Chapter 16

Thursday, April 19, 1894

Dixie Yeats set a vase of cut tulips in the center of the conference table, as she seated herself for the executive committee meeting.

“Those look good,” Malik observed.

“They’re from our yard,” she said.

Pete Pottinger said, “I am not sorry to see an end to winter, though why we call this spring is beyond me. No one’s doin’ much springin’, what with all the mud.”

Arnie Yeats chuckled. “You say the same thing every year.”

“That’s because it’s true every year.”

Raul Castillo, the last to arrive, set his coffee mug on the table. Lowering himself into one of the leather-padded arm chairs, he said, “Bill McCroskey asked to speak with us.”

Malik asked, “Any reason he can’t join us now? Is there anything special on the agenda?”

Looking around, Pottinger said, “I’ve got a bridge to talk about, out on the Tucumcari Division, but it’s nothin’ confidential. We’ve been talking about it for days downstairs.”

Castillo said, “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Both Yeats, father and daughter, were shaking their heads.

Malik said, “Yan, telephone him and invite him up. Tell him to bring his coffee mug. And best call the kitchen and see if they have more of these oatmeal crisp cookies. They never seem to send enough.”

Thirty-five minutes later, having disposed of old business, Malik leaned forward and looked at the Security Section chief. “Bill, what do you have for us?”

“Thanks, Emil.” McCroskey, who had met and worked with Malik before Malik had become chairman, was one of the few employees who seemed comfortable acquiescing to Malik’s preference for the use of his given name. “I wanted to advise you of a steep increase in the number of unauthorized riders on our freight trains, with the result that the accidental deaths of trespassers has seen a corresponding increase. We saw nine deaths last month, alone, and a greater number of non-fatal injuries, too.”

Arnie Yeats asked, “Deaths from what causes, Bill?”

“Last month, they were all from falls from the undercarriages of moving trains. Over the winter there were at least eight men and three women and a baby who apparently froze to death in empty boxcars.”

Dixie audibly caught her breath.

Malik muttered what sounded like, “pshah-krev,” under his breath. This was a Polish expletive, psiakrew, roughly equivalent to son of a bitch. Its literal meaning is dog’s blood. Recovering his composure, he asked, “Please tell me this is more than normal.”

McCroskey, nodding with certainty, said, “Oh, yeah. Before this business crash, at worst we might find one or two men dead from the cold of a winter, and some years there are none. The same with other deaths and injuries among trespassers. We’re seeing four or five times the usual number. On top of that, keeping people off the freights has become a lower priority as petty thievery is on the rise.

“And keep in mind that we’re operating at ninety percent of our standard officer contingent, so we’re stretched even thinner than normal. I’m not complaining, mind you, Security’s had fewer reductions than any service, but it is the fact of things that there’s one less man per division.”

“Well, hell,” Pottinger said. “What can we do about that? The deaths, I mean.”

Castillo asked, “Why would it fall to us to have to do anything? Times are tough, people are desperate, and they are taking greater risks. We cannot save everyone from this effects of the depression.”

Dixie chastised him. “Even though what you say is true, Raul, it’s a very harsh position to espouse.”

“I am not espousing any position. I am simply citing facts.”

“He’s right, honey,” her father observed.

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Malik intoned.

Castillo gave him a look of annoyed skepticism. “This is a business office, not a church, and you are certainly no preacher.”

“Oh. Did I say that out loud?” Malik responded, with a sly smile.

“You did,” Dixie said, “and it begs the question. Do we want this happening on our railroad?”

“Well,” Malik said, “assuming we are our brothers’ keepers, what can we do?”

For a few moments, the room was quiet, save for the sipping of coffee and the quiet thump of mugs returned to the table.

Finally, Malik said, “There might be some folks better than us at figuring this out.”

“Like who?” Dixie asked.

“Well, for instance, Karla Wodehouse, and maybe Pauline Jones and Doctor Lee.”

“And Mister Healy,” Dixie added. “He’ll have first-hand experience.”

“Good idea,” Malik said. “We can send each a letter explaining the problem, then invite them here to discuss possible mitigation.”

“A waste of money,” Castillo muttered.

Malik shot him a look. “I beg your pardon?”

With a facial expression of wide-eyed innocence, Castillo replied, primly, “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

(Thursday, April 19, 1894)

Thursday, May 17, 1894

Board Director Pauline Jones and headquarters clinic nurse Karla Wodehouse were in attendance at the April Executive Committee meeting as representatives of the ad hoc committee on trespasser safety.

Malik said, “That finishes the routine business. In other old business, we have the matter of deaths and injuries among trespassing freight train riders, brought to our attention last month. Board Directors Pauline Jones, Lee Wuying, and Fergus Healy met with Staff Nurse Karla Wodehouse and Safety Section Superintendent Bill McCroskey over the past two days as an ad hoc committee to consider our possible response. Pauline and Karla are here to report their conclusions. Ladies?”

“Thank you, Emil. I have to say, I was extremely gratified that you decided to deal with this. Doctor Lee and Mister Healy felt the same way, though Doctor Lee expressed shock at learning of the magnitude of the problem. Miss Wodehouse and Mister McCroskey were of tremendous help in coming up with facts and figures, as was an unofficial member, Miss Dixie Yeats.”

Nodding to Dixie, Jones said, “Go ahead and pass those around, Dixie.” Then, addressing the group again, she went on, “This page is a summary of our recommendations. There are more details, along with projected budgets, and other considerations in this seven-page report I am handing you, Emil.

“Essentially, we recommend two general actions. The first is to provide a converted boxcar to transport individuals for free on our through freight trains.” Jones looked up at Castillo who had sounded like he was choking. “Are you ill, Raul? No? Then I’ll go on.

“The second recommendation is that we establish transient camps at our end-of-line terminals in which we would temporarily house and feed indigent individuals.”

“Missus Jones,” Castillo said, “how do you intend to pay for all of that?”

“How much do you think it will cost, Mister Castillo?”

“Well, I don’t know, but any amount is too much.”

“Any amount? Any amount at all? How much do you suppose we could have afforded to keep that baby from freezing to death?”

“That is unfair, Missus Jones.”

“Unfair? In what manner.”

Malik turned to Castillo and, with a smug grin, said, “I believe you just used a contraction, Raul. It is said that, the first thing to do when trying to get out of a hole is to quit digging it deeper.”

“You know we cannot afford this, Emil.”

Malik said, “I’m not so sure. As you well know, the most common tort actions for negligence in this country are claims against common carriers, of which we are one. And, while such claims are not frequent, the courts have not been averse to finding in favor of even complainants who were trespassers. Because we’ve had a substantial cash reserve over the last decade, we are largely self-insured, with our underwriters only coming in for awards over ten thousand dollars. Looking at the budget summary, I see it projects a capital investment of less than ten thousand dollars, plus annual operating costs, for the duration of the depression, of just over five thousand dollars.

“I’d have to say that a good defense against a negligence claim would be the reduction of potentially negligent circumstances and preemptive services intended to mitigate the precise contributing causes. Balanced against our potential liability, I think this proposal merits consideration and has a realistic potential to save us money.”

“But with a free passenger service, we will be competing with ourselves,” Castillo insisted.

“It’s not like that, Raul,” Dixie said. “We’re talking about hard wooden benches in converted boxcars, with only a few high windows for light. And as part of a freight train, with all it’s attendant work stops and yields to priority traffic. We think it will cost less than seventy dollars to convert the cars and that five per division should be more than enough.”

“But what about these transient camps. They will simply attract more tramp -- ah, indigents.”

Wodehouse said, “That was actually Bill’s idea. He was looking for a way to keep more of the possible thieves and vandals off the divisions. He figured that, if we provided a bed and served hot food at the terminals, it would be an incentive for transients to travel to the end of the line, rather than loiter near vulnerable sites.

“The stays there will be limited to two days, unless the person is willing to go to work for us, providing services to the transient camp simply for bed and found. And, if they do, they’ll be moved into one of our half-wall tents.”

Dixie added, “And the food will be basic: two meals a day, mostly beans and rice, a little bread. Doctor Lee said we had a big surplus of rice, and can plant even more this year. And wheat and pinto beans are cheap.”

“What about coffee?” Arnie Yeats asked.

“Water only,” Wodehouse replied. “No coffee, but we’ll have milk for children younger than ten.”

Castillo was still shaking his head. “It will not work. But if you are all determined to go ahead with it, at least organize it as an independent business, maybe as a charitable trust, like the colleges.”

“Well,” Malik said, “we haven’t really said we’d go ahead with it. Shall we put it to a vote?”

Castillo took a last shot: “Maybe you should refer to a full board meeting,”

Jones said, “We should, but, at this point, the only Director not informed is Lincoln Hawksclaw. I assure you that Wuying, Fergus, and I will vote for it.”

Malik said to Jones, “In fact, I sent Lincoln essentially the same letter I sent you, so he knows about the problem, just not about your recommendations.” He turned back to Castillo. “Would you care to guess how the chief of an impoverished Indian reservation will vote?”

“What about you two?” Castillo asked, turning to Pete Pottinger and Arnie Yeats.

Yeats said, “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but it seems like a better idea than a worse one.”

Pottinger said, “I love building projects. I think I’ll turn this over to Tsosie and Raven.”

Malik said to Castillo, “Go ahead and create another trust. I think you’re right, set it up like the colleges.”

Castillo shot Dixie a dark look from under his brows.

Frowning at him, she said, “You’re going to make me do all that, aren’t you?”

(Thursday, May 17, 1894)

Friday, June 22, 1894

Malik was sliding several files into his leather portfolio when a soft knock of the connecting door to the conference room heralded the entry of Castillo and Bill McCroskey.

“Emil, Bill has something I think you need to know about.”

“Sure, come on in.” Pointing to the guest chairs in front of his desk, Malik asked, “Do you want to sit here or over at the table?”

Arriving at the desk, Castillo said, “Here should be fine.”

“Bill, would you ask Peng to come in?”

“Sure, Emil.” McCroskey walked over to the other office door and leaned into the outer office, where Peng had her own desk.

A minute later, all were seated, Peng in a straight-back chair at the end of Malik’s desk, on his left.

“So, what’s the problem?” Malik asked.

Castillo turned to McCroskey. “Go ahead, Bill.”

The security chief said to Malik, “Do you recall that I reported that three women had frozen to death over the winter?”

“I do.”

“Two of those were on the Medicine Bow Division and one was on the new Denver Division. Both divisions saw extended periods of intense cold weather. But now a third woman’s body has been found on the Medicine Bow.”

Looking puzzled, Malik asked, “By ‘now,’ you mean...?”

“I mean two nights ago, at Medicine Bow, in an empty boxcar on a southbound freight.”

“Were they not running one of our free-passage cars?”

“They were. But no one remembers seeing her attempt to board it.”

“Was it that cold up there that night?”

“No, no, that’s not the problem. She didn’t die of exposure. The county coroner says she was strangled. When Lieutenant Gilroy pressed him, the coroner admitted that the other two women, who he said had frozen to death, might also have been strangled. The doctor wasn’t able to say for certain because the bodies had been frozen solid and he thawed them with warm water before conducting his examination. Also, he figured they were just prostitutes, so he wasn’t all that thorough.”

“Okay, okay,” Malik sounded exasperated, “not that it would make any difference, but were they prostitutes?”

“No one knew who they were. Gilroy thinks they were just transients.”

“What made the coroner think they were prostitutes?”

“They were both naked. So was the woman they just found.”

Malik, looking weary, began rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

McCroskey added, “Gilroy says there was a woman’s body discovered in a boxcar on an eastbound UP freight in Laramie, last summer. He got the details from the UP police and went back and checked our waybills. He says that boxcar had come off the Medicine Bow.”

Malik dropped his hand to his lap and looked at McCroskey. “So, you’re saying that there may have been as many as five women killed on the Medicine Bow within the last year and their bodies left on our freights?”

“I’m sorry to say, it may be worse. There were also two women reported missing last year, one from Casper, another from Red Butte. Both were young mothers and well-established in their homes and marriages.”

“Holy god,” Malik muttered.

“That’s not to say there might have been other bodies that weren’t discovered until they were hundreds of miles away,” McCroskey concluded his speculations.

Malik gave McCroskey a baleful look. “Is that it? Or can you make it even worse?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Castillo suggested.

Malik shook his head, “No, I realize all this is due to some good police work, both here and at Medicine Bow.”

Looking grim, McCroskey added, “Gilroy’s still working on tracing the cars where the other bodies were found. He only has the registration numbers on two of them, however, as one wasn’t recorded on the incident sheet.”

Malik nodded, then asked. “Do we need to assign an inspector?”

“The only one we have is Frank.”

“Where is Moira Daley?”

“She wasn’t ever an inspector,” McCroskey remarked.

“I know, but did we lay her off?”

“Actually, she requested a furlough.”

“She did? Why?”

“She’s, uh, in the family way.”

“She is? Well, good for her. When do they anticipate her confinement?”

McCroskey just shrugged

“January,” said Peng. “But she has been unable to carry to term with prior pregnancies. She also mentioned that her husband lost his job.”

“I remember he was on a reduced schedule, but I forget what he did.”

McCroskey said, “He was the pour supervisor at Wichita Metal Castings. They’ve shut down entirely.”

Malik glanced at Peng and raised his eyebrows. She looked down at her notepad and made a brief entry.

McCroskey said, “As far as sending Frank out there, let’s wait a few days and see what Gilroy comes up with. He’s a pretty capable man.”

“Okay, but keep me posted on developments, and at least once a week.”

“Shall I write memoranda?”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s--” Malik cut himself off, then said, “You know what? Maybe you’d better. Keep them short, but we may need a record of this for some reason.”

“Yeah, you might be right.”

A few minutes later, after McCroskey and Castillo had left his office, Malik returned to the round table where had moved. Peng said, “You wanted to talk about Moira Daley?”

“Yes. I’d like to figure out some way to keep one or both of them employed.”

“If she asked for a furlough, then I would surmise that she is going to be making an effort to avoid activity or situations that would stress her physically or emotionally.”

“Because of the past miscarriages.”

“Yes.”

“Even so, she doesn’t strike me as the lay-abed type.”

“You have much to learn about the motherhood compulsion of women and what they will do to satisfy it.”

“You’re right. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Not at all. I have accepted my condition.”

“Well, even so.”

“We should invite them to dinner, so you can assess their situation and his skills.”

“Good idea. Will you let Beatrice know?”

Writing another note on her pad, Peng said, “I will.”

(Friday, June 22, 1894)

Sunday, June 24, 1894

“Oh, that was delicious,” Moira Daley pronounced, setting her tableware on her empty plate. “What was in the sauce on the roast chicken?”

“It’s one of my mother’s recipes,” Beatrice replied, as she wiped Robin’s face of dinner residue. “She says it’s a dish her mother often made when she was a girl in Denmark. It’s essentially a sauce of buttermilk and chicken stock thickened with a roux, and with chopped asparagus, and sauteed onions and mushrooms stirred in.”

“A ‘roo’?”Moira asked, “What’s a ‘roo’? It isn’t like your husband’s ‘snew,’ is it?”

“‘Snew?” Mike Daley asked. “What’s snew?”

With suppressed amusement, everyone turned to look at him, but it was little Paul who said, “Not much, what’s new with you?” At which point, the group dissolved in the previously controlled mirth.