The Reclaim Yard (part 2)
Each of us armed with 4-foot-long steel hooks, we spaced ourselves out to systematically separate and sort the disorder into orderly heaps based on metallurgy. The dirt on the ground re-appeared as mounds of cast iron, brake shoes, galvanized metal, tin and steel grew. Any brass or copper had extra value and was dragged away to the margins of the field to be locked-up at the end of the day. A call on the walkie-talkie summoned the cranes to return with gondola cars in tow. Out went the crane arms, down came the magnets, up they went leaving an empty space behind. One by one, the heaps were transferred to cars according to the same metallurgical system by which they were formed and by which the material would be sold.
That’s how it went, day after day, rain or shine. When the temperatures dropped, 50-gallon steel drums were dragged out from hiding. Almost anything that would burn without clouds of black smoke was thrown in and lit up. Slacking off on Willy’s watch would not be tolerated. He only allowed a maximum of three bone-chilled souls around the fire at any time. Warm-up at the fire was limited to about the time it took to smoke a cigarette. Unless anyone needed help to drag an item away, working in groups was addressed with slurs about your sexuality or preference for sex with animals. You could urinate at the edge of the pile. Bowel movements required reporting to Willy to set his watch, so he could monitor how long you were inside the locker room. More than five minutes garnered comments like masturbation should be done at home on your own time.
The arrival of spring meant melting snow, pooling of water and a muddy mess. Wet feet meant that sharp metal shards or nails hidden under the snow had punctured your boots. Wrecked box cars still harboring handfuls of grain offered a feast to the rats nesting under them. Nests flooded with snowmelt forced them out to scurry frantically looking for another home. It was a trophy sport to whack rats with shovels and string up the corpses by their tails.
Seven months of this work could the suck the life out of people. There were some that coped with a pocket flask and some that preferred lighting up a doobie. As for me, I held on by examining each piece of scrap to figure out where it came from, how it was made or what purpose it served. The pay was good and reason enough for unskilled labor to hang on until retirement, but, at the age of twenty, I had decided that there had to be a better way to earn a living. I had worked summers at CN through my high school years building and repairing track. At the end of the day, there was a sense of accomplishment with hard work appreciated and congratulated. The reclaim yard experience was the opposite but not without important lessons learned. When I quit in the spring, I reclaimed my spirit.