What the heck are you doing here?

Back in the 1980s when Alco locomotives were becoming rare, some railroads scattered throughout the land still rostered one, two, or even several of this manufacturer's products in operating condition.

One such railroad was the Lake Superior & Ishpeming in Michigan's iron-ore country on the Upper Peninsula. LS&I dieselized with Alcos and, although they were supplemented with six-axle General Electric U-boats after Alco stopped building locomotives, LS&I had a large roster of Alcos through most of the '80s.

Being an iron-ore road, the LS&I was also interesting because of its movement of this commodity, and its means of interchanging taconite to Great Lake freighters via its Presque Isle iron-ore dock in Marquette, Mich.

I, like many railfans, made pilgrimages to the Upper Peninsula to watch and photograph the LS&I and its Alcos. The railroad was strict with rail-fans: If you didn't have a little orange pass to be on the property, you would be removed. The good part was that anyone could obtain this pass just by asking for it. And with it you could go anywhere on the property. Well, almost anywhere.

One fine day, I was the proud possessor of just such an orange LS&I pass, issued to me that morning by a dignified man at the railroad's main office in Marquette. He happened to be walking by the counter when I appeared there while the clerk was on the phone. Nice man, I thought.

After taking the routine roster shots of Alcos at the Eagle Mills engine facilities, I made my way to the ore yard and dock north of Marquette. I've always been impressed with ore docks. I remember seeing years earlier a photograph that the late Emery Gulash, my favorite railroad photographer, had taken from the ore dock of LS&I engines switching ore jennies. Gulash was a master of getting to the right location for the right shot.

Soon, three LS&I engines were making their way up the ore-dock lead with a cut of jennies. A boat was poised in the dock, waiting for a load of taconite pellets. I scrambled into my car and made my way to the dock. I knew I could get some great shots from below of the Alcos switching the dock.

As I walked around and underneath the ore dock, I noticed a stairway leading to the top. It seemed a mile high and rather treacherous. Then I read the "No Trespassing" sign at the base. But I have a pass! I thought. I can go up there. Then I, too, can make a photograph like Gulash's.

With nary another thought, I ascended this stairway to heaven, amazed at how high I was climbing. When I reached the top, I was at the top of the world -- physically, as well as figuratively. What a sight of Marquette and Lake Superior from up there. Even the huge Great Lakes freighter docked below looked small from where I stood. I immediately noticed a small office with the sign, "Ore Dock Master" on the door. I figured I had better go and check in. With my first step on the ore dock, I almost fell on my face. Taconite pellets lay everywhere, and it was like walking on a bed of marbles. No wonder they don't want anyone up here, I thought.

The door to the office was partly open, and I could see a white-haired man sitting on the desk talking on the phone. I rapped on the door and came in, wearing a huge smile as a signal of my accomplishment of reaching this destination.

The gentleman, who turned out to be the dock master, looked at me and literally dropped the phone on the desk. "What the heck are you doing up here?" he bellowed. "Can't you read the sign?" With a victorious grin, I flashed him my orange pass. "I got permission," I bellowed back.

"Heck if you do!" the dock master bellowed louder. "Read the back of it."

I turned the orange pass around and quickly read the fine print on the back. At the bottom, in not-so-fine print, was the clear statement, "Does not include access to the Ore Dock."

I was more heartbroken than embarrassed. I had reached railroad heaven and was now being denied access to it. I would have tried to sweet-talk the dock master into letting me stay, but I had the feeling he wasn't the kind of person who might give in.

In the ensuing quiet of the pause, a small voice could be heard. It was the person on the other end of the fallen phone. The dock master uttered some profanity when he remembered the phone, and quickly picked it up. "Sorry, sir. Some darn railfan made his way up here.… Yes, sir.… I don't know, sir."

Then looking at me, he asked, "Your name Babbish?"

"Why, yes," I muttered, getting worried that they even knew my name.

The dock master was back on the phone, then hung up.

"It's your lucky day," he said to me. "That was the president I was talking with, and he remembered you from this morning. Seems you made some sort of an impression on him as he said it was OK for you to take some pictures up here on the dock."

I was flabbergasted. So that dignified-looking person who issued me the pass was the president of the railroad! I'll be darned.

Still in a daze, I received a nice tour of the ore dock from the now-hospitable dock master. I vaguely remember his warning me about my footing on the taconite pellets littering the deck, and telling me to stay clear of the locomotives switching the dock. I then had carte blanche to take photographs wherever I wanted to up there.

It was one of my favorite train-watching moments ever, and I owe it all to the luck of a chance meeting with the railroad's president, and being in the wrong place when the right phone call was on the line.

By: Babbish, Byron C., Trains, Aug2006