TROLLEY LINES

A Sneezing Conductor

A friend off mine once told me the story of how he once was riding a streetcar in the back, by the conductor. In those days, they had two men working on the streetcar: one to drive it, and the other to collect fares and transfers. Most conductors, either out of courtesy or simply because it was company policy, would call out loudly the names of some - but not necessarily all - of the stops on the line. 

This one particular guy had a kinda gruff voice. All of a sudden the guy barked out 

: "JACKSON!!" The way he did it, it sounded just like a loud sneeze, so my friend said: "God bless you!" The conductor looked at him like he was nuts. The car rocked further along down the line until, again, all of a sudden, the guy barks out: "NASHVILLE" — again sounding like a sneeze. He turns to the conductor and says: "God bless you again. Say, man, you need to do something about that COLD!"

Horse-Sense 

Back in the days before electric traction, streetcars were drawn through the city streets by,horses and sometimes mules. New Orleans has some oddball street names, often hard to pronounce and even e harder to spell. One day, a horse that was pulling a car on the Tchoupitoulas line suddenly died, causing a bit of ballyhoo, since it was near the Irish section of the city, known as the Irish Channel.

Sure enough, the cops came to investigate the folderol, and it fell upon the sergeant to handle the situation. 

At that time, there were few street signs, since the locals already knew where they lived, and it was the case here. The cop looked around him in vain for some hint on how the heck to spell Tchoupitoulas. Frustrated, he enlisted the aid of a few young stevedores near the wharf and had them drag the horse just a wee bit, mind you, but just enough so that his report could read: "horse dropped dead on First Street."

Beware of the Trolley

There is a street in New Orleans called Magazine. No, it is not called that because you can buy magazines there, although today you most certainly can. The name came into use because of a large powder magazine once located on the street - at the time located well outside of the city proper.

New Orleans grew and grew, and as tens of thousands of Irish immigrants fled the potato famine that had stuck the Emeral Isle, many found a home in New Orleans. Most settled in an area of Uptown New Orleans around Magazine St., and was later called the Irish Channel.

Once in awhile, an Irishman would have, as they say back in old Erin, a "wee drop o' the pure." It was actually known to happen with great frequency, don't ye know! 

One day, old Patty had imbibed a bit too much porter, and staggered out onto Magazine St. from the pub. As bad luck would have it, a streetcar coming from downtown was rumbling up Magazine in a dreadful haste. 

Old Paddy walked right in front of the speeding trolley, and since two objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time, and the trolley being made of hard wood and metal and Patty being made of flesh and bone, it stands to reason that it was old Patty who came out on the losing end.

So he was knocked tail over teakettle, and wound up battered and bruised, but otherwise alive and well as the streetcar squealed to a stop. He staggered behind the streetcar and tripped and fell on the cobblestone street, and as he sat there on the tracks contemplating his situation, the conductor in the rear of the tram that had just knocked him down yelled (admittedly a bit too late): "LOOK OUT!!!"

The dazed and bewildered Irishman looked up from the street and hollered:"Begorrah, man, don't tell me you're gonna back up?!?!?!"

A Shocking Experience

Electric streetcars are powered by high voltage wires suspended high above the street. In the early days the lines could conduct some 600 volts of direct current through its copper wire. Despite the inherent danger from above, lines were safe, and only in the most rare and extraordinary of circumstances did any injuries or fatalities occur from the overhead electric wires.

My grandfather had a friend who was walking along when nature called. He was passing by a small suburban streetcar barn at the time, and, instead of asking if he could use the rear room, decided to relieve himself out of sight between two rows of dinky streetcars. Instead of just going on the ground, he relieved himself directly on the electric circuit-breaker of the little trolley.

The man immediately received a 600-volt DC jolt of electricity surging through his body, and I need not mention where the jolt entered!!!!

The shock knocked the man back against another trolley, and he was out cold for awhile. Fortunately, the man survived this incident, and I'm sure he learned his lesson about needing the call of Nature in a more conventional, and SAFE, place!

A Trolley Slot-Machine

I lived in New Orleans as a little tyke, and a few times I went to a clandestine gambling casino with my Uncle Gene. When I was four years old, we moved to Washington, D.C. Where my mother took a job working for the government.

We lived then on Pennsylvania Ave, one block from the White House. He first time we got on a streetcar, I spied the farebox at the entrance, and with a loud voice that carried back to old Virginny, I exclaimed: " Oh, Mommy! LOOK! A SLOT MACHINE!!"

My mother was mortified,

Dipping Into the Till

 There was once an interurban streetcar line in New Orleans. It was called the OK Line, because it connected New Orleans with the town of Kenner, LA. It did well in its heyday, but because of the increasing popularity of the automobile and other factors, toward the end of its existence the line began to operate in the red. The cars themselves had fallen into disrepair and the farebox was not collecting what it should recoup the increasing losses.

One day, a supervisor decided to do a little investigation. Instead of riding the line no veing visible, he decided to check to see how many people were riding and tally that with what fares were taken. He went to the end of the line one day and hid in some bushes near the terminus.

One of the fare collectors had an odd little ritual. When he's arrive at the end of the line and all the people had left, he'd say: "What stays up is for the company, what comes down is for ME!" And with that, he tossed a handful of coins from the till up into the air, and happily picked them up as they fell to earth.

"Ah-HAH!" Thought the cunning supervisor, not I know what's what. Now I'll show him a thing or two.

So later on in the day, just before the scheduled arrival of the car and the stick-fingered conductor, our super sleuth company man climbed up atop the roof of the passenger shelter and lay in waiting for the car to arrive. He did not have too long to wait.

As the exiting passengers left the scene, the conductor sang his merry refrain: "What stays up is for the company, what comes down is for ME!"

He threw the coins up into the air, and eagerly anticipated his ill-gotten second income to soon jingle in he's pockets. 

But this time, the coins did not fall back to earth. 

Not a single one.

The bewildered conductor took off his cap, scratched his head, and looked around on the ground. There was not a thin dime - not even one cent!

"Looking for something?" came a voice from seemingly nowhere.

"Wha- wha- Who said THAT?" asked the now-nervous conductor.

"Well, HELLO there, Bill!" shouted the supervisor, who now peeked over the roof at the startled conductor below. "I say, did you LOSE something?"

And with that, the supervisor produced a butterfly net, FULL OF COINS!

"Looks like 'what stays up IS for the company!' HA-HA-HA! The joke's on you!

Belgian Tram Story