After my first few trips as a greenhorn commute extra brakeman, I drew a weekend assignment with a fine old conductor, Tommy Meader, with whom I would work again on many occasions, including a trip to San Luis Obispo on the Starlight, in which he spent much of the time giving me a guided history tour of the passing lineside. I immediately liked Tommy, who appeared to be well beyond retirement age. His high-pitched voice was endearing - He sounded like the Muppets' Grover. Sadly, he was not always 'present' mentally. He once reminded me that our Commute train was supposed to stop at "the track" - not Bay Meadows, but rather Tanforan Race Track, which had burned down in 1964, more than a decade previous.

I caught my first trip with him while I was still learning the ropes of Commute service. I could see that he was performing his job in an orderly, kindly manner, but he nevertheless was struggling to get around on a bad pair of legs.. Because he was such a sweet old guy, I felt obligated to help him. I had more-or-less caught-on to the hat check system of keeping track of passengers, so I decided in mid-route to start pulling expired hat checks and tickets (hat checks were used for pass riders; one-ride tickets were hung like hat checks). This I did, as we passed out of each zone.(tickets were sold by zones of several stations each, rather than by individual station). After three zones, or so, , I suddenly was slammed with the realization that I had been pulling hat checks and tickets in reverse order! I now had a coat pocket stuffed with those punched for the zones ahead of us, rather than behind. OY!

I realized that this meant poor Tommy would be asking a goodly number of passengers a second time for their tickets, which they no longer possessed, a very embarrasing prospect for all parties. I considered my options in a near panic, and realized that there was no way that I would be able to properly re hang that great wad of cardboard.

Quickly concluding from this that Tommy basically was screwed no matter what, I adopted the only prudent course: I would save myself. With that, I proceeded to empty my pocket onto a convenient vestibule floor, and then ran off to tell Tommy that the passengers had reported a guy strolling through the cars yanking hat checks - and yes, I had located the miscreant's work lying about a vestibule floor.

Accompanying me to the vestibule, Tommy surveyed the damage and sighed in his high Grover voice., "Ed, this is most distressing..." I felt about six inches tall, but it was still better than fessing-up. This was the days of old-school railroading, when mistakes big and small were not tolerated. This blunder would have put me on all of the old-head conductors' shit lists, once it got around. And, in retrospect, I would have missed that guided tour and his many other acts of kindness in the future. I desperately tried to make up for the incident in future trips - I surely hope that I eventually balanced the scales with him.

Tommy, old soldier, wherever you are: I confess, I confess... May you rest in peace!