ONLINE VERSION	VOLUME 106 - NUMBER 9 - OCTOBER 1997

MofW ... Working On The Railroad

It's just "miles and miles of Texas" said Eddie Posas several times on our trip which took us from San Antonio to Del Rio, three miles from the City of Acuna, Mexico, and then along the Rio Grande to Sanderson, Texas. He was responding to my expressions of awe at the vastness of the desolate landscape which I knew I would be unable to describe in a JOURNAL article. Posas, Second Vice Chairman on the Southern Pacific Atlantic Federation, was serving as my guide on a visit to a SP production gang at the request of General Chairman Roger Sanchez. Sanchez was in negotiating sessions with Union Pacific bargaining an implementation agreement of UP's takeover of SP. As we drove the 120 miles from Del Rio on Highway 90 I was glad to remember that we had stocked a good supply of water in the back of the truck because as far as the eye could see there was literally nothing but highway, dirt, dust, cactus, several kinds of scrub brush (all with thorns) and rocks. During the several hours of driving, I don't think I saw even ten other vehicles on the highway and cellular phones don't work out there. Just off the highway was a smooth dirt track which I naively thought may have been a horse trail. But Posas explained it was a trail created by U. S. immigration to assist in trapping people illegally crossing the border. The border patrol smooths the dirt down usually in the late afternoon by pulling truck tires over it. Later they drive along for miles and check for footprints. If they see some, they call in helicopters to search for "illegals." There's really nowhere to hide. At one point, I was happy to see a border patrol station (which consisted of a tin roof held up by four poles with a car and officer sitting underneath). Earlier Posas had pulled off the road to give me a closer look at the thorns on all the brush. When we pulled back on the road, a truck with two men came up close behind us, drove for awhile, passed us, slowed down and after a few more miles let us pass them. They then turned on their lights and repeatedly motioned for us to pull over. This continued for about 10 miles until a mile before the border patrol station they stopped, turned around and drove off the other way. We knew then for sure they weren't law enforcement officers; we never did find out who they were. We made a quick stop in the town of Dryden, population under 100 which consists of two general stores facing each other across the highway with "miles and miles of Texas" around them. Before the second store was built several years ago with a gas pump, the owner of the other one would drive about 25 miles to Sanderson and buy several barrels of gas every day. He then sold the gas to motorists for $5 a gallon and "they were glad to buy it." The negative effect of PEB 219 on job site reporting was clearly demonstrated when we turned off the highway to go to the work site in Malvado. Whereas SP used to bus the workers to the job site while paying them, now workers have to drive their personal vehicles to a cleared site just off the highway which is only "protected" by an unlocked wooden gate. The day we visited the gang, the men were working 12.6 miles from the parking location. And it took us well over an hour to drive those rocky, dusty miles dotted by dried-up creek beds and small gullies to the track in a four-wheel drive pick-up truck. A four-wheel drive is an absolute necessity in West Texas, especially where we were. Even though the road had recently been bulldozed, it was still extremely bumpy over the majority of it. We were lucky, we only got one flat tire. I had been a little worried on the highway thinking that if anything happened it could be hours before help might come. Driving in to the work site I was more than worried. I was concerned that if someone was hurt on the job, how would they be able to get medical attention in a timely manner. As I mentioned, it took us over an hour on road that was rough on someone in good physical condition--how would it be for someone that broke a bone, for instance? Although it was 110 degrees that day, I was thankful it didn't rain. Rain brings the danger of flash floods because the moisture can't be absorbed by the extremely hard, rocky ground. Earlier this year the men were trapped in the bus until 11:00 at night in the middle of a creek that had suddenly been flooded as they were crossing it. Thankfully no one was hurt. Speaking of buses, the men must keep the windows rolled up and wear scarfs over their mouths when they ride because of the choking dust. The bus does not have air conditioning so you can imagine how in the oppressive heat a man might feel like he is suffocating. One of the photos with this article that looks like it is very blurred is actually a picture taken out the window of the truck to show how much dust just one vehicle stirred up. Because I am unable to describe in words the arduous (but often breathtakingly beautiful) journey these workers make every day to get to the work site, I am printing a number of photographs in the hope that they will provide at least a glimpse of what it looks like. After work the men go to one of several small towns about 60 miles away to stay in small, poorly maintained motels or in trailers. I briefly visited the camp site and was able to take a few photographs of the outside of the trailers, which looked to be several feet smaller than others I have seen. Look for more on Southern Pacific maintenance of way workers in West Texas in the December issue of the JOURNAL.