When them cars start hoppin’ the tracks ‘n pilin’ up, fergit it. There ain’t nothin’ you c’n do but ride it out ‘n hope you make it. Them cars is heavy sons a bitches, n’ when they leave the tracks they go where they please ‘n take ever’thing ‘long with ‘em. There ain’t no stoppin’ a derailed freight train. Them cars go wild. I was on the Grey Ghost when it went off, ‘n it’s nothin’ I care to do again. Nine tramps killed. I was the only one lived through it, ‘n I come out ‘thout barely a scratch. I was ridin’ up top a this gondola filled with scrap iron. Ridin’ right out in the open ‘n made it through. Luck, ‘jus’ plain ‘n simple luck. Wasn’t nothin’ I did that saved me. Fact is, I wouldn’t a been ridin’ out in the open if it hadn’t been  all the other cars fit ta ride’d been taken.  There was only a few emptys on the train, ‘n each one of ‘em had a couple tramps aboard. I climbed on the gondola ‘cause it was the only thing left to ride.

It was makin’ the run out ‘cross the flats when it went off. Happened quick. Wasn’t hardly no warnin’, jus’ a loud bangin’, like artill’ry fire. There was this bangin’ up ahead where the cars was beginnin’ ta pull each other off the tracks. I was sittin’ up top a that scrap iron, ‘n could see what was comin’. Them cars was goin’ off one right after another. The car in front a me begin to bounce ‘n veer off the track, pullin’ the gondola ‘long with it. It pulled the gondola off, ‘n set it to bouncin’ over the ties. The wheels were hittin’ the ties, ‘n I was gittin’ the guts shook outta me. The cars were follerin’ each other into the sand, ‘n then all hell let loose. Cars were leavin’ the tracks, jackknifin’ ‘n pilin’ up. Never seen er head anything like it. Metal, twistin’ ‘n screechin’, ‘n cars, one on top of another ‘n rammin’ inta each other sideways. Sets a wheels was flyin’ ‘cross the sand like they was shot outta cannons. The gondola broke free, ‘n cars was on all sides a me, slammin’ inta one another. Cars goin’ ever’ which way. There was a boxcar rockin’ back ‘n forth right ‘longside the gondola, ‘n I kept lookin’ up at it, ‘n ever’time it scraped the gondola I thought sure as shit it was comin’ over on me.

The weight a the iron’s what saved me. The iron made the car so goddamn heavy that when it jumped the track, it kept right on movin’, plowin’ through the sand like a tank. Carried me clear a the wreck. I bounced around on top a the iron till the car nosed into the sand ‘n throwed me out. I hit the sand ‘n rolled some, ‘n that was it. I half expected to git run over after bein’ throwed off the gondola, but nothin’. I laid there on the sand, ‘n it was all of a sudden quiet.  Ever’thing seemed like it stopped at once. Nothin’ was movin’. Cars was layin’ on their sides, bashed in, some of ‘em squashed like accordions. ‘N rails, pulled off a the trackbed ‘n twisted ‘n bent like they was pretzels. The gondola was one a the few cars remainin’ right side up.

I walked away from it, ‘n by all rights I should’ve been dead. Them cars was movin’ ‘long at a good clip when they left the tracks. Pushed a long string of ‘em. Kept the clean up crew busy fer days. There was cars twisted ‘n bent ever’ which way. Ever’day they’d find another body er two. Found the last two guys squashed under a boxcar. The car was turned over on it’s side, ‘n they hooked a crane up to it ‘n lifted it up, ‘n here was these two guys under there.  They was either throwed out the door, er tried ta jump at the last minute. A train’ll jackknife where the lighter cars are. So, where there’s ‘n empty, that’s where it’ll bend. Those guys never had a chance.

Yer chances a makin’ it through a wreck ‘s a sight better the closer yer ridin’ ta the crummy.  Them rear cars are the last ta go off, ‘n when they do go, they ain’t got the weight a the entire train bearin’ down behind ‘em, pushin’ ‘em ‘long. Most a these wrecks’ll begin somewhere’s near the middle a the train where the crew cain’t see what the hell’s goin’ on. A train might be a mile long, ‘n if there’s somethin’ wrong in the middle, a journal heatin’ up, a hotbox, er the brakes is frozen er somethin’, them guys in the units ‘n the crummy cain’t tell what the trouble is, on account a they cain’t see that far. Ridin’ back by the crummy’s yer best bet.  But that ain’t always where ye’ll find yerself a decent car. I pick a car no matter where it is. If it’s a good car, looks like a good rider, I’ll take it. Figger if my time’s up, my time’s up, ‘n there ain’t nothin’ I c’n do ‘bout it.

65.