One summer day in 1972, a cryptic order was given, a place was selected - the conductor and the engineer followed the orders in a listless
mood, and slowly backed the stream-liner and the attached double deck passenger cars onto an industrial siding, meant for freight cars.
The engineer, a forty-six year old, held the throttle fast in his right hand as train protested to a halt. He swallowed hard the bitter bile that
had welled up in his throat, and reluctantly took his hand off the throttle and engaged the eternal brake. He then stroked his chest, looked
with glazed eyes at his cab, then pried off the serial number plate off the console with his flat-head screwdriver and pocketed it, and then joined
his young conductor.
