Syracuse Post-Standard, Feb. 29, 1948
Coffee break on the "Hojack"
Just Around the Corner By Bertrande
I'll bet you'd get a kick out of seeing a locomotive fireman carefully polish his coal scoop with a piece of clean waste, put a few strips of bacon on the shining steel, break two eggs, stop the meat and carefully hold the shovel at just the proper position in the firebox to fry them neatly.
I don¹t suppose they do it that way, any more - but many¹s old-timer I've seen preparing his breakfast in that manner. Bacon and eggs cooked that way by an expert seem to taste better, too. Then, there was the matter of the coffee experts. Every caboose had at least one man in the crew who considered himself the best coffee-maker on the division - and he was always prepared to prove it to you.
Forty-five years ago, on the Hojack, there were a great number of these specialists who would brew you a cup of coffee on the slightest provocation, just to prove their skill. Each individual boasted a different method - and I mean boasted - all of which seemed to produce perfect results. Many artists depended more on their skill in blending their coffee than on the mere brewing of it; while others contended that even a poor brand of coffee could be tickled into a tasteful drink by using the proper method - meaning, of course, his own.
In those days, one could go to a grocery and selected his own type of coffee in the bulk - Mocha, Java, Syrian, Turkish - and have it mixed according to his own specifications. This naturally led to a wide divergence of opinion as to the proper proportions of the different growths. And, that was where the fun came in.
The first requisite of the railroadman¹s cup of coffee was, of course, that it must be strong, rugged and hard-boiled - like himself. He seldom cared to dilute it with any such feeble liquid as milk or cream, and among the aristocrats of the caboose, sugar, too, was frowned upon as being too much on the effeminate side.
The railroad man¹s dinner-pail used to be a very essential part of his equipment. he would sign the book at the terminal and be on his way in the early hours of the dawn and his day¹s work was not over until his train had arrived at its destination, whether it was 8, 12, 16 or 20 hours later. The old bucket had to be well packed with food, because he never knew how long he would be away, or how far from a restaurant he¹d be marooned. Hot coffee glorified the stale sandwiches and took the curse off soggy pie!
Local freight, No. 21, pulled into Mallory from the west one early afternoon of a cool, cloudy day in October, 1903. The quiet countryside was beginning to show the effects of autumn¹s advance and there was a potential chill in the air. I had but little for them to do; and, after unloading a few pieces of merchandise they prepared to depart. Conductor Hop Look, flagman Haley, and rear-shack Jones clambered aboard the caboose and gave the engineman the ³High-sign.² But Cotter had left his engine, and, with his head brakeman, was strolling toward the rear of the short train. As he approached, he remarked:
³We¹ve got only 22 minutes to make Parish for No. 10. We better not try it. I¹ll pull into the siding here and wait for OEem.²
This was accordingly done - they pulled east to the end of the long side-track and back in just far enough to clear the main line. At this moment the Oswego train dispatcher called me and ticked out a train order to the effect that No. 10 would hold the main track at Parish, while No. 21 should proceed to that point, take the siding and pass the passenger train.
This move was made because No. 10, the crack Thousand Island flyer had been delayed near Pulaski by a burnt-out journal box, and would be some 30 minutes late. So I ran down the track some 400 feet to the caboose and gave the order to Conductor Look.
Around the caboose stove, where gathered all the members of the train crew, with the exception of Barney Fiddler, the fireman. They were watching, intently, the activities of head-brakeman Fred Mudge. on the broad top of the low, pot-bellied caboose stoe sat a squat, tin basin of large dimensions, about half full of gently simmering water.
In one hand Mudge held a round metal sieve with a very fine mesh, which fitted the top of the coffee-pot. The sieve was filled with ground coffee which gave forth a most fascinating aroma. in his other hand, Mudge was dipping hot water from the basin with a big tablespoon and pouring it gently on the coffee in the sieve. he as doing this with the most meticulous care, watching as the water seeped through and fell, drop by drop, into the pot. Conductor Look approached the group and handed a copy of the train order to the engineman. ³How long¹ll take to make that coffee?² he demanded.
³She¹s a ticklish business,² responded Mudge, ³an¹ I just got started - take, mebbe, 30 minutes more.²
³Well, we¹re on our way,² said the conductor, ³orders to me th¹ Flyer at Parish.²
³Jest a holly minnit² gasped the horrified coffee-expert. ³This here¹s a delicate operation, this is - requires a delicate touch - an¹ I can¹t no wise do it right when the train's rollin¹; you gotta gimme time.²
Hop looked at the engineman and they both nodded, solemnly.
³All right, then, you do yer stuff an¹ do it right. We¹ll wait - mebbe you¹ve got somethin¹ there at that.²--And Hop calmly seated himself to watch the proceedings, while the expert continued to ³spoon² his coffee with the utmost care and deliberation.
³Well I gotta get back,² I announced as I started for the door, envisioning the face of the raving train dispatcher in Oswego, when he became cognizant of this delay. But Mister Look detained me with a huge, hairy and determined hand.
³You stay right here you danged well are, until Mudge gets through,² he commanded, ³you ain¹t goin¹ back to th¹ office an¹ put no dad-blasted ideas into th¹ head o¹ that dumb dispatcher.²
³But,² I quavered, ³they¹ll fire me for this, I¹ll-²
³Prob¹ly will,² agreed the conductor, calmly, ³an¹ mebbe th¹ rest of us, too - but I¹ll do a dang sight wuss¹n that if you start out o¹that door!²
--So, I stayed.
After what seemed to be like a couple of centuries, expert Mudge finally got his coffee brewed - and then he proceeded to serve it. At the back of the stove was a small, copper teapot which had been warming there since the operations started. Into each cup he poured about three ounces of warm brandy from the little teapot and then filled the cups with his coffee-brew. And, don¹t ask me how good it was! It was out of this or any other world!
Shortly after this, the train pulled out of the siding and proceeded on its leisurely way toward Parish, while I ran back to the depot to face the music.
Well, everything turned out all right. The passenger train was delayed only 30 minutes at Parish, and I got only a 10-day suspension and a reprimand. The train crew came through with flying colors. Their report of serious engine trouble while on the mallory siding was finally accepted as gospel by the official and the matter was closed. The fact that this Engine trouble² was super induced by the resourceful engineer with a few well-directed blows of a pipe wrench was not dwelt upon.
Nobody was seriously inconvenienced in this episode except the 200 passengers on the Flyer. But then - what the heck? They had already paid their fares!