The story you are about to read is part fact, part fiction. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
"It was a long time ago, and as they say, the wench is dead." I recently saw the obituary of my first lover from 36 years ago. It brought back a lot of memories, things that pleasantly haunted me. After several sleepless nights, I had to put it all down on paper as a catharsis. It helped a lot. I hope you enjoy the story. The names, of course, have been changed to protect those involved.
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THE RAILROAD MAN AND THE BANK TELLER By SXDispatcher
I first saw her in the summer of 1984. Her name was Carol and she probably shouldn't have a last name for this story. She was a teller at the bank I had an account at in those days. I was a gangly young man of 22 and she was obviously a good deal older. She was attractive, with a slim build and always-perfect hair. I was never sure if it was graying or slightly frosted, but it was beautiful. Her "uniform of the day" was usually a tailored business outfit, with a white blouse, blue jacket, and blue skirt - except for the occasional "game day Friday" when she and the other tellers would have on Penn State shirts. She usually wore dark hose and shiny black pumps -- something I always noticed and appreciated. (I loved it when she had to walk to the copier and I could get a good look at her!) Her makeup was sensible, never overdone. She was pleasant, but never seemed to smile much. Over the course of the next several months, I developed a kind of crush on her, and I always hoped she would be the one to say "I can help you here" when I was next in line.
I noticed she wore a wedding ring. I wondered what her story was, why she never seemed happy. By September, it was a race after depositing my check to get home and hold my pillow, imagining it was her petite body. And, I usually got really hard and full of desire and had to deposit yet another sticky load in a pair of tube socks I kept hidden away for a purpose such as this. I wished I had a picture of her. Then one day the paper had a half page ad for the bank, with her and a few co-workers smiling over the words, "I can help you here!" Yes, I bought a couple of extra copies. Maybe it was just me, but even in the picture, where everyone was smiling, there seemed to be an air of sadness about her.
Why did I develop a crush on this woman? The basis of the story went back four years. After graduating from high school in Altoona, I decided to postpone or bypass college. A friend's dad worked for Conrail and suggested I "try the railroad", but he steered me toward a clerical job rather than a "train service" job because clerks were usually in out of the weather and had more regular hours. I marked up with Conrail on September 1, 1980 and became the lowest man on the clerk's seniority list. Those "regular hours" turned out to be regular, alright - usually 3 pm to 11 pm or 11 at night to 7 the next morning, and rest days were seldom Saturday and Sunday. This made having a social life almost impossible, but I was making good money and a lot better off than most in my graduating class. The term "clerk" also included "Block (Tower) Operator" which, since it actually involved moving trains, was a lot more interesting than feeding waybills into an IBM main frame (remember those?) or walking along side track after track of coal cars copying their numbers on an oak tag form. I bid on operator jobs (and day shift jobs) whenever I could, and actually got a few of them, but usually couldn't hold one for more than a month or so before being "bumped" by some older employee. Then it was back to nights in a yard office or the offices at Altoona shops. Fortunately, I had never been entirely out of work for more than a week. I really liked the railroad, which was a big plus. My last date had been when I was a senior in high school with some girl from church that I really had no chemistry with. With no woman in my life, I fantasized of giving Carol my virginity. Heck, even dinner and a movie would be nice! Forget the girls I knew; she was a WOMAN! Too bad she was married. There was a song in those days with the line "All the Good Ones Are Taken", and it certainly was the case here. Well, maybe I could find someone like her, only single.
One October Friday about 5:00 I was nearly the last in line at the bank. Her window was open when my turn rolled around! She seemed especially pensive. As we completed the transaction and I signed the stub, I whispered "are you okay?" She looked up from the marble counter and managed a half smile. "Yes. Thank-you." She nodded and said again, "Thank-you. Have a nice weekend". "May you as well," I said as I stuffed the bills and receipt in my wallet. "See you next time".
In those days that qualified as a meaningful encounter with a woman. I thought about her on the drive home. She occupied my every waking thought. I daydreamed about her at work (and it was really daydreaming as I actually had a day shift job in a tower!). I knew there was no way I would ever really be with her, but it was fun and a nice fantasy.
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In pre-internet days, detective work was a lot more challenging. I did a job that Thomas Magnum, Lt. Colombo, and Tony Rome would have been proud of. I had her name, so it became a matter of some discreet following, researching directories, surreptitious inquiries, and looking up public records. This took up a good deal of my off duty hours. My current duty assignment had one weekday off, Monday, so that allowed me to visit the courthouse and area libraries. (If I didn't like the railroad so much, I would have made a good cop. Then again, railroaders don't have to deal with the refuse of society.) After about three weeks I had a pretty good profile drawn up. I had her age (45!), address, names of family members, college transcript, and information on her husband, Bill, who turned out to be a hard-drinking, first class asshole. No wonder she never seemed happy. As near as I could determine, he wasn't physically abusive - that could cost him his job - but he treated her terrible. As we all know, there are no laws against being a jerk.
Christmastime soon rolled around. On the first Friday in December when I was depositing my payroll check, I decided to take a chance. I handed her a Christmas card along with a Conrail business card on which I had noted my working hours and office phone number. It could be seen as either a forward pass or a professional courtesy, although I knew it was a stretch for a rank and file railroad clerk to have a "professional" outreach to anyone in "the banking industry", especially one with legs like hers.
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The next day, Saturday, I was at work (Sunday and Monday were my "rest days"), guiding trains across my territory. It had been an easy day between 7am and noon, with four moves west and three east, the last of which had just gone by. The weather was sunny and somewhat warm, with temperatures around 50. I had a window cracked to let a in a little fresh air, trying to counteract the smell of industrial cleaner in the restroom and stale cigarette smoke still lingering from the overnight operator. I returned the signal levers to stop and "normalized" the crossover switches the train had used. I reported the train by to the dispatcher and sat back in my chair. As usual, my mind wandered to Carol.
Several minutes later the Dispatcher Line speaker box came to life as the operator at Conemaugh, the next tower east, reported my departed (which was his arriving) eastbound train to the dispatcher. I noted the train's time leaving my block and entered 11:40 on the train sheet. I pulled the microphone a little closer, and pressed the pedal under the desk to talk to "C". "Got it Joe, 11:40." Then the dispatcher said there would not be anything my way for another half hour or so, so it would be a good time to eat lunch. I poured another cup of coffee and retrieved last night's roast beef from my lunch box. I checked over my paperwork as I ate the beef and gravy. I had to laugh to myself as I thought of how much my cooking resembled something from an Alpo can. The speaker carried conversations between the dispatcher and other tower operators, and I stayed alert for my call sign, "SG", which was a relic from telegraph days and stood for "Sang Hollow".
The phone rang; not the company PBX phone, but the "Bell Phone", the one connected to the world at large. Out of habit, I glanced at the clock: 11:48 in the AM. Who could this be?
"Conrail SG Tower, this is Andy." As I answered, I thought I heard some quiet crying.
"Andy? This...this is Carol, Carol from the bank. I hope I am not bothering you. Do you have a moment?"
My heart couldn't decide if it wanted to stop right then and there or beat out of my chest.
"Sure Carol, I have a minute..."
"Everything is just a mess right now, and you, well, you asked. Everything is not alright and I need someone to talk to."
Was this really happening? I glanced at the "model board" track diagram over the machine levers. All dark - no trains were in the approach blocks.
"Sure Carol, I would be happy to talk." I hoped the dispatcher wouldn't interrupt us.
"I don't want to get you in any trouble or anything..." she said softly. "It's just that I can't talk to family or anyone I work with about this."
"Well, in that case, why don't I call you after I get off work so I can give you my full attention?" And not get fired in the process, I thought. As the low man on the roster (well, at least not dead last anymore), I was damn lucky to hold "daylight" at this tower, and much as I dreamed of getting laid, I did not want to mess my job up. "Things can get crazy busy here real fast. I am off duty at three so I can call you between 4:30 and 5:00." This, of course, was also pre-cell phone days.
"That would be wonderful. But instead of the phone, is there any chance you could stop by my house if I give you directions? It isn't far from the bank."
"Yes, I -", I cut myself off. I knew full well where she lived from my stake-out and detective work. I knew the outside of her house like my own. I had enough brain cells working right then not to give away the store. "I would be happy to." I grabbed a pen and paper. "I can copy the directions."
"Are you sure? It is Saturday, and I don't want to interfere with any plans you have tonight."
"Nothing on the board tonight. I don't have any plans except now to visit with you."
