Wellington information

Brakeman
Prior to 1888 when Westinghouse developed a reliable air brake, stopping a train or a rolling car was very primitive. Iron wheels, located atop cars, were connected to a manual braking system by a long metal rod. The brakemen, usually two to a train, would ride on top of the car. On a whistle signal from the engineer, the brakemen, one at the front of the train and one at the rear of the train, would begin turning the iron wheels to engage the braskes. When one car was completed, the brakeman would jump the thirty inches or so to the next car and repeat the operation to apply the brakes on that car. The brakemen would work towards each other until all cars had their brakes applied. Tightening down too much could cause the rolling wheel to skid, grinding a flat spot on the wheel. When this happened, the railroad would charge the brakeman for a new wheel. New wheels cost $45, which was exactly what a brakeman earned a month. In good weather, the brakemen enjoyed riding on top of the cars and viewing the scenery. However, they had to ride up there in all kinds of weather - in rain, sleet, snow and ice, as well as good weather. Jumping from one car to the next at night or in freezing weather could be very dangerous, not to mention the fact that the cars were rocking from side to side.

Conductor
As train crews go, especially passenger trains, the Conductor held the ultimate dignity. He typically worked his way up from Flagman. He was the captain of the train. His job required diplomatic skill (such as explaining politely to a women who claimed her "10 year old" son (who was sprouting whiskers) could not ride for free, but had to pay half-price. Conductors had to handle crooked gamblers, and had to use finesse when explaining to some passengers why they shouldn't fire their pistols out the window at passing telegraph poles. At times, they were even required to deliver babies, or doctor the smashed or severed fingers of one of the train's crew. He also collected fares when folks boarded the train where there was no ticket agent.

Engineer
The locomotive engineer in Nebraska and the rest of the west was a real hero in olden days. The engineer enjoyed the privileges of the office, much like heros of antiquity. The engineer was allowed to have his engine painted whatever colors he chose. He was allowed to alter the sound of the whistle by placing wooden stops in it, to create a unique and distinct sound (this had the side benefit for the engineer - his wife or landlady would learn to recognize that distinct sound, and she knew he would be home soon, so she would have dinner waiting for him when he arrived). The engineer was paid $4.00 a day, but he had to work his way up. Quite often he started out years before as a Wiper in a yard house, then worked his way up to Engine Watchman, then to Switch-engine Fireman, then Road Fireman, then Hostler, then to Engineer.

Engine Watchman
This man's job was to keep water in the boiler and keep enough fire going in the firebox to move the locomotive within the railroad yard.

Express Agent
While not actually an employee of the railroad per se, they were employed by the "Railway Express Agency," which was a private concern, and usually had an office in the depot. Their job was to ship packages, much like United Parcel Service (UPS) or Federal Express (Fed Ex) does today. Quite often, especially in smaller communities, the Express Agent was also on the payroll of the local railroad. He might have been the telegraph operator, or the ticket agent, or even the the station agent.

Fireman
This job probably had the sharpest contrast to that of conductor. There were two types of Firemen. The one learning the trade, called the Switch-engine Fireman, who worked in yard and never left on a traveling or "Road" Engines, and the Road Fireman, who traveled with the freight or passenger trains. The fireman's main job was to shovel coal into the firebox of the engine. Early engines burned from 40 to 200 pounds of coal per mile, depending on the quality of the coal and on the engineer. Another job of the Fireman was to keep the cylinders on the drive wheels oiled while the train was underway. Prior to 1888, this could only be done by climbing out on the running boards and creeping forward alongside the hot boilers and pour tallow on the valves. This duty ended when a device was invented that mixed oil with the water that was turning into steam. This allowed a self-lubrication to take place in the drive piston cylinder and all of the related valves. The fireman new that if he did his job well, in about three years he would move up to Hostler, and then to Switch-engine Engineer before becoming a journeyman Engineer. The Fireman's job paid $2.40 a day.

Flagman
Prior to about 1900, Flagmen were called Freight Conductors. The Flagman is the senior brakeman. He had worked his way up the ladder by being competent, avoiding being killed, and he had to be able to read, as he would pick new orders for the train at various stops along the way. He may also be responsible for collecting fares from passengers that would ride in the inexpensive boxcars on the freight trains. If, or maybe I could more accurately say when, a train wreck occurred, or when a train was required to stop for some unusual reason, and would be blocking the main set of tracks, the Flagman's job was to set flares and warning devices along the track in the direction of any expected train, then they were to station themselves at a visible point as far down the tracks as possible to be able to warn any oncoming train of the dangers ahead.

Hostler
The Hostler would go into the yard and pick up an engine from where the journeyman Engineer left it running, and move it into the roundhouse.

Railway Mail Clerk
These people actually worked for the U.S. Postal Service, not the railroad. They were considered the aristocracy of the postal workers. They were paid better, and they got to travel. Their job was to sort mail on the mail car while traveling from one location to another.

Section Gang
Section Crews, or Section Gangs as they were commonly known, were responsible for a (large) section of track. They typically rode handcars to look for, and replace, rotted ties, tamp loose spikes, and tighten bolts.

Station Agent
The Station Agent was the man in charge of the railroad station. In smaller towns, this job also included being ticket agent, baggage handler and telegraph operator. One station agent in a small town described his primary job as learning "...the art of killing time while being lonely." The high points of the day would come just before the arrival of the morning train and again just before the arrival of the evening train (which would be headed in the opposite direction of the morning train). Usually, the whole town would turn out to see if anyone was arriving or departing the train. Enterprising farm wives would show up to sell fresh eggs and produce to the train crews and passengers. This was the break in an other wise boring day for the lonely station agent. [Note - on the even more lonely "whistle stop" locations out on the plains, the long periods of shear boredom could be interspersed with periods of shear terror - see the job description of telegraph operator below for a story about an Indian raid at one whistle stop]. Some Station Agents found constructive ways to manage their slack time. When my grandfather was station agent in Auburn and Brock (Nemaha County). During the depression he made use of this slack time by planting a huge garden for the community on the station grounds. Since this was during the depression, it not only gave him something to do, but it fed many hungry folks, as the produce was free for the picking. He continued this practice until his death in 1953.

Switch-engine Engineer
This position was held by apprentice engineers learning the trade. Their job was to move railroad cars (also known as "rolling stock") around the railroad yard. Getting loaded boxcars on the right tracks and getting them hooked up for the Road Engines to pickup just before leaving the station. Once the apprentice engineer proved his ability with handling the Switch-engines, the next opening for a Road Engineer would be his.

Switchman
These brave souls worked in the railroad yards, hooking cars together, sometimes while the cars were moving. From the earliest days until about the late 1870's or very early 1880's, railroad cars were hooked together with a link that resembled a giant chain link thirteen inches long. One end of the link would be placed into a slot in the iron drawbar of a car, then fastened with a long iron pin thrust through a hole in the drawbar. The same operation was now repeated on the car being connected to the first car. To make things worse, not all drawbars were the same height above the tracks. To accomodate this fact, some bent links, known as gooseneek links, were kept on hand to link drawbars of differring heights. Many switchmen were killed trying to link together two cars of differring heights, when the bumper of one car would slide over the bumber of another car while the switchman was in between the cars trying to link them together. After automatic couplers were invented, the switchman's main job was having the siding and switching tracks in the correct position.

Telegrapher
The telegraph oeprator's job was to keep the trains on schedule, notifying the train crews of any problems or unexpected trains that may be ahead of them. They also would send warning messages to other depots up and down the line, warning of such things as run-away trains or Indians on the war path. One story is told by Railroad Historian Cy Warman of a station agent/telegraph operator stationed at a whistle stop in Nebraska known as Wood River. The only people that lived at or near the depot were the station agent, a settler named Bankers, his wife, their baby daughter, and a school teacher named Emma. The depot was little more than a shack that was built with double walls and four inches of sand in between to act as insulation. Inside was the agent's bunk, his telegraph key, a pot-bellied stove and an iron safe. One day, a friendly Pawnee Indian stopped by and warned that a Sioux war party was in the area. The Bankers' and the school teacher knew they weren't safe in their cabins, so they hid in a livestock car that was on a siding. They asked the agent to join them, but he refused, saying he had to stay at the telgraph key. He hammered out a warning to Ogallala, 165 miles west. The war party attacked after dark, burning the settlers' cabins and attacking the depot. The agent took refuge behind the iron safe and fought from there. One warrior did climb into the cattle car, but Mr. Bankers clubbed him with a rifle butt. When the battle seemed all but lost, a relief train running without lights arrived with Army officers and Pawnee scouts and routed the Sioux. All of the settlers lived, but the station agent had taken a Sioux bullet that shattered his leg. The happy ending to the story is the fact that later on, the conductor of the relief train married Emma the school teacher!

Ticket Agent
The ticket agent obviously sold tickets, but he also answered questions. The usual question was "Is the train on time?" One enterprising ticket agent, who knew the trains were almost always 20 minutes late, and who had grown weary of answering the same question dozens of times in a day, painted a sign that said, "The train is 20 minutes late." He left the sign up permanently. Customers started asking him if that meant today's train. He could not seem to get away from being asked the same question dozens of times a day!

Wiper
The Wiper's job was to work a 12 hour shift in the roundhouse, where he packed the internal moving parts of some engineer's beloved engine with wads of greasy waste. The pay was $1.75 a day. This was the bottom rung on the latter that climbed to the engineer's seat.

Nellie Sharp, Divorced 26 yr old Female adventurist and naturally friendly and open. Freelance journalist writing for McClure’s Magazine.
Attachment to the Wellington avalanche: Nellie was on train #25 heading to Everett - Seattle from Spokane. Nellie and a friend Mrs. Tweedie couldn’t decide who would go to Montana and who would travel to Everett-Seattle. They drew straws; the longest straw would travel to Everett-Seattle. Nellie drew the longest straw and boarded train # 25. Little did she know that the longest straw was to take her to her death. Stuck in Wellington for days her plan was to hike out in the morning with the others. Hours too late, she died in the snow slide.

Catherine O’Reilly, 26 , Nurse with Sacred Heart Hospital out of Spokane Washington. Caring for a very ill Mr. J.R. Vail 60, Sheep herder. Both died in the snow slide

Mr. Mrs. May Both in their 50’s, Traveling with their daughter Ida Starrett. Heading to British Columbia with Ida and 3 grand children. Mrs. William May lived through the snow slide but lost her husband, William.

Mrs. Ida Starrett 20’s, Travel back from Spokane after the death of her husband. Mr. Starrett died before Christmas working at the Great Northern rail yard in Hillyard near Spokane. Mrs. Starrett had 3 children, , Lillian age 9, Raymond age 7 and Frances 18 months old. Ida was still grieving the loss of her husband and being taken to British Columbia with her parents Mr. and Mrs. William May. Ida Starrett was buried for 11 hours under a large tree in the snow but survived. Raymond Starrett age 7 survived. Mr. Ballets found him thrown clear of the wreckage with a 7” chunk of wood going threw his forehead. Lillian age 7 and Frances 18 months died. Frances died under his mother’s weight only hours after the accident. She could feel Frances under her but because of the large tree pinning her arms and legs Ida could help him. She felt France’s last breath before he died.

George Davis, 35, Traveling with his daughter Thelma age 3. Mr. Davis was heading to Seattle from Spokane. He had just lost his wife and was taking Thelma to his parents. Thelma was a charming 3 year old, shy but bubbly and become liked by most of the passengers on train # 25. Both died. There are two stories told of what happened to Mr. Davis and Thelma. Its how they died that seems to be ever changing. The first story was they found the bodies together, Mr. Davis holding Thelma, both dying peacefully. The other told a grim story of the bodies found away from each other, mangled in the wreckage. Some saying Thelma was found in two pieces.

Mr. Mrs. Beck 40, and mid 30’s. Traveling with their children Emma age 12, Marian age 9 and their son age 3. All died in the snow slide.

Mrs. Sara Jane Covington, 69 years old. On her way home to her golden anniversary. Mrs. Sara Jane Covington never made it home. She died in the snow slide.

O	Vis Major by Martin Burwash
O	The White Cascade by Gary Krist