* 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
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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.
• - <u
Train photos
by Barbara Coit
done just right. Back to the drawing
board, Joe.
“You’d almost think I was coaching
the Dodge Boys when they brought out
this Dodge Aspen wagon.. They put it up
against the competition’s weakness.”
The commercial was apparently done
without an error.
Apparently, but not really, as one crew
member pointed out Paterno’s change of
verb tense. Patemo wasn’t too pleased,
and his patience wore thin. “I’m not a
Cro at this stuff and no one expects me to
e,” he said to the crew.
“We understand, Joe,” answered one
crew member. Several others reiterated
those words to clear the tension.
On another occasion, the wireless
hanging from Patemo's seat pocket was
found to be too conspicuous. Again, the
part was tried over.
Several other times the taping had to
be stopped while some noisy truck or
airplane passed by. It didn’t seem like
Paterno’s day. Repeating those lines a
dozen times would have driven anyone
slightly nuts.
Around one —some four hours later —
Patemo took a needed break. He walked
down the track to the exit of the stadium,
not looking in the least like he had just
won the Pennsylvania lottery.
“Did you enjoy doing that stuff, Mr.
Patemo?”
He answered my question instantly,
like a reflex action
"Not really ”
, The next inquiry followed: “Would you
consider doing it in the future?”
“It’ll be the last time they ever get
me,” said Paterno. He got in his car and
drove off. He would return a half hour
later to do take, after take, after...
Friday, August 6,1976 5