This document summarizes interviews with three former railroad workers who discuss their careers working for the Union Railroad in western Pennsylvania between the 1940s-1970s. Don Waite worked as a fireman on steam engines from 1950-1958, shoveling coal to power the trains. Jess Powers also worked as a fireman in the 1940s-1950s and later held management roles. Eddie Waruszewski held various roles in Pittsburgh train yards and stations from 1937-1974, including sorting mail and working in reservations. The interviews describe the physical demands of working with steam engines and how jobs changed with the transition to diesel engines in the 1950s. All three took pride in their railroad careers and enjoyed sharing stories about their experiences.

1. By Brian Estadt
Staff writer
In the upstairs study of his Pitcairn home, Don Waite thumbs
through page after page of research he's done on the history of the Union
Railroad in the region.
As his sky blue eyes scan photocopies of old newspaper stories, the
73-year-old weeds out the unessential information, slips the rest into a
slightly battered envelope and says that packet has all the facts a person
could want on the Union.
And then, with the paperwork out of the way, the white-haired
Waite steps beyond the facts and begins to tells the story of railroad life.
Of his railroad life.
He goes back to 1950, the year he started shoveling coal as a fireman
on Union steam engines. For eight years, his work uniform was overalls,
kerchief and soot, and the coal he shoveled into engine furnaces pro-
pelled fully loaded 100-car freight trains to the region's steel mills.
While the engineer was busy with gauges, brake pressure and track conditions, firemen like
Waite were responsible for stoking the fire so as to provide enough steam to power and stop the mas-
sive freights carried over Union tracks.
Physical as the job was, it could be a lot more labor-intensive if the engineer took a dislike to his
fireman.
“A good engineer could make it easy on the fireman," he says. "But if he had a fireman he didn’t
like — a guy with a real burr in his pants — he’d just let that throttle out and blow all the steam out the
stack.”
And the fireman, rather than being blamed for the train running late, grabbed his shovel and
put his back into it to build up the steam pressure.
That sort of a rapport between engineer and fireman wasn’t necessarily the exception to the rule,
says Jess Powers, a semi-retired train master who speaks from his experience as a fireman from 1946
through 1951.
“There were a lot of engineers 65 to 70 years old who showed a little resentment to the young
guys and made it tough,” Powers says. “If an engineer took a dislike to you, he could make life miser-
able.”
Still, Waite says, there were many more good runs than bad. But they didn't last. Technology saw
to that.
Steam engines and the men who fed them were made obsolete with the advent of the diesel en-
gine. Though the technology to make diesels existed in the 1940s, it was nearly impossible for railroads
to acquire one because the industrial strength of America was so dedicated to producing equipment for
World War II.
Once the war ended in 1945, railroads began the switch to diesels, with most of the large compa-
nies making the transition in the 1950s.
As the switch was made from steam to diesel, overalls and red kerchiefs became less sooty. And
engine work, Waite quietly says, became a bit easier, a bit softer, when the fireman was relegated to his-
tory.
“You didn’t get physically tired, you got mentally tired. I covered the same mileage in a diesel,
but I didn’t feel like I did anything. You just sat there and played with the levers.
“But with the steam engines, you knew you were doing something because you really had to
work.”
Trains of thought and remembrance
I was one of a handful of
writers to work on Gateway
Newspapers’ annual special
project when I was a re-
porter. In 1998, the project
was an in-depth look at how
the railroad industry shaped
life in southwestern Pennsyl-
vania. My assignment was to
capture the personal anec-
dotes of lifelong rail workers.
Copyright 1998 Gateway
Newspapers/Trib Total
Media.

2. And you really slept. Waite says the best sleep of his life — a deep slumber that washed away fa-
tigue — was borne out of the exhaustion he brought home with him after firing the engines.
“I never rested as good as when I was working.”
Though Waite pronounces “work” differently when discussing diesel engines — it passes his lips
sounding less harsh and less affectionate than when he talks of shoveling coal — he says the diesel engi-
neer had himself a good job. He should know, he worked as one from 1959 through 1978.
Even though the diesels made the job less busy, the life of an engineer was far from boring. After
all, says Waite, he had enough different stops to keep boredom at bay.
Wherever the company told him to haul something, that’s where he went. Clairton. Homestead.
Rankin. East Pittsburgh. West Mifflin.
“That’s what made it so nice. Everyday it was a different town, different people, different scenery.
The job never got monotonous.”
Though he enjoyed the constant change of scenery, Waite sometimes found himself creating
quite a scene. Particularly when he hauled molten slag from the steel mills.
With usually 15 to 18 ladles filled with still-liquid by-product, Waite would make the trip to West
Mifflin, stop the engine and one by one tip the ladles over.
Traffic along Route 51 would line up for miles as drivers stopped to watch as the liquid slag —
which eventually become the foundation for Century III Mall — splashed forth like upended volcanoes.
“It was a great fireworks display,” Waite says excitedly.
“The molten slag going over the side like Niagara Falls. It was beautiful.”
Though Waite oftentimes wasn't sure where his job would take him the next day, Eddie
Waruszewski had a more stationary railroad job.
Now retired and living in Penn Hills, the 74-year-old Waruszewski spent 37 years in Pittsburgh
train yards and Pennsylvania Station.
Though he was tied to the city while men like Waite skimmed across western Pennsylvania,
Waruszewski shared something with engineers — steadily changing surroundings.
“Overall, I think I had a great time because I never worked the same job for long.”
Joking that he must have had a black cloud over his head, Waruszewski points out that all but
one (Amtrak) of his former workplaces had closed and forced him to find work elsewhere.
Unloading steal at the freight house along 11th Avenue. Hauling crates of fruit off of boxcars at
the produce yards. Sorting mail bags by ZIP code in the Penn Station mail room. People-watching
while he worked in the Amtrak reservations office.
Of all of the positions he held, Waruszewski liked the Amtrak job best.
"Working in the station was the choice job," Waruszewski says. "You got to see all the people get-
ting off the train and see all the variety."
And in the crowds, there would inevitably be familiar faces of the train enthusiasts who would
come to the station, write down the numbers on the engines that were in town and then pieced to-
gether the train's previous stops, step by step.
"I liked them. There was one, the grandson of the Forbes Field owner, who was a huge train
buff," he says. "If I found anything in the station — maybe a 1930s (train) schedule, there was a lot of
old stuff around back then — I'd give it to him."
But before he got the coveted station job, Waruszewski put his time in "the salt mines."
Dubbed "the salt mines" because the operation took place underground, the Penn Station mail
room was a busy hub of communication. With a Philadelphia- or Harrisburg-bound train always wait-
ing for another mail bag, there was rarely a moment's rest.
Especially in December, when there were 1,000 people working each shift and everyone working
seven days a week with no vacation or personal time off.
"They hired anyone and everyone for Christmas," says Waruszewski.
"You know, when Christmas Eve came round, there was not a single sack left.
“I worked in them days. You think it was cowboy days, with the mail trains, but it wasn’t too long

3. ago.”
Not too long ago, Jess Powers was enjoying the perks of retirement. But after being coaxed out
of retirement last fall to serve as a consultant for Conrail, the Edgewood resident finds himself writing
another chapter in his railroad career.
In his earliest days with Pennsylvania Railroad, the only things Powers was consulted about was
dust and ice.
His first job was beating the dust out of the cushioned mohair seats of the passenger coaches.
And when he wasn't cleaning, he was cooling.
In addition to maintaining the appearance of the passenger cars, Powers loaded 300 pound
blocks of ice underneath each coach car to assure passengers of a cool commute.
As might be expected, the dining car staff received its share of ice. And for their needs, the
clearer the ice, the better. And they were willing to pay for quality. Sort of.
“You’d give them the clearest ice you could find. In return they’d furnish you with a sandwich or
something as a token of their appreciation,” Powers says.
Over the years, Powers worked his way through the ranks, putting in time as a fireman, block
operator, chief train director and eventually yard master at four different Pennsylvania Railroad yards.
Then, in 1979 Conrail moved him to Michigan, where, as train master, he oversaw the operation
of several train yards in the central part of the state.
It wasn't easy. In addition to making sure the auto plants in Wayne. Mich., received and shipped
material on schedule, Powers had to deal with employees who were determined to see what this guy
from Pittsburgh could do.
"In Michigan, they really fought you," he says. "You had to be tough."
He was. Tough enough to been dubbed "The Pitt Bull" by the workers.
Tough and smart. Rather than micromanage the train yards, he searched for the most knowl-
edgeable train people who had personalities he could get along with.
He found them, and for 10 years "The Pitt Bull" was boss of the rails of central Michigan.
"The Pitt Bull" wasn't the only railroad nickname given to a member of the Powers family.
His father, a Pennsylvania Railroad train master, loved the ponies; loved to watch them run at
the track and was known to put down the occasional bet when a horse caught his eye. But for the senior
Powers, the deciding factor for wagers wasn't what the horse looked like as much as who was riding it.
And when his "Who's the jockey?" racetrack refrain grew predictable, his co-workers saddled
him with "Jock" as a nickname.
In fact, to Powers, it seems like everyone had a nickname.
“Boy, there were some lu-lu’s,” he says.
For instance, the guy who was mistaken for a peanut when the circus came to town.
While good ole Joe stood on the platform outside the car, one of the circus' main attractions de-
cided to survey its surroundings. The animal ended up doing the surrounding, and the poor worker
found himself the "surroundee" as a long grayish trunk wrapped around him.
“Elephant Joe,” Powers says with a laugh. “He had that name ‘til the day he died.”
After each talks for more than two hours, all three seem reluctant to shut the door on their
memories. Waruszewski offers to take a ride downtown to show off Penn Station; Powers remembers
another anecdote and then another; Waite, wondering if he really has gathered up all the relevant in-
formation into that envelope, searches around his study and then fetches a videotape of the old Pitcairn
Train Yard in action.
All three are proud of their past and eager to share it before their history, like the heyday of the
steam engines, fades away.
“Railroaders, I have to say, are a separate group of people, a different group of people,” Powers
says.
“When I started, the road foreman told me you have to be dedicated, you have to marry the rail-
road, and if you don’t think you can marry the railroad, leave now.”

4. Powers married the railroad. So, too, did Waite and Waruszewski.
And thousands like them.