Answering an advertisement started my love of the railroads.

I saw the ad in our hometown newspaper, The Palouse Republic. The ad was seeking people to apply for menial labor on our section of the Northern Pacific Railroad. The section ran from Palouse to Tekoa, about 50 miles of track.

I was a junior in high school, but 16, the minimum age suggested in the ad.

The track foreman, Bill Fisher, did the interview. He went on to complete 50 years as track foreman, a distinctive achievement.

I was hired on to work Saturdays that could lead to fulltime during the summer. I worked Saturdays for a number of months and on through the summer. That was when I developed a love for the railroad, particularly the steam engines that powered the trains.

In my mind, I can still hear the lonesome sound of train whistles. This has followed me, even to this day. Those who have worked on or near where trains run know what I mean.

The work was tamping ties and repairing track. It essentially was lugging a 90-pound jack around and evening up the track so it was level.

We had a half hour lunch, and if we were real quiet, Fisher would fall asleep and we would enjoy a longer break.

During the time I worked on the railroad we had two train wrecks. They would bring in heavy equipment and we were but slaves. Rebuilding track was hard work and it took the entire crew to move rails.

Once, we were chased off the track by a train. We were repairing track and had placed torpedoes on the track to alert a coming train to be cautious. The procedure was to place one torpedo as a caution sign and two for the train to make an emergency stop. The torpedoes fit over the track and would make a loud explosion when run over. We had placed two, and the engineer stopped the train, but not before he drove us off the track.

Another time, we were working the rails and a sudden storm hit us. Lightning struck the ground only about 10 feet from where we were working. No one was hurt but we took cover.

Years later, I worked in Gooding, Idaho, grading lumber, and one of my bosses was enamored by trains. We worked on a rail siding and daily had a train come through. The boss would run right up to the track to see the train come through. It was fun watching him so interested in trains. Secretly, I shared his interest.

Flashing forward again, this time to Woodinville, Washington, where we lived just a couple of blocks from the center of town, and right next to the rail line.

In the middle of night, we could hear the train whistle from a long ways off and her it several times before it passed by near our house. I noted the time of the first whistle we could hear and successive whistles and rather enjoyed the approach near our house, even though it kept me awake.

Some readers will identify with my love of the engines and sound of the trains.

Working on the railroad was but another chapter of the raft of things I have enjoyed.