* It's the last time Dodge coaches Paterno Would you buy a new car from this man? Con Rail rejuvenates bankrupt railroads By BARBARA COIT Collegian Staff Writer Running a railroad is no simple matter. Witness the Penn Central, Central of New Jersey, Lehigh Valley, ■ Lehigh &. Hudson River, Erie Lackawanna and Reading railroads. All of them went bankrupt. But this year no minor transfusion brought them to life /iagain. Actually their vital signs could be felt ' • when Congress passed the Regional Rail Reorganization Act in 1973. Three years later as Congress’ deadline hit, those six bankrupt lines began to function ef ficiently. Now they are one railroad, Consolidated Rail Corporation. <| : j Conßail continues what Congress began in ’73. Reorganizing, reshuffling and generally trying to convert a disaster into something workable. . Conrail for about the next eight years will be owned by the government. After that it will become a profit-oriented business that will once again be '■* privately owned. It is owned by the government, in effect, because Congress has allotted $2.1 billion dollars to Conßail for overhauling, tracks and equipment that are in disrepair. The $2.1 billion must be repaid, however. Conßail expects to begin ,Ji. around 1980. After that, it will be on its own, but with few of the problems it had under separate ownership. For instance, in 1974 Penn Central alone lost $lOO million on passenger service. Conßail will still provide passenger service, but on a limited basis mostly commuters and will be 1 reimbursed by the government for any loses it incurs. The $2.1 million loan will go mostly for rebuilding and repairing the 7,000-mile track that Conßail uses. Cecil Muldoon, who works in the Public Affairs Department of Conßail, said the theory behind fixing the rails and tracks “is like buying a Cadillac and having nothing to drive on but muddy roads.” The reasons for the railroads’ bankruptcy fall into several categories, but the ones most often cited by Conßail are government control and restrictions. Muldoon blames the railroad’s woes on inflation and restrictions. He says because the railroads had to receive permission for every shipping and passenger price rise, by the time the' hikes were granted, it was time for another. Now, he says, the government realizes the problems inherent to the shipping business and will be less in clined to offer such resistance par ticularly since it has a $2.1 billion stake in the enterprise. Besides problems with passenger service and restrictions, 6,000 miles of light-density track that had to be maintained added financial aggravation to an already serious problem. The solution was to abandon abodt 3,000 miles of track. For the remainder Conßail will receive subsidies from the state or local governments where the extra track is located. Management can . once again rest easy, as long as the trains get where they’re going and in one piece. Management may have headaches, but the men who work on the trains have backaches as well as headaches. In Altoona, where the largest Conßail repair shop for locomotives is, the. grease and guts it takes to move the trains are highly visible For beginners, Altoona not only has the repair shop to operate but . must living content itself as being a thoroughfare to both the East and the West. Between 60 and 80 trains pass through Altoona daily and another large number remain for repairs . Thepeoplewho direct them.in and out of the city, as well as move them throughout Pennsylvania and parts of New York, are known as- “train dispatchers:” Their duties are similar to those of airplane traffic controllers, only what they direct is land bound. The pains, aggravations and tensions of the job seem almost incomprehensible to out siders. The dispatcher, in fact, is by law permitted to work only nine hours per day and must have two days off every seven. Five dispatchers work in Altoona and together they control and direct traffic for about 2,300 miles of track. They each control different sections, and con tinually bark orders to towers spaced all along track lines. An alcove is provided for each dispatcher. That way, orders cannot be overheard by the wrong towers and noise intrusion is at a minimum. v Each man works from a large table like desk with sprawling pieces of paper that he marks each time a direction is given. At times the dispatcher may deal with up to six train's at one time —all on the same track or 100 miles from one another. The dispatcher is expected to know every signal on every track he controls. Maps are provided, but when split second timing is necessary, there is no time. Even with.all of the pressures the job entails,- dispatchers-, are dedicated railroaders. For William Mix, who has been with the railroad 31 years, serving as a dispatcher for 25, there is no other job. He has passed up 11 promotions. Mix says he acquired his skills as an apprentice. Several months were required before he could fully master the work the jargon used would take months by itself, Dispatchers tell the rail towers which switches on the tracks, to operate and how fast trains should go. The tower operator then throws the switches or tells the engine man what to do. Dispatchers must also know when to stop a train because of the heat that builds up in the steel wheels. “You either decide to keep ’em (trains) moving or stop ’em; of course, you had better know what you’re doing or you’ll burn off a wheel and wreck,”, Mix says. If a wreck were to occur, it would no longer be the dispatcher’s problem, but that of the “train master”. The train master has the job of overseeing all workers, trains, tracks and just about anything you can think of pertaining to railroads. Dave Christ, who is the train master for Hollidaysburg, Altoona, and Tyrone, is on call 24 hours a day, 365 days of the year. Christ is the first one notified in case of accidents and is required •to see that the railroad operation' runs smoothly. Christ has worked for the railroad 26 years, and like Mix and Muldoon, has had three different employers without leaving his job. Finally, there are engineers who, by the way, are not called engineers any more, but “enginemen.” At any rate, the job is still the same as those in the fables only the hours have gotten worse. Dennis Glass works out of This fall television viewers will see that old Paterno smile as Joe endorses dodge vehicles. Here we see him standing beside a ’77 Charger. Altoona and is on call nearly 24 hours a day. He may work more than 12 hours a day Glass, who had been an engineman for seven years, is responsible for getting -trains-across Cresson Mountain no small job. Indeed, it is his only job. Cresson Mountain is such a barrier to trains that Altoona became the headquarters for repairs caused by constant breakdowns on the mountain. To help a train up Cresson Mountain, Glass must attach either two or four engines to the caboose of the main train, the number varying according to the train’s tonnage, Each engine has a horsepower of 3,600. If it’s a mineral train, then at least four helping engines must be' attached. Rarely, if ever, Glass says, .does a cargoed train make it over, the mountain alone. The conductor’s job is basically supplemental to the engineman’s and he, along with the rear brakeman, always rides in the caboose. The front brakeman rides along with the engineman'and must attach and detach trains as needed. He actually does not operate the brakes: that is a job for the engineman. It'takes a lot .of people to run a railroad. Christ says, “If half the guys who work on the railroad quit every time they threatened, there wouldn’t be enough people to move the train.” Everything checks out * ** . . L / *,IV 1 *■ •» . :£.%£* ;•? F ) .« v -.: < \ w <.V>V' 'V •**.** * \ ♦*: > ' r ,’ «-• */*,> * *►’/> * '■* **’*, ,*’*'*•' /»'''' *v *• f ' ■s\ f , y ,J ' ‘ ‘ ,;fi ii'iffi-piK'S] y"£ '** t <- * Brakeman's blues Railroader checks out connections ahead to make sure the train is ready for a steep climb. This train had over 100 cars and seven engines, pushing and pulling an enormous load up Cresson Mountain in Cambria County. Three 30 second video-taped spots on the wonders of the Dodge Charger,. Aspen, and Truck required Patemo to do take after take, re-take after re-take, in front of the discriminating eye of a TV camera, a sweat-inducing August sun, and an even more discriminating TV director. Yesterday morning, the crew from Television Production Center (TPC) in Pittsburgh moved the Penn State football coach to the field of Beaver Stadium where Patemo would do the last two ads. A white Dodge Aspen station wagon lay on the grass awaiting Patemo’s royal endorsement. Above the car, perched on a 12-foot stand, was the camera and a young man operating it. The coach was decked in his 1970 .Orange Bowl wind breaker and light green trousers. Above his sunglasses rested that slicked-back brown hair. He waited for the cue. “When I’m sizing up the competition,” explained Patemo to future commercial viewers, “I look for their weakness, and that’s where I put Penn State’s strength —” Cut. TPC director. Russ McKay wasn’t satisfied. Nine'takes and several feet of video tape later, the commercial still wasn’t A weekly look at the life in the University community r >*/ Few now use the transportation that once helped bind the nation together. A brakeman and conductor for Conßail cruise out of Altoona headed west toward Pittsburgh. By 808 BUDAY Summer Sports Editor Fame bestows all kinds of hectic demands. Joe Patemo found that out for the umpteenth time while taping Dodge automobile commercials on campus during the past two days. The sacred statue of the Nittany Lion was the site of the first day of taping Wednesday. Patemo traipsed around the P.enn State mascot while reciting his well-rehearsed lines. • -