Ruby Robieson Bennett - Lowry Tales #4

My Most Colorful Character

He was a young man, perhaps twenty-three when we first met him.  His job was Night Operator at the railway depot, which was soon to become our home.  We’d reside upstairs in living rooms for that purpose.

Each evening around 5:00 Howard would report on duty to sweep the depot office and waiting room floors, clean out ashes from two coal burning heating stoves, then stoke the fires for the long night during the cold months of the year.  When the night passenger trains stopped at the station he had many jobs:  load on cream cans; take off empty ones; help passengers find their baggage; make certain they had lodging; take the mail bags to the local Post Office; plus keeping the station neat and clean on his shift.

Lowry Hotel in background

One early September morning in 1923, the train stopped at the station where our family ended the long trip from Montana.  We stepped onto the platform to begin our life in Minnesota.  Our first meeting with Howard came as we stepped off that night train, weary from two days and nearly two nights on the train.  Howard took us on the short walk uptown to the hotel where we spent the remainder of the night.  Certainly we were pleased with his gracious manner, and the suggestions he made to Dad as they made small talk enroute to our rooms.

At first we children were delighted that we had, as a playroom, the spacious waiting room with wood benches all around three sides for the waiting passengers.  The large coal burning stove stood somewhere near the center.  What fun to chase each other all around it, until we became quite dizzy with so much circular motion.  Then there were races across the room – and on and on went our fun.

Our family was poor, we had no quiet games to sit and play.  Whatever games we did have came out of our imagination, or ones we’d played with our friends back in Montana.  No TV to sit and watch quietly.  Mother was busy upstairs with the arrival of our new baby sister.  So she was glad we’d found a near-by place to wear off our youthful energy.  But we were to have a sudden change in all our play area plans; in fact our entire lives were going to become more regimented because of Howard.

His very dignified and stern manner gave us to know he took his job seriously.  He looked perversely at the noisy, unruly, much too playful kids from Montana who were about to receive these new orders.  “When I come down to work, you are not to enter into the office, nor are you to play in the waiting room at all.  You are to keep the platform clear of any tools, twigs or branches, baseballs or bats, or such so they’ll not be a hazard at night for train passengers.”  The list went on and on.  We felt policed at every step.  He appeared ready to pounce upon us one by one and drop us off somewhere far away.  To say he frightened us severely wouldn’t scratch the surface.

Why the office had the only pencil sharpener in the whole building!  If we did play out in back of the depot, which was really our yard, he’d soon find fault with that at some point.  Our parents requested we not be too noisy in the evenings, during our playing and working upstairs, as the noise might bother Howard, just below.

So, he filled our days with a difference of opinion about Soo Line property, which was now ours, but which was to be respected at all times, since one never knew when an inspector might “drop off” a train. Howard wanted no demerit because his efforts to keep a clean slate were disregarded.

One evening after school, before Howard came on duty, brother Kenneth had a plan!  He’d probably taken more verbal punishment from Howard than us less daring ones, and now wanted to get back at him.  Ken suggested we cut up several newspapers into small pieces, wet them down real well, and spread the contents all around the perimeter of the waiting room.  Since we weren’t supposed to play there, how could anyone suspect us of this unkind deed?  Being the oldest, I knew it was a wrong thing to do, but went along with the idea since we are felt our privileges had been too severely curtailed. 

Having done the “job”, we three waited upstairs hoping to hear loud exclamations of despair and frustration from below when Howard came on duty.  Instead, a sudden knock came on our door.  There stood the irate Howard with military stance!  “Mrs. Robieson,” he addressed our bewildered Mother in a very scolding tone.  “Your children have made a mess of the waiting room, and their presence is required down there immediately to clean it up!”

Very strange facial expressions were quickly exchanged, as we wondered how he’d EVER guessed it was us!  Mom was helpless – caught between the stern faced night operator and her three mischievous children.  True, she’d no doubt heard us complain about him so many times--his severity, never playful, never even friendly to us, only the dictatorial manner, stern face and quick tongue.  She was sorry to see he caught us in our own misdeeds, but promised Howard “it would never happen again.”  So, we cleaned up the wet paper shreds – then Howard could spread the sweeping compound on the floor, sweep it all up, and set the room to rights again.

Many more times Howard had his way about how things were to be done when he was there.  But long years passed.  Howard mellowed in time and married Mary McIver (much his senior) and their marriage seemed a happy one.

Eventually, Howard and I were the only ones of this story left living in our town.  Sometimes we’d meet on the street to talk and think back to “depot days.”  His witty tongue and mind were sharp as ever and he reminded me,  “I raised you Robieson kids!”  Howard has long since passed away now, but left a permanent scar on my life.  He was truly a colorful fellow.

Ruby Robieson Bennett