Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Friday, August 16, 2013

Wayne's World


Life is a matter of perspective. It’s enlightening to glance at the other side. Here’s a snapshot of Wayne’s World.

*****

I have a friend. His name is Wayne. He’s a country boy. He spends eight hours underneath a train locomotive. It’s his job.

It’s not his chosen profession, or his talent… photography is. He does what he has to in order to pursue the passion. He works in a CSX railroad repair yard in Waycross, GA. It’s a nasty, hot job.

Being ‘low man on the totem pole,’ his job is to climb up inside enormous locomotive engines and repair them. Such work of grease and grime is foreign to most. It’s hard to relate.

For most, making a living comes easier. We use our tongues, phones, keyboards, and pens. But look around…everything you own arrived either by air, highway, water or rail. Things break, somebody has to repair them. That’s what Wayne does.

Recently we had lunch. I asked him about his new job. The following is what I remember from his comments. They reveal another side of life.

He said every morning he climbs down in the ‘locomotive pit.’ That means he’s underneath a gigantic mass of steel, which often weighs in excess of 200 tons. The repairs are made in the belly of the beast. It’s not the same as a business meeting over coffee and a donut.

He showed me a picture of a motor that had exploded. It had eight small, round doors on each side. Looking in, the twisted crankshaft stares back. It’s as big and long as a large man’s leg. This particular repair job required a piston assembly. Pistons are removed from the top of the engine. He said often these pistons, which are as large as a wash tub, under pressure can explode and be blown 30 yards.

He described the maze of power cables inside this monster. Each cable is the size of a broom handle. They must be disconnected before the motor can be dropped down for repairs. This, he said, is the worst part of the job.

He said in order to reach the power cables, he has to crawl through a miniscule black hole into a dark cavern. His hands grope, working just inches from his face. It’s tedious work in a cramped space, no wiggle room. He paused, laughed and said it would send a person with claustrophobia over the edge.

He continued. To access the repair area, I have to extend both arms straight above my head, like superman. Then I climb a ladder into the innards of the leviathan and get on top of the motor. Imagine such!

I wear paper overalls. When I reemerge, assuming I do, the suit is ripped to shreds and I’m soot-black. And folks obsess over their fingernails?

He digresses, confusing me with the specs of engine repair and other minutiae, like train wheels that weigh 2,200 pounds. Little wonder the Lincoln nickels we put on the tracks in our youth were flattened.

Wayne may be country, but he’s bright. He doesn’t speak in metaphors, nor does he consult a Thesaurus. He lives in the world of absolutes, a matter–of-fact world where Yes is yes, and No is no. Explanations are unnecessary.

He speaks with a simple power, a ‘straight-from-the-shoulder’ punch, no backdoor ‘ya-know-what-I-mean’ equivocation. When cash gets tight, in his world people buck up and do whatever they have to, which gives the disgustingly vernacular ‘whatever’ an entirely different meaning. It’s a world where high school football reigns supreme and tithing is not an option.

Wayne’s a fellow who’ll help you change a flat tire in the rain. He believes a neighbor is special and is convinced that his small town can self-govern without outside interference. He affirms his family is paramount, and that church and faith have never failed him.

*****

We eat the last piece of cornbread and leave the table. I ask him if he’s satisfied with life. He thought about it. These are his words:

I have a job, a pay check, a few acres, a dog, a house, grandkids and good health. My taxes are paid, my mortgage is current and my old pickup’s paid off. I have a new camera, a nice garden and I’m not on the government dole. I’m not complaining. Things are pretty good, I’d say.”

There’s something American and uniquely refreshing about that, don’t you think?

Bud Hearn
August 16, 2013

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