Two Hours at Cheney

As odd as it may sound, my “career” as a railfan began when I performed in a junior high school music competition.

I had purchased my first train set two years earlier, and had been spending time at local hobby shops to learn more about model trains and their real-life counterparts.  As I browsed through the magazine racks, I began thinking that maybe I could start taking my own pictures of trains.

I often saw trains running through my hometown of Spokane, Washington, but I had never gotten close enough for a good photo.  My chance came in February, 1980 when my 8th-grade orchestra teacher signed me up to play with a string quartet in a music competition hosted by Eastern Washington University in nearby Cheney.  I was also taking private piano lessons, and learned that my piano teacher had scheduled me to play a piece in a later portion of the same competition.

When I realized I would have a three hour break between sessions, I wondered what to do during the wait.  I remembered that I had seen Burlington Northern trains running through Cheney a few times in the past.  Maybe three hours would be long enough to walk down to the tracks and hopefully see a train or two?

"I had seen Burlington Northern trains running through Cheney a few times in the past"

As soon as my quartet had finished playing on the day of the competition, I slipped on my coat and hat, checked to make sure my Kodak 126 Instamatic was still in my pocket, and took off.  I walked several blocks before I came to Cheney’s main street.  One block further south and I reached the Cheney depot.

"One block further south and I reached the Cheney depot."

I recognized the red-and-black “monad” symbol that still adorned the station – I had seen it before on old Northern Pacific boxcars – but the windows of the Spanish-style depot looked dark.  I wasn’t sure this was someplace I was supposed to be, but before I had a chance to reconsider, a door opened and a voice called out to me, “So, do you like trains?”

 

The station agent stepped outside and looked at my hat as he walked over to me.  A few months before, I had purchased a Great Northern “Big Sky Blue” patch (it matched one of my HO locomotives) and asked my mom to sew it on my hat.  I imagine now that the agent was probably an NP man, and may still have held a grudge against his railroad’s former competitor, but he simply commented, “Yeah, that was a pretty good railroad, too.”

 

I don’t remember if he asked me more questions, but I do remember him inviting me inside the station.  He showed me his office and gave me a quick rundown of the fixtures.  Some sort of teletype printer sat over in the corner.  A couple of telephones occupied his desk, which filled the operator’s bay and faced the mainline.  Right above the desktop two levers protruded through the outer wall of the bay to control the order boards.

When the phone suddenly rang, I stepped back and tried to make myself small.  The agent answered the phone, listened for a minute, then began repeating information back to someone on the other end of the line and copying it down on a small pad of papers.  My ignorance of railroading kept me from fully understanding what was going on, but it was clear from his actions that a train was on its way.  He finished making his notations, and then explained that these were orders for him to hand to the train crew as they passed.

He set one of the order board levers to slow the train, then stepped onto the platform and proceeded to tie two slips of paper to the order stands, one between the upper forks and one between the lower set.  Sure enough, a headlight appeared around a curve to the east, and before I knew it, the train was upon us.  The agent stood back to ensure the head end and caboose crews grabbed their orders.  I know now that he was also giving them a “roll by” inspection, but all I saw was a blur of red CB&Q, brown NP and green GN boxcars speeding past.

"all I saw was a blur of red CB&Q, brown NP and green GN boxcars speeding past"

During my visit, two more trains appeared.  First, a local train, powered by two geeps and an F-7B, pulled onto a track behind the depot and proceeded to switch the large flour mill that stood a short distance away.  Meanwhile, a long freight stopped in front of the station for a few minutes to cut a pair of locomotives off of the head end before proceeding west.  The agent explained that westward trains leaving Spokane faced a stiff grade, and that these helper engines added the necessary horsepower to keep heavy trains moving.  Of course, I took several pictures of each train as it passed, or paused at, the depot.




"First, a local train . . . pulled onto a track behind the depot"

 

Wandering back inside, my heart nearly skipped a beat when the agent suggested to the helper engineer that he give me a tour of his cab.  The hogger and I walked over to the two engines on the siding, and he helped me climb the steps into the cab of GP-9 #1851.  Although he couldn’t offer me a ride, he made sure I knew the purpose of all the cab controls, and even stepped down from the engine for a moment to snap my picture in the cab.




I just hope the engineer's hand was steadier on the throttle than it was with my camera

Two hours passed before I knew it.  Then it was time for me to hurry back to the music building on campus.  Although I earned a “superior” rating for my piano performance, it sure wasn’t because I was thinking very hard about music that afternoon.

A week or so later, I got my developed photos back.  They were fun to look at, and they became the first of several thousand railroad photos now in my collection.  But, when I look at these same prints today, I realize that they are the only record I have of a brand of railroading that long ago passed into history.

As it turned out, that two-hour visit was my first, last, and only opportunity to observe the use of order boards, Form 19 orders being passed up to a moving train, and helper locomotives running between Spokane and Cheney.  The photos I took that day are my only personal proof that railroads really used 40’ boxcars to haul wheat, and that dinosaurs like GE U-25-C’s and EMD B-units actually roamed the rails before surrendering to a swarm of SD-40-2’s.

More importantly, that was my first encounter with real railroaders – the kind that encouraged boys to learn about railroads instead of chasing them off the property.  I don’t remember if I thanked the agent and the engineer properly, but I certainly remember, and am grateful for, their generosity in spending time with me that day.  Over the years, I’ve met other railroaders like them, but the traditions of railroading those men demonstrated that chilly day in Cheney are long gone.

An entire generation of railroading breathed its last in the viewfinder of my little Kodak during those two hours.  The photos may be blurry, but the images in my mind are as clear as if it were yesterday.