by Carol Henry
Charley didn’t care how impressed the nation was with the strides the railroads had made over the last couple of decades. He didn’t care that only eight years ago in Promontory, Utah, the golden spike had been hammered into the ground. He didn’t give a damn that not only did the tracks unite the East with the West by rail, or that a telegraph connected them as well.
But Emily cared.
Mail was delivered faster now that the rails cut across the vast countryside. Keeping in touch with her cousin, Marybelle, was more convenient. Emily lived for the occasional letter from her cousin. And Charley loved to see the happiness shining in her eyes whenever she received those letters.
What was a man to do? He wanted to be there for his wife. If not for the trouble ahead on the railroad, he would be. But he needed the pay, just like everyone else. If the big bugs cut their pay, and the workers called a strike, he didn’t know how they would all survive.
“I asked you a question, damn it,” Aderley spat, bringing Charley out of his contemplations. “What the hell is going on?”
“There’s talk. That’s all I know right now. Nothing definite yet. The men know Tom Scott was in Chicago last month to meet with the other railroad owners. They know the two of you have been talking and are considering a ten percent cut.”
“I don’t like this. What are they up to?”
“I’m not sure. Something about a walkout, but nothing definite. If they get hit with the ten percent cut, they’ll strike for sure. They need the money. And they’re not happy with the present working conditions. Too many of them are getting hurt. Don’t forget that last week Schmidt died when he was caught between the cars and cut in half.”
“They need to be more careful.”
Charley had heard it all before. True, many had been killed on the job, or were hurt and unable to work. And when they didn’t work, they didn’t get paid. Families whose husbands and fathers were killed had no income and had a hard time making ends meet. Many of them were starving, even with their current wages.
“Damn it, Charles, you know as well as I do the bargaining unit isn’t worth the price of hen’s teeth. This time it isn’t going to make any difference. The agreement in Chicago was unanimous—from coast to coast. I have no control over their decisions.”
“But Scott does.”
Aderley ignored him.
“Have those fools already forgotten about the strike three years ago? The mayhem created by their actions? All the major trunk lines were disrupted for weeks. What a horrible mess that was. We can’t let that happen this time.” Aderley puffed on his cigar, the smoke curling up around his head.
“I don’t think they care. They don’t have much left to lose.”
The strike three years ago might have created a mess for the trunk lines, but the workers had made their point.
“They tore up sections of the rails and cut the telegraph wires,” Aderley continued as if Charley didn’t know. “They even removed the pins from the freight cars and destroyed water towers.” Aderley ran his hands through his receding hair, and then clenched them at his sides. “It didn’t help that the citizens and police sympathized with the strikers.”
“It’s bound to happen again,” Charley said.
“Big trouble, Charles. Real big. I need to know where you stand. I need to know, now!” Aderley barked. “All the major trunk lines agreed to this cut, and I have to follow through. Tell your men that as of today we’ll be double-heading the freight cars.”
“They aren’t going to like it. As for announcing a cut, the repercussions will be devastating. The merchants, the mills, the coal mines, not to mention other smaller industries depend on products transported by rail. If the men strike, the rails don’t run, and the businesses will create a ruckus.”
Charley was caught between a rock and a very hard place with no give in between. The best place for him right now was on Mason Aderley’s and Thomas Scott’s side. He needed to do all the ass-kissing he could do to keep his job. But he didn’t want to leave his men to flounder on their own.
“I need the work. Just like the others. You know I’ll work ’til I can’t work no more. Strike or no strike. I have a family to support. Just like everyone else down below.”
Charley moved to stand next to Aderley, the two looking at the men working in the yard. The Boss Man had him over a barrel. Charley knew it. Aderley knew it; had counted on it.
Charley had to keep things from exploding.
“I promise you, Charles, you’ll be rewarded for your trust and loyalty to the company once this fiasco is over.”
Aderley combed his large shaking hand over his face, and then heaved a deep sigh.
“How long do you think we have before it blows?” Aderley asked, defeated. “A month? Two?” He turned and looked Charley square in the eyes.
The man was scared. Charley read it in the slump of his shoulders, the white at the corners of his pinched lips. Again, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t lie. The situation was too dire.
“It’s been simmering ever since Chicago,” Charley said. “They’re just waiting for the axe to fall. If you make the announcement today, could be tomorrow.”
“If we have to call in the militia, we will,” Aderley said. “Scott and the others are determined to call in every favor they have owing them, and then some. I want you to go back down below. Pacify the engineers and trainmen as best you can. You’re able to talk to them better than anyone. Convince them not to strike.”
“If you can hold off for a couple of days, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Watch your back, Charles. Someone’s been riling up the men. I don’t know who, but if I catch him, I’ll wring his neck in front of the whole lot of them.”
Charley’d been thinking the same thing. Someone had them worked up, talking strike. John Donahue came to mind. He didn’t trust the man any farther than he could spit, and he’d never won a spitting contest. The weasel rubbed him the wrong way.
“Do you think Donahue is behind it?” Charley asked. Not a betting man, he’d lay odds he was right. “I’ve seen him down there a few times.”
“I’d bet my best race horse he’s not the one.”
“Still, I wouldn’t rule him out, seeing as he handles all your business. He knows what’s going on.”
“I think you’re wrong, but I’ll keep it in mind.” Aderley rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and sighed. “I want you to know I’ll stand beside Scott to fight, every railroad spike by every railroad spike along the way if I have to. I want you to promise me you’ll be right beside me.”
“I’ll be there.” Charley didn’t hesitate, nor did he flinch at his own words. Words that laid heavy in his gut.
“I have another matter I want to discuss with you. A private matter,” Aderley said, his voice low, his eyes focused on his wide, uncluttered desk. “Have a seat.”
Mason Aderley was a private person. He never shared family news with him or any of the other men. This had to be something serious.
Aderley sat at his desk and then stretched forward toward his humidor. He ran his hand over the smooth, deep, rich, polished tiger-maple box. He drew in on his cigar, blowing another puff of smoke into the office. Charlie wished he could afford to buy just one of those expensive stogies.
“It’s an unusual piece, isn’t it?” Aderley stroked the unique box. “It belonged to a relative on my father’s side of the family. They were coal miners.”
Charley stared at the hand-carved box with interwoven circles in the center of the lid and a large, handsome diamond inset in the center of the middle ring. He always admired it whenever he was in Aderley’s office.
“The diamond represents coal,” he continued. “The circles, the family bond of coalminers. My father died of lung disease when I was thirteen. As the oldest of five sons, my mother passed the humidor on to me. I vowed never to work the mines. I keep this close by as a reminder that I can do better.”
And, like Tom Scott, presi
dent of the Pennsylvania Trunk Line, Aderley was a self-educated man who had earned the respect of the other railroad magnates. He’d climbed the ranks of the rails on his own steam.
As Scott’s manager, Aderley was well aware the trainmen down below were unhappy. That wasn’t anything private. Charley wondered where Aderley was going with his story, what it had to do with the strike.
“Sorry to burden you with this, Charles, but you might be able to help.” Aderley choked up.
The man’s change in direction was hard to follow. Confused, Charley sat in silence waiting for him to speak.
After a loud meditative exhale, the man continued. “My wife has received kidnapping threats. Someone is threatening to abduct my two boys.”
“Kidnapping? Have you called in the law?”
No wonder the man looked so haggard. Something like that would worry any man. God forbid someone try to take one of his children; he’d kill the son-of-a-bitch himself. His kids might be a handful and rub him the wrong way sometimes, but they were his. No way would he stand by and let someone hurt them.
Aderley didn’t need this on top of the pending strike. With everyone’s pockets empty these days, Charley figured anyone could be the culprit, someone trying to survive. But to use kidnapping as a means to get money, well, this was serious business. Someone had to be desperate, or crazy. But then again, Aderley had the money to pay a ransom, no matter how much they asked.
“Yes. But we’ve been advised to stay quiet for now. I’m only telling you because the authorities think you might hear something from the men down below.”
“Nothing so far. But I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”
“My wife has a sister who lives out west. I’m going to send my family to stay with her until things here blow over. With any luck, they’ll be long gone before this strike hits. You’re lucky, Charles, your family is in New York. Away from this turmoil.”
“They’re away from the danger of the strike, but my wife hasn’t been well.” Charley figured if Aderley could share his family problems, then his boss needed to know he had problems of his own. “If this strike is just around the bend, then I want a few days to go home to check on Emily. Make sure things are in order.”
“I don’t know, Charles. I’ll try to hold off on making this announcement for a couple more days, no more. I need you here without any distractions. Let’s hope we can put down this strike before things get started.”
Charley didn’t think it possible, but he didn’t say so. If Aderley allowed him to go home to check on Emily, make sure she was doing all right, he’d be able to come back and concentrate on the strike.
“Get things worked out down below before you go. And take the next train out. You’ve got two days. And then I want you back here to put a stop to this nonsense.”
Chapter Two
The train from Philadelphia to Owego, New York, was a beehive with many of the men already worked-up over the talk of strike. And word everywhere was a strike was imminent. Charley listened as they ranted on and on about the pending cut in wages.
“I tell ya, Danny, those damn owners dun our pay ten percent like they threaten, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“Can’t believe everything ya hear, Hennessey. They can’t squeeze another cent outta us. They’re already bleeding us dry as is.”
“That won’t stop them. You mark my words. From what I’m hearing down at the tracks, this one’s gonna travel right on out west.”
“Then we’ll strike. Just like three years ago.”
“Don’t mean it’s gonna work this time, you two. Word I hear is they aren’t concerned whether we strike or not. They can hold out longer than we can, that’s for sure. Best be careful ‘bout spreading rumors. Wait for the facts before you get us all hanging out to dry.”
Charley kept to himself as he listened to their annoying chatter. Normally, he used this time traveling from work to relax and wipe away the strains of the job before he arrived home to his family. But this evening the noise droned on and on in rhythm with the turning of the locomotive wheels. Charley’s nerves twisted him into knots.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
A person had to be crazy to work the hours with the conditions he and the men did. They were tired and had little to show for it at the end of the day. Luckier than most, being higher up the ladder of command as Aderley’s right-hand man meant he got more pay. Still, it was a meager wage, and the compensation didn’t even begin to make up the difference. What they all needed were higher wages, halfway decent benefits, and one hell-of-a-lot more respect.
The voices on the train grew loud and angry. The man named Hennessy stood waving his hands at the other workers, trying to win their support.
“Strike now before they cut our hard-earned wages. We can’t afford less pay. I say we work together to set those big bugs straight. Let them know they can’t shove us around. Are ya with me?”
“Hell, yes, we’re with you.”
“They’re not gonna cut my pay. I can’t feed my family now.”
“Let them call out the militia. We’ll band together and face them, hit for hit.”
“Strike.”
“Strike.”
“Strike.”
The entire rail car chanted. Charley wanted to stand up and chant with them. Maybe it was time to get something started for the men who did all the dirty work, month after month, with no time to rest so they could have a life of their own with their families.
Maybe he would join them this time.
But he’d already given Mason Aderley his word. And he always kept his word.
By the time the train arrived in Owego, the clouds had rolled in, and the rain had begun in earnest. The rowdy bunch hadn’t stopped chanting for a strike, and Charley’s head throbbed in unison with their one word cry. As soon as the train stopped, Charley rushed from the confines of the car and dashed between the rails to board the smaller train headed for Candor. He found an empty seat and settled in, relieved at the quiet despite the constant ringing in his ears. He took a cigarette from his pocket, checked his dented silver pocket-watch, then leaned back against the wooden bench with a sigh and lit his smoke. He inhaled; the nicotine circulated throughout his insides soothed his weary nerves.
Thank God the train departed on time. And, thank God the others weren’t traveling to Candor.
The Delaware, Lackawanna, and Western was a small rail running through the countryside with several stops between the Susquehanna River and Cayuga Lake. Candor was one of the major stops along the way. Charley was always able to relax on this last leg of his journey home, but tonight the clickity-clack, clickity-clack of the metal wheels on steel rails droned in his ears like a million tiny buzzing insects. His nerves were about shot to hell. Knowing Tom Scott had a mind to cut wages didn’t help none.
Strike. Strike. Strike.
Charley threw the cigarette on the already littered hardwood floor and stomped the glowing ember out with the heel of his well-worn work boot. He leaned his head back on the edge of the seat to rest. His head bounced back and forth against the wooden seat as the train rattled over the rough rail ties. He gave in and sat up. He looked around. Several families huddled together in the sofa-like seats facing each other. In one seat, two boys had their noses pressed against the soot-covered windows, the bill of their hats tapping the window with the sway of the train. Three demure young girls sat next to their mother dressed in the latest finery from their pointed, laced-up shoes peeking out from under their long frothy dresses to their stylish hats. When was the last time Emily had a new dress? Or a hat? And Catherine? What simple frock did she wear to school these days?
By the time Charley arrived in Candor, he had worked himself up over the inevitability of there being a strike. Being away from his family for days at a time didn’t improve his disposition none, either. God forgive him, he would have the devil’s own time putting up with any one of his six children’s shenanigans. But he needed to check on Emily. If the stri
ke broke, make that ‘when’ the strike broke, he wouldn’t be able to get back home anytime soon.
What a life. What a rut.
Being born and raised in Philadelphia where trains and coal mines were the mainstay of every family, every member of his family had swallowed trains at every meal, breathed coal and steam with every breath. Charley figured God had given him the opportunity to get his family out of the rat-infested, dirty slums of the city and move them to the country where they could breathe some sweet smelling fresh air and not have to live in the awful beggar conditions the trunk lines had created over the past three years.
The train companies owned everything. The general stores, the dry goods stores, the filthy overcrowded tenements houses.
They owned everyone.
Didn’t these owners see what they were doing to the country? If they’d lower the rent on the tenement shacks the workers called homes, they wouldn’t have to scrape up enough money for food. As it was, the railroad took back just about every cent they gave their workers in monthly wages.
Charley looked out the window into the fading light already obscured by the heavy clouds and fog. Still, he could see the outline of the countryside. He’d never seen anything so beautiful as the rolling fields passing by as the train hugged the low hillsides alongside the quick flowing creek on his way home. Behind tonight’s blanket of rain, fields of green stretched for miles. Trees. Trees everywhere. The smell of coal and oil didn’t exist. The heat or stench of sweaty workers no longer filled his nostrils and upset his stomach. He couldn’t wait to get off the train and take a real deep breath; rain or no rain. Just to inhale the sweet fresh air was always worth the long ride home.
The train whistle blew two long, one short, and one long blast as they approached the intersection just before pulling into the Candor depot. One last long blast filled the air. Old Henry up ahead signaled their arrival with his light. First he’d swung the lantern up and down in a slowing motion, then to and fro in front of him, telling the conductor to break. The minute Henry motioned the train to stop, it lurched forward, metal slid on metal, and the engine screeched to a stop.
