage with his index finger and said,  “Steams down”.
So the rhythm began again:
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
Johnny just sat there calling the pace, “One shovel, two shovels or that's good son.”
Once the steam was back up to where it belonged, and he had a chance to catch his breath, Leroy, took a closer look at the coal pile.  He was curious to find out where the bad coal was.  Feeling a bit stupid for not differentiating good coal from bad, Leroy took a break, as he leaned on the shovel he spotted the fruit bag in the corner.  Not surprising, all the oranges were gone.  Leroy stood and stared at the bag until the whole picture came clearly into view.  The young man took off his hat, pulled his kerchief from his back pocket, wiped his face, put his cap back on, gathered any courage he had left and walked back into the cab where the engineer was poised on his throne.
Leroy asked quietly, “Sir? How long have you been throwing the oranges and the coal off the train?”
Johnny Shea, flinched with a start as his secret had been discovered, “what's it to you son?  Give me a few more shovels.” he said diverting attention and devising a strategy in his head.
Leroy grabbed the shovel and:
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
As he finished he approached and said once more quietly, “How long sir?  It is very important.”
Looking over at the young man standing there, Johnny could see there was no avoiding the topic.  The kid was serious.  So he pulled the cigar from his mouth, stuck it in his breast pocket and replied, “I started with the oranges the second year I worked for the Milwaukee.  There was a derailment and a carload of oranges got pretty smashed up.  All of us employees divided the cargo up between us.  Never having had an orange in my life, I thought they'd be a delight.  Well, I found out that they made me sicker than a dog.  I just can't eat them at all I must be allergic.  So I really didn't know what to do with all those oranges.  The next day, as I was dragging a freight up to Portage, I saw several kids along the tracks waiting for some coal to spill off the tender or some hoppers.  I just figured they could use oranges more than the guys in the roundhouse, so I started throwing them in the ditch.  That was back in 1930.”
Johnny pulled the cigar back out, stuck it in his mouth and chewed on it like a long lost friend.  He then turned back forward and returned his concentration to the right of way ahead.  They'd be in Portage soon and lay over until tomorrow when they'd make the return trip.
“So you've been throwing oranges every trip since 1930?” Leroy asked.
The old man answered without taking his eye off the front of the locomotive, “ No, I don't do it in the summer.  I reckon, the kids have enough other good stuff - they don't need oranges.  I just stick to the cold weather.  Every day I try to rotate where I throw them, I'd like everyone get a chance.  Give me a couple of more shovels and then you can let the fire die.  We'll hit the Portage yard in a few minutes.”
Five steps – shovel down – scoop – shovel up – five steps – step on door opener – think where to throw the coal – throw – remember where it went – close door – five steps.
Leroy was quickly back, quizzing the old man.  “Do you know of any other engineers that throw oranges?  Is it common?”
Johnny turned and asked sharply, “What is this a court room?  Why?”
Leroy stood his ground and replied politely, “Please sir, this is important to me.”
“No.  I don't know anyone else that does it.  Why?”  Johnny asked.
Leroy leaned back onto the side of the cab and said, “Sir, do you know how much of a treat an orange is to a little kid?  I don't suppose you do, since they make you sick, but I do.  I want to thank you for the oranges.  You see, I was one of those kids waiting along the tracks.”  He let his last words trail off as his voice was cracking and his eyes were watering.
The old man behind the throttle let go of the lever and turned, studied the fireman and said, “Really?  You got an orange when you were a kid?  I never really knew for sure that anyone ever got them.  Since there were never any in the ditch he next time through I assumed someone got them.  I just never knew for sure.”
The strapping young fireman was now lost in reflection, but returned quickly to the conversation, “I don't suppose that you can appreciate what those oranges mean to a poor farm kid that finds one in the ditch along the tracks.  My first memories are of me and my sister walking along the tracks hunting for coal like you said, suddenly she yelled for me to see what she had found.  As I got to where she was sitting, she had painstakingly peeled the fruit and split apart each slice.  Divided equally between us, we sat under the trees alongside the tracks, in a snow covered field and savored every drop of juice.  As the next freight roared by, we wondered how such delicious treats could be produced on this earth.  Surely they must be a product of the heavens.  So Mr. Shea.  I want to thank you, and I sincerely say that you are messenger of the heavens.  You provide a treat to all of us who would never have experienced such pleasure.”
Leroy did nothing to hide his wet eyes, but quickly turned and started scraping the stray chunks of coal from the corners of the cab.
Johnny watched intently as the young man made busy cleaning up the cab, Then after approaching the signal at the edge of the Portage yard said, “Son, you are welcome.”
He then turned back to the job at hand and guided his 251 into the yard and through the switches to the side track. 
As the pair waited for the last  switch, Johnny turned, smiled and said, “You did one hell of job today Leroy.  You are the best greenhorn I've put through the paces.  I appreciate what you did here today.  I look forward to the return trip tomorrow.”  With that, he reached into his pocket, pulled out an orange, threw it to Leroy and winked.
Leroy caught the orange with one hand and said, “Thanks, I learned a lot more today than you can ever know.  I look forward to tomorrow also.”
Soon the switch was aligned, the locomotive cut from the train and they moved to the turntable, where Leroy climbed down from the locomotive.
As he reached the ground and walked around the front of the engine, a voice startled the young man,  “Kid, tomorrow you better get your shit together or I'll shove that pimply ass right into the firebox like I did the last snot nose.”
Quickly looking up into the cab the young fireman, couldn't believe his ears.  Sure enough, there was Johnny screaming out of the window.  As Leroy stopped in disbelief, Johnny winked and nodded toward where the rest of the roundhouse was congregated.  He then continued, “Get some sleep tonight so you ain't so damn slow tomorrow.”
Leroy, put on his most disgusted face, shook his fist, turned and walked into the night and to the hotel. He had learned many lessons that day, most importantly, you can never judge a man by his appearance.  That rough Irishman gave every sign of being the meanest SOB on earth, but he was one of the kindest, most appreciative men working on the railroad.  He had to keep up his front to get the respect of his co-workers.
For the next three weeks, Leroy, worked with Johnny on the Portage run.  Each trip he learned more about firing and the railroad.  But the young farm boy learned more than just about the railroad, he learned about the graceful old lady, Baldwin 2-8-2 Milwaukee Road 251. 
Then on June 23rd, 1953 as the crew assembled in the usual spot, Leroy entered the roundhouse and was shocked to see 251 standing cold, in the end stall.  The previous night, word came that 251 was to have her fire extinguished and pulled to the rip track for delivery to the scrap yard.  Not one of the burley men hid their tears for the old lady.  Though Johnny wasn't present, everyone knew this would be the end for the old man. 
Leroy stormed out of the roundhouse and headed straight for the yard office to plead a case for a graceful old lady.  She didn't need to end her career, and her life, in such an undignified manner.  As he burst through the office door he was immediately struck by the solemn mood in the office.  He reached the yard master's desk, stood glaring down at the man, and said sternly, “I need to talk to you about 251.”
“Leroy, come over here and sit down.” the yard master said, gesturing to a chair alongside his desk,  “I know what you want, but I want to say something first.” 
Pausing, the yard master continued slowly, “  Johnny is dead.”
“What?” Leroy said blinking his eyes.
The yard master looked at the floor and continued, “Sorry, but Johnny didn't show up for work this morning,  When I sent Billy over to get him, he was dead.  I'm sorry, I know you were becoming pretty close.”
“Wh--wh-- what happened?” Leroy asked in disbelief.
“I thought I would be respectful to the old guy, so I told him last night that we got the scrap orders for 251.  I guess his heart couldn't take it.  Doc says he died of a heart attack.” the yard master said soberly.  “Are you OK?” he asked.
Leroy just stood up, shook his head yes and walked back to the roundhouse.  He walked slowly to the end stall, looking up at the graceful old lady, he placed his calloused hand on the cold steel of her  side rod, gently sliding his hand along it's length as he walked past the locomotive.  The heat of her boiler was gone, the familiar huffing of her smoke box silent, the old girl's life had vanished. Slowly the fireman climbed the ladder into the cab of 251, sat in the engineer's seat, stroked the wooden window sill and cried.  The graceful old locomotive and her engineer lost their hearts on the very same night.
Three days later, at St Patrick,s church in Milwaukee, several hundred railroad employees said good bye to one of the foundations of a railroad empire.  Not a financial guru, or a management wizard, but a working soul who fell in love with his locomotive.  The marriage of their hearts carried more freight and traveled more miles than all of railroad management combined.  Afterward at the cemetery, as each person filed past the casket and threw dirt into the grave, a single man reached into his pocket, pulled out an orange, threw it in the grave and said, “I know it won't make you sick where you are going.”
Later when 251 was pulled over to the siding to wait her demise, Leroy visited every day.  With her previous lover gone, he dreamed of a life they could have had together.  But the world moves on!