In contrast to the personal attention that is paid to the human element on the Santa Fé, let us glance at the methods pursued on railroads in the East. You will find in our railroad offices an exact record and working history of every piece of equipment, from a spike to a locomotive. Every draw-bar, every coupler, every passenger coach, and practically every engine-tire has to give an account of itself. The performances of these “parts” are carefully scrutinized and watched. You will be shown all sorts of diagrams, charts, and volumes of statistics going to show the care and expense devoted to equipment and machinery. But if you happen to ask for a few human statistics you are likely to be disappointed. For instance, if a certain train crew runs a freight train two hundred times in a year, breaking seventy draw-bars and upon different occasions delaying thirty-seven passenger trains, and another crew under very similar conditions pulls out only thirteen draw-bars and delays only nine passenger trains, you may consider the records quite important; but in the railroad offices you will find no statistics of this nature, no comparative statements and diagrams illustrative of the workmanship and character of different men and of the value and significance of the human element in the running of a railroad. In a word, you will infer from your investigation that if it isn’t a machine or a piece of machinery it isn’t worth bothering about.
Finally, let us take a very significant illustration, in which the traveling public should be somewhat interested. The other day a through passenger train arrived at a junction in the western part of Massachusetts. It was on its way east, and was practically on time. But at this point it became necessary for the engineman to renew the water-supply. Consequently he cut off his engine and ran down some little distance to the water-stand. After an interval of twenty minutes, as the engine had not returned to the train, the station-master went down to investigate the delay. He found the engineman and fireman sitting quietly in the cab waiting for a brakeman to come and turn on the water. It was some brakeman’s duty to do this work at this point, and as he failed to appear, business came to a standstill. The engineman knew his rights and stuck to them. The idea of loyalty to the interests of the corporation and the public could not be permitted to enter into the question, for the reason that to do another man’s work, even in a case of emergency, would be to surrender rights and privileges which had been fought for and secured after months of agitation and diplomacy. The train was thirty minutes late at its destination. In such cases the management is helpless.
It matters little that my illustrations may be criticised as uncommon occurrences. The principle that tolerates the situation is surely out of place on a railroad. By way of contrast, the following item taken from the merit list on the Santa Fé Railroad is both interesting and significant:—
“J. E. Helms, Engineer, and M. C. Collins, Fireman, ten merit marks for coaling up engine 1029 when the coal chute was out of service.”
Strange as the statement may seem at first sight, we railroad people at the present day are suffering from a very peculiar form of mental blindness. Perhaps the point will be more comprehensible if we call it “department paralysis.” Our vision seems to be strictly limited to our own departments or spheres of action. In this way every department on a railroad is loyal to itself and more or less forgetful of the other departments. For example, the operating department is responsible for the care and prompt movement of trains. In a general way it is taken for granted that these movements must be made with safety as well as dispatch. And yet, looking into the matter closely, we are able to discover that dispatch and not safety is the main feature and business. Unfortunately there is no safety department on a railroad, or rather safety takes pot-luck in all the departments. Altogether, safety finds it no easy matter to secure recognition, and city governments, railroad commissioners, and railroad officials all seem to suffer from department paralysis upon occasions when loyalty to the interests of the traveling public would seem to demand a much clearer and wider vision. To all appearances it is impossible for these departments to see beyond the precincts of their own particular hobby or vocation. Let us take a very pertinent illustration:—
The other day, in the vicinity of Boston, several teams were smashed and two persons were killed at a well-known and very dangerous crossing. It being Christmas time, there had been an almost continuous procession of vehicles all day long over the crossing. At a moment when perhaps the crush was greatest, the gong in the gate-house gave warning that an express train was approaching. Immediately there ensued a wild scramble to hustle the stream of humanity over the crossing and out of the way of the train. It was no easy task for the gateman. Regardless of the descending gates, a number of teams, unable to turn aside, made a final dash to get to the other side. To drop the gates on the backs of the horses was out of the question, and, as a last resort, frantic yet useless attempts were made to flag the approaching train. In the midst of the excitement the flyer dashed upon the scene with disastrous results.
The following day the accident was thoroughly and fearlessly discussed in the newspapers. There was no difference of opinion on the subject. Practically speaking, every one representing the state, the city, the railroad, and the newspapers, agreed to concentrate their minds on the grade-crossing problem. It should be abolished. This is the universal “hobby” and a good one, no doubt, but apparently no one can see an inch farther. The questions why and how people are killed almost every day at these crossings received no attention whatever. Public opinion, not unreasonably perhaps, is satisfied with the assurance that everything humanly and reasonably possible under the circumstances was done by the railroad men concerned in it to get the teams out of the way of the trains. But it did not occur to any one that the whole system of keeping teams out of the way of trains is inherently and inexcusably wrong. The list of victims who are sacrificed to this popular mistake is being added to daily. If the public has any right at all on these crossings, it goes without question that, while they are making use of their rights and in the act of crossing, their safety should depend, not upon their efforts to scramble out of the way of the trains, but upon the moral and legal obligation of the railroads to keep the trains out of the way of the vehicles.
This view, of course, is based on the supposition that the safety of the public is of more importance than the speed of the trains over these crossings. In the case we are now considering, if an empty coal car had been on the crossing it would have been amply protected from the passenger train. Not only is this true, but the tracks of another railroad cross this highway diagonally at this point, and while trains are crossing they are doubly protected by semaphore targets and derailing switches. Teams, however, and passengers on foot have to depend on emergency arrangements which, as we all know, are practically useless. If railroads can afford to protect their rolling-stock in the way described, the interests and property of the public might reasonably be expected to receive equal consideration. In plain language, the pressing of a button in crossing-houses, in connection with proper signals, would give the public the protection so urgently called for. Altogether the foregoing may be taken as a very good object lesson on the safety problem on our railroads.
This crossing accident took place in December, 1907. Within a mile of the scene, on the next crossing, in the month of July, 1908, another accident occurred under similar conditions. In this case a wagon was demolished, two horses were killed, and a number of passengers on an express train were injured. Comment is unnecessary.
For the rest, the interest and significance of this essay will be sadly misunderstood if the impression is in any way derived from it that the railroad employee is singled out and must stand alone as an object of adverse criticism. As a matter of fact, a volume can be written in our defense. Only too many of us can remember the time when a deserving employee could be, and frequently was, discharged on the flimsiest pretext. His breakfast disagreed with a yard-master or he happened to have domestic troubles on his mind: for less reason than this good men were sent packing. Not ten years ago the service on New England railroads swarmed with favorites and brothers-in-law. Faithful old employees were sent adrift without a moment’s warning or sympathy, to make room for youngsters with a “pull.” Many an honest old servitor, not so very long ago either, with justice and reason might have flung the retort of old Adam, in “As You Like It,” at his superior. “Is ‘old dog’ my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your service.” But we have changed all that. Nevertheless, these things rankle. They say history repeats itself. Justice certainly does; and as for injustice it reacts and rebounds, and perhaps, after many days, it returns and demands a settlement at compound interest. The situation to-day between labor and capital is but a chapter in the natural history of the instinct of self-defense.