I've Been Working on the Railroad

I’ve Been Working on the Railroad

by Nate Bender

4/10/2015

Railroads, ranging from laying tracks to operating the locomotives, have long held a special presence in my life.  Within one hundred yards of our rural Iowa house, the Chicago Great Western made an indelible daily mark on my life experiences. The sights and sounds of passing trains created fascinations around traveling to new and different locales.  For unknown reasons, counting the number of rail cars, often numbering well over one hundred, was an important activity. 

Certain trains delivered mail that was ‘caught’ by an over-head ‘catcher’ gizmo, thus removing the need for coming to a complete stop.  Grain cars were sectioned off for filling at the adjoining grain elevator.  Ordered freight would be off-loaded at the Depot, including a set of weights I had ordered to increase my body strength and girth – yes, I was once a skinny weakling!

Fast forward to the Spring of 1964 -- I had completed my first trimester at Pepperdine University and registered my best academic performance ever.  I was formally removed from academic probation, thus qualified to receive a full athletic scholarship.  The core expenses would be taken care of---room, board, books and tuition.  I experienced a profound upswing in my spirit and momentum, emitting new confidence in my ability to complete the requirements for an under graduate degree, in an unknown major at this point.

I chose to skip the following Spring trimester, as the accrued Winter trimester debt of almost $1000 called for my acquiring a better paying job than my philatelist concession stand clerk job in Robinson’s Department Store.  As with much of my life, an unexpected opportunity presented itself: notification that the Southern Pacific Railroad was soliciting temporary hires for the soon to be extinct position of firemen.  Firemen were originally the stokers of the coal-burning locomotives.  Diesel engines replaced the coal-burners, which powered electric generators from which to move mighty loads.  Management, in concert with union agreement, decided to replace firemen with switchmen, the person who formerly occupied the caboose.

I promptly went to the railroad’s downtown Los Angeles personnel office and filled out the required paper work.  Without an interview, I was hired!  Within a day or two, I was employed full-time, as a fireman, with a pay rate beyond anything I had ever received.

Indoctrination and training was simple.  The engineer, who drives the locomotive and is the senior man of the crew gave me instructions on mounting and un-mounting moving locomotives and cars, along with hooking and unhooking cars.  Save for one long haul to Yuma, Arizona, and back, all of my work revolved around the main rail yard in Los Angeles where positioning or repositioning different rail cars for departure to other destinations were conducted. 

My four-month employment as a fireman became quite a contrast to the labor-intense work I did as a farm hand.  I was actually having fun while earning a full time salary in addition to overtime stints, that paid time and a half.  For several months I earned nearly $2000 a month!

Three notations around ‘working on the railroad’ stand out in my memory bank.  First, was paying off my student loan with one two-week pay check.  When cashing the check at my bank, I asked to receive its total in cash.  I then commenced to walk to the Pepperdine College registrar’s office in possession of more money than I had ever laid hands on.  I left the office filled with a skip in my get-a-long, possessing renewed pride, joy and confidence in my ability to be self sufficient, all on the eve of my 21^st birthday. 

Secondly, was the high desert trip to Yuma, in the smoldering mid-summer heat.  After a brief stop in Colton to drop off and pick up new freight cars, the remainder of the trip was full-throttle to Yuma, spending most of the time viewing the wonders of nature.  Of particular note was my having to make engine checks of the six locomotive units while speeding along at 60 miles per hour.  This required my transiting on the outside walk-ways of each unit, and stepping over open spaces onto the next engine unit, checking the oil and water levels.  At one point I discovered one unit over-heating, requiring me to shut the unit down.  I felt like I was on an adventure few people my age could have experienced.

My third noteworthy memory involved my exchanges with career-oriented personnel, many of whom were originally from Oklahoma.  Being an extrovert, with a curious nature, it took little time for people to share their personal lives!  Having no previous encounters with racist talk, I found myself shocked by their frequent derisive references to people of color.  My innocent, idealistic perspectives had to make an adjustment to be compassionate toward those holding such prejudices.

An aside memory involved my means of transportation to and from work.  Somewhere, involving another chance encounter I purchased a 1953 Chevy car for $50.  It had been reconfigured with an Oldsmobile V-8 engine and a floor-placed ‘stick-shift’ resulting in a gapping hole in the surrounding floor-board.  For some reason, this car had an inconsistent pattern in starting, frequently requiring my pushing it out into the street and flagging down a car to give me a push-start.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t have an official license tag, and for sure I had no insurance on it.  Upon completion of my railroad job, I simply let it sit on a side street, expecting it to be hauled away for junk….Its mission had been completed!  As soon as school started in late August, I was able to buy a replacement car, that being a 1951 Ford, for which I also paid $50.

Back to my job…..After receiving my last pay check, I ventured down town to purchase a new clothing ensemble, namely, my first blazer and matching shirt, tie and trousers, along with a pair of Florsheim wing-tip shoes.  These acts created feelings of success and prosperity!  And, I also purchased an airplane ticket to Newark, New Jersey to meet up with a former college roommate and attend the New York worlds fair.  

My work on the railroad resulted in my having an enriching life experience while also granting me financial solvency.  The security generated served as an aid in managing the needs of my junior year of college, while also presenting new story telling material in my social life!  To this day, I find myself transfixed on each and every railroad encounter I have, whether it be the movement of freight or passengers.  And my two young grandsons also have a shared interest in trains, including Thomas Trains around which I can easily become immersed, knowing what the real deal was like.

It’s not my job to drive the train,

the whistle I can’t blow.

It’s not my job to say how far

the train’s allowed to go.

It’s not my job to blow the horn,

nor even clang the bell.

But let the damn thing jump the track

and see who catches hell!!!

Hijacking Experience

Hijacking Experience

5/29/2015

by Nate Bender

Airplane hijackings by disenfranchised persons and groups have been a much-repeated drama in history, dating back to at least the 1930’s.  In the 1970’s, counter-measures became more refined and even lauded after a number of successful ‘assaults’ by special operations organizations in other parts of the world.  

In America police departments of larger cities formed SWAT (Special Weapons And Tactics) teams to intervene in a wide variety of hostage-taking scenarios.  In 1977, the Army was tasked with creating a military counter-terrorism unit to meet potential demands outside the jurisdiction of State and local police.  I was assigned to this Army counter-terrorism organization, The Delta Force, in 1979 as the Unit’s staff psychologist.

Within months of my assignment with Delta, the American embassy in Tehran, Iran, was seized, calling forth mobilization of the Unit in preparation for its first real-time rescue mission attempt, and that’s a story already reported.  This story captures my exposure to another real-time hostage taking event, that of an airplane hijacking, at LAX (Los Angeles International Airport).

Some time in 1980, I was tasked to spend time with the Los Angeles police department SWAT team to learn about their approach to managing the health and well being of their personnel, matters which were under the purview of my role with Delta.  Since their SWAT team had undergone multiple deployments in hostage taking settings, complete with having to terminate lives, it was deemed a worthy learning experience in adopting such measures in Delta.

So there I was, on an expedition outside the military infrastructure reporting to the Los Angeles Police SWAT Team commander early in the morning of my first day.  Shortly after being introduced to a number of the team members an urgent call was received regarding a hostage taking hijacking of a commercial airplane at the airport.  My mission agenda made a turn toward being in the middle of action.

In quick order I accompanied the team commander and his lieutenant in an unmarked squad car to the airport command post, with the magnetically attached flashing light placed on the roof and the siren blaring.  I was feeling a growing adrenaline rush as we weaved through and around rush-hour traffic en route to the airport.  “If the folks back home could see me now!”  I became intensely focused on everything happening around me, highlighted by the calm, measured manner in which my hosts conducted coordinating efforts while driving. 

Once reaching the airport command and control center I was given freedom to sit in on coordinating and planning meetings, now under the jurisdiction of the FBI with the SWAT team serving an adjunctive role as the airport setting came under a Federal mandate. 

Most of all I was allowed to sit in on the actual negotiation communications with the hostage taker, a role that I was being groomed for within Delta.  All of this was marked by textbook exchanges in establishing a relationship with him.  Compassionate conversations ultimately led to understanding of his issues, demands, concerns and needs while forming a workable level of trust. 

The first priority of the negotiation process was to gain the release and safety of the hostages, but before that could happen the hostage taker needed to experience modest success around his basic needs being met.  Such things as food, water, and cigarettes were used as bartering tools where he would agree to release one or more of the hostages in exchange for the items, given in measured quantities.

Via debriefing of the released hostages important information about the conditions on the plane were gleaned.  Early in the negotiations it became evident the captor was looking for a safe way out of the situation, as he was not making grand demands for money and transportation.  Once he was assured that some of his larger needs would be met, involving employment and medical care, his surrender became imminent.  By late afternoon he surrendered without further incident.

Afterwards, I was invited to accompany my hosts for dinner at the Police Academy Club, a sanctuary-like setting offering freedom for candid conversations.  I felt privileged to be in this setting, acquiring important information around the emotional and psychological management of a special operations team who are often inserted into less than safe settings resulting in lethal consequences….death and injury.

An indelible impression was made on my life experience in this story:  desperate acts are usually rooted in basic survival needs going unmet, creating fertile ground for desperate acts to happen; and, as long as social and economic conditions beget inequality for some, chances are greater for repeat of desperate acts.  

From Invincibility to Vunerability

From Invincibility to Vulnerability

By Nate bender

12/4/2015

“We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.” – Joseph Campbell

I’ve lived most of my life possessing confidence in my ability to overcome any adversity, whether from injuries or personal failings or professional set-backs.  In late October, 2015 my confidence became challenged.  Gall bladder surgeries became the setting and material around which this story is created.  May my revelations find meaning in the lives of the reader.

2015 has been quite a journey into my eighth decade.   In February, I under went cochlear implant surgery, along side cataract surgery complications from a December, 2014 procedure.  Over the course of the year, my physical vigor became notably less, along with my appetite.  Soon after returning from our September two-week excursion to the Black Hills and Iowa, blood lab work revealed my liver enzymes to be exceedingly high. 

The medical system became quickly mobilized, resulting in my undergoing an endoscopy procedure, conducted locally.  Then I under went a follow up enhanced version at Ochsner Medical Center in New Orleans.  Something unusual was looming, requiring urgency.  Shortly thereafter, I under went a three-hour plus laparoscopic surgery to remove my gall bladder, resulting in complications and elevating my state of vulnerability.  Never have I experienced such discomfort, making death a welcome alternative!  In my fragile state, I welcomed anything that would put me to sleep. 

The very next morning, October 30, an ‘open surgery’ was performed to correct what was not corrected the previous day.  Dr. Girod reported that my gall bladder was over due for removal, and should have been excised some 10-15 years ago!  Upon waking from anesthesia, it was clear that a new day had dawned.  The dreaded feeling was replaced with a sleepy calm.

Having weathered my first foray into a near-death emotional experience, my five-day hospitalization became memorable.  Having ample time for mental drifting, between bouts of sleep, it seemed like I was reliving my entire life.  Long forgotten memories became vivid.  Insights into periods of joys and sorrows produced a state of serenity.  Interactions with hospital staff became more personal and mutually caring.  My discharge time produced compassionate and tender farewells.

So what have I gained from this experience?  Foremost, becoming vulnerable induces a state of freedom, a freedom to accept what is in the moment.  Earlier demands to be strong and invincible no longer held priority.  Goals and objectives took secondary positions to the emerging experiences of a new life, one without a gall bladder! 

I would be remiss to not acknowledge the surrounding cast of supportive friends and family, led by my endearing and enduring wife Sandra.  E-mails, texts and Facebook postings, along with flowers and visits transmitted healing energy, while buoying my spirits.  Sandra weathered all four procedures, steadfastly waiting on the sidelines for my awakenings.  She also endured the initial span of uncertainty surrounding cancer being a possible root cause, making her commitment to my health, well being and longevity ever resident.  I am a very fortunate man to live out my life with such a life partner and circle of family and friends!

Encountering my Roots

Encountering my Roots

By Nate Bender

10/2/2015

Spanning a four thousand mile, two-week period I had memorable encounters with the lands of my ancestral roots, notably South Dakota and Iowa.  This story seeks to capture the journey, along with certain reflections gleaned from re-connecting with the environment and its people, which shaped my formative years in America’s heartland. 

I grew up in rural Iowa, where my first-generation German immigrant paternal side homesteaded.  I also had annual journeys to rural South Dakota, where my first-generation German immigrant maternal side homesteaded.  These two locales, separated by more than 300 miles, became places from which my horizons became expanded.  In other words, these settings prepared me for a life of adventure and exploration.

Sandra and I departed Mississippi on September 8, 2015 for the long road trip to western South Dakota and its Black Hills area, via stops in Little Rock, Arkansas; Kansas City, Missouri and the Truman Library in Independence; Sioux City, Iowa; and Pierre, South Dakota.   

We met up with long time friends Nancy & Ross Stevenson from Vermont in Rapid City, South Dakota.  Ultimately, we journeyed to a Custer rental house as our base for one week of touring and adventuring.  Our Custer encampment and accompanying adventures exposed us to Mount Rushmore, Custer State Park, Crazy Horse mountain carving and The Badlands being the primary sights.  I had a special opportunity to keep up with these octogenarians (84 and 83), who seemed to possess the endurance and strength of mountain goats when hiking up and down steep trails!  

The Black Hills, as well as other parts of the state, has a long and tortuous history regarding Native Americans, as does every state for that matter.  The replicas, artifacts and stories stirred up in me a compassion for the ensuing struggles and displacement of these people, which often relegated them to secondary citizenship status.  The Chief Crazy Horse Mountain carving, albeit incomplete after more than 50 years of work, made a deep, sad dent in my psyche when learning of the battles and exploitations the U.S. government and its military Calvary imposed. 

On a positive note, I became engulfed by South Dakota’s big blue sky, spanning the expansive horizon.  Big Sky Country it surely is!  With miles and miles of sunflower fields, the state’s moniker as the sunflower state was in full, glorious bloom.  And then there were the people of South Dakota.  They are predominately open, unguarded types, often bringing to bear images generated by Garrison Keillor in his Prairie Home Companion stories.  This was quite a contrast to Mississippi, where caution often dominates new encounters.

At the conclusion of our Black Hills stay on the 19th, we journeyed more than 800 miles to far-eastern Iowa and the city of Bettendorf.  With eighty mile per hour speed limits in South Dakota, my Ram EcoDiesel pickup found its groove!  While the visit in Bettendorf was an over night stay with my nephew Reuben Bender and family, the impact was high octane!  Reuben and his wife April have co-produced exemplary versions of next generation ‘Bender boys three,’ in the form of Beaux, Grady and Drew.  All five of these family members received us with open arms, unlike any family reception in memory.  One of the first questions from Beaux was “are you taller than Jesus?”  These boys were captured by my height in ways I don’t remember experiencing!  With Reuben’s parents having passed into the great beyond, Sandra and I represent surrogate parents and grand parents, in a fashion.

In covering a good bit of the land of my ancestral roots, it became ever more clear that I no longer feel a deep connection to that land.  The land no longer houses smaller family farms.  Crop rotations and natural animal fertilization have been replaced with chemical fertilizers, pesticides and herbicides.  Virtually every field is now essentially free of dividing fences and anchored in large industrialized operations with either corn or soy beans as the two major crops.  This reality saddens me and distances me from what was once a nourishing beginning of my life.  I now know more about why I had to leave, some 52 years ago.

Our two-day trip home from Iowa was uneventful.  Once we reached the Mississippi welcome center south of Memphis, it felt like I was home.  I came home to Mississippi in a way I didn’t feel in returning to my ancestral roots.