Small Dogs and Larger Problems

1260

Just like that, a twenty-seven year record went down the drain. I had managed to go this whole time without ever once having to put someone off the train. Until now.

I suppose the first ten years or so don’t actually count, as we seldom put folks off freight trains. The occasional hobo in earlier times, but that was before my illustrious career began to flower. Which was 1983, in terms of passenger service, and so to be accurate I suppose we must say a record that lasted 17 years was trashed last week.

I have been inordinately proud of this little record. It has been difficult to maintain. It is all too easy to put someone off the train. A phone call. Done.

It is one of the top three most asked questions on the train: "What would you do if someone didn’t have a ticket?" You might probably guess the others.

I usually answer that question by replying, "Sell them one."

In fact , trying to avoid paying for transportation is way down the list of things that will most often get a body put off the train. Being drunk and abusive is at the top. And it is a lesson early learned by conductors that to hesitate, and lets things get out of control, is to let the drunk passengers have the run of the train. Certain situations are best nipped in the bud. Being able to convince someone (especially a drunk someone) that in fact you are about to have them set out at the next road crossing, into the hands of the local constabulary, is the difference between maintaining control verbally and simply throwing every drunk off the train. Drunker Women  Women drunks are the worst. They are harder to convince.

It wasn’t always as easy to put people off the train. There was a time before radios and telephones when the conductor himself was apt to be the instrument of a passengers dismissal. And during those times far less rudeness and disorderly conduct was tolerated. Strict rules of social etiquette were, of necessity, enforced on the train. No situation even began to escalate. The train was stopped and the offending person or persons found themselves in the middle of where ever contemplating the next best way to get where they were going. Most trains had a crew of twenty or so, all under the conductors say so, and if he said so, off you went.

After radios it became a bit more subtle. The conductor would radio the dispatcher to have the authorities meet the train at the next road crossing. The train would stop, the police would march behind the conductor and the offending passenger would be pointed out and escorted off.

This tactic became common knowledge to the traveling public. It still is, and problems are seldom encountered. Folks know that when the conductors says, "This is the last time I will ask you," he means it. Even so, hundreds if not thousands of people are put off trains every year. Most for good reason. But not all. Alas, some conductors are apt to be less than patient, carried away by their meager authority, and thrive on putting people off the train.

I was taught long before the railroad that the first person to raise their voice usually lost the argument. It has been good advice and stood the test of time again and again. So I was prepared for the lady with the dog.

The station agent made the sign of a phone, hand to the side of his head, pinky towards mouth and thumb to ear, as the train pulled out. I nodded as I closed up the vestibule trap and dogged the double dutch doors. And as soon as the tickets were lifted I called him on my railroad cell phone. We have made it into the double naughts, finally.

"A lady with a business class ticket was walking a small dog in front of the station," the agent informed me, "and I believe she is on your train."

"Dog and all?"

"Probably. She carried it into the tavern across the street. She was walking it on the platform. She has a travel case that looks like a suitcase. She got out of a brand new Cadillac and left it in the lot, gave the guy ten bucks to keep an eye on it. I don’t see no dog around here now."

"Ok. Thanks."

This is pretty straight forward. The railroad has always had a strict ‘no pet’ policy. Guide or ‘helper’ animals only, on the train. No exceptions. One might guess that to begin making exceptions is to throw the policy out the window.

A few years ago at a different station a lady and her man friend had a system where she would buy her ticket, get on the train, find a seat, then run back to the door at the last minute to have the fellow hand her up a last minute ‘bag’. Containing her pet.

Again, the agent clued me in to the scam and I shortstopped it at the door. The lady wouldn’t budge. "Show me where it says I can’t take my Fluffy!" I didn’t have a copy of the National Timetable which contains the rules regarding pets, baggage, alcohol, firearms, etc. and wasn’t about to delay the train to go find one. I explained that fact to her as gently as possible, re-iterated that she could get on without the pet, now, or stay there with the pet, now, but it had to be now. At times like these I use a tone of voice and a look that I hope suggests that arguing will be futile. That time it worked, she and Fluffy got off, now.

Since then I have made enlarged copies of the relevant rules to carry in my grip, for times such as those. So I stuck a copy of the ‘no pet’ rule in my pocket as I got off the phone.

I mentioned to the assistant conductor what I had been told, and asked him to keep an eye to the wise while in the business class car. I also was going to mention it to the lounge steward but he beat me to it.

"There’s a lady in there with a dog."

"How do you know?"

"She’s got it on her lap, under a blanket. But you can see it, all right."

"Thanks."

"What are you going to do?"

"Talk to her."

I didn’t really anticipate a problem. I felt certain she knew the rules or she wouldn’t be trying to ‘smuggle’ her pet in the first place. In a case like this, where the passenger feels like pitting their smuggling ability against the train crew's alertness, they are usually aware of the consequences, i.e., they may be caught. And if they are approached quietly, tactfully, they face up to it gracefully. Oh well, I tried, smile. Busted. Leave quietly at the next station. End of story.

That didn’t happen.

Before I even went to talk to this lady I retrieved her ticket from the pouch. Since I had it on good authority she had a dog, I didn’t feel it was necessary to ask her directly. I walked up to her at her seat (where she tried belatedly to cover her small companion) and when I had her attention and eye contact I merely handed her the rule and her ticket. And waited while it all sank in.

"It was that son of a bitch attendant, wasn’t it?"

"Ma'am, that is not the issue." She starts to say something and stops. Starts again, splutters, and stops.

"But I have papers, this dog flies all the time. It’s cleaner than most people, god dammit!" Unfortunately, this woman has decided to deliver her information at the top of her lungs.

Now, anyone that perchance didn’t know she had her dog with her, is in the loop.

"Ma'am, cleanliness is not the issue either. It is simply that dogs are not allowed on Amtrak trains. I’m sure you’re aware of this."

"No, I’m not aware of anything!" Shouted again, with appropriate wild gestures and spittle. And on that note, she clams up.

Now I am feeling badly. What should have been a simple admission of bad judgement has turned into a situation. This woman is obviously very attached to her dog. She is very used to getting her way, apparently, as well. We stare at one another. I start to open my mouth but am cut off before I can start –

"Do you know what kind of day I’ve had? My husband is divorcing me. I just came from my lawyer and he says I’ll lose everything. My father is disowning me and nearly killed my little dog by picking him up with the leash around his neck." I wait. I am sure there is more. I am right. "And now you. Why can’t I just sit here quietly, with my dog, and go to Chicago?"

"Ma'am, I can see you’re very upset..."

"You’re goddam right I’m upset," interrupting, shouting, "and I’m going to Chicago and that’s all there is to it."

"I’ll just leave you a few moments to calm down and think what you’re saying. The next station stop is Jackson, Ma'am." I say this last quite pointedly, looking at her directly to make sure she is getting my drift.

I am glad to step away. My face is getting red and my temper is stretching a bit. Being yelled at is to no ones liking.

By now everyone in the car is aware what has transpired. And is eagerly awaiting act two. I decide abruptly to play it safe, even though I begin to see my seventeen year record drifting away. It occurs to me that it is likely this woman will not take the easy way out and detrain herself willingly at Jackson. A quick call to the Jackson agent will have the police standing by on the platform, if needed. I make that call. And return to the object of my frustration, hoping to be able to settle this, if not amicably, at least with calm and reason.

"Ma’am, we’ll be in Jackson in a few moments."

"I’m going to Chicago."

"Ma’am, please listen to me. It is impossible for you to continue on to Chicago with a dog. If you willingly detrain the dog, or yourself and the dog, no further harm is done. If you cause the train to be delayed at Jackson, then you offer yourself to suit from Amtrak. Please consider what I am saying. We will be there in a few moments." And as she is gearing up to let loose again, I walk away.

The trains arrives in Jackson. I open the trap and step to the platform. The agent and two of Jackson’s finest are there. I thank them for coming and briefly explain the dilemma.

"Want us to go get her?"

"Not just yet, I’ve offered her one more chance to get off willingly. Let’s give her thirty seconds."

She doesn’t show at the door. So up we go. Back through the car to where she is still in her seat. The passengers are truly enjoying act three.

"Ma’am, this is Jackson."

"I’m going to Chicago."

"Ma’am, this is your last chance to get off this train willingly, I’ve asked you as nicely as I can."

And I step aside so she can see the gendarmes. Whoa! I truly think she had herself convinced that she could stonewall her way to the windy, until that moment.

This lady is about 35 –40 ish. I am 55. The oldest cop is about 23. But he does deliver his line with all respect and politeness.

"Are you coming, Ma’am?"

"Not until I get a full refund."

"Ma’am, I already gave you back your ticket. As a courtesy."

Fortunately, for me, she turns her attention to these fine young officers: "Do you know what kind of a day I’m having? First, my husband is divorc…"

"Ma’am, I don’t know why you’re taking it out on us," as they gently lift her by the elbows, "but this man has a train to run. Now come along."

As we pulled out, after I had thanked the fellows for their timely assistance, she was still unloading on them. They seemed ready to listen until she ran down, before putting her in a cab back to where she came from.

The other questions most asked: How fast are we going?

Where is the bathroom? Food car?

And the number one, "When will we get there?"