More about Bill Passmore

http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~nyoswego/biographies/snellpt2.html

 

Biographical Sketch of Bertrande H. Snell
Parish, Oswego Co., NY

Many thanks to Richard Palmer for contributing this wonderful and very interesting Biographical Sketch on Bertrande H. Snell. A fascinating history you won't want to miss. Richard Palmer at:

 

 

Syracuse Post-Standard, March 23, 1947

 

Just Around the Corner - By Bertrande Snell

           ____

 

 On a warm evening of the early summer of 1905, Wilfred(William?) Passmore  and I

arrived in Buffalo from the west. We had been telegraphing in the

southwest for the Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railroad and were on our way

home, each with about $300 in bills tucked away in one of our shoes,

nestling comfortably between skin and sock.

 Unfortunately, we got into Buffalo rather late in the evening and

decided to stay there overnight. We got a room in a small hotel off

Ellicott Square, deposited our suitcases and started out to "look

around" a little.

 Just 36 hours later we sat in our hotel room and took inventory of our

assets. These consisted of two brand-new suits, two Ingersoll watches, a

varied assortment of pawn tickets and about $12 in cash. So, we decided

to go home. Passey lived in Gillette, Pa., and I  lived in Parish, so it

immediately occurred to me that I could easily get over to Suspension

Bridge, where I was more-or-less known, nd bum a ride on the Hojack to

Oswego and thence home, with little, or no outlay.

 My partner's case was different, since he was practically unknown as a

railroader outside of Pennsylvania. In spite of his strong reluctance i

forced all our remaining cash upon him - that is, all except a dollar in

change for, "emergencies" - and went our separate ways, promising to

take up where we left off, later (as to what had become of our joint

$600 fund - that's something not to be divulged in this particular

story. So don't be looking for it).

 I trolleyed over to Suspension Bridge and hung around the signal tower

until 3 a.m., when I boarded the caboose of the east-bound fruit train

captained by Conductor Bob Cronin, whom I knew well. Bill and his crew

greeted me, not too effusively perhaps, but made me free of the caboose

accommodations, which in those days included plenty to eat and a place

to sleep.

 We arrived in Oswego about 10:30 that night and I promptly hired me to

the train dispatcher's office, where my good friend, Roy Nutting held

down the "third trick." i stayed with him until morning and easily

negotiated a loan of $10. I rode the baggage car of 201 to Pulaski. Here

I waited for the Salina-bound local freight, No. 22 which left there

about 1 p.m.  While waiting I had contacted George Murphy, Parish

station agent, by wire and he had informed me that my folks were out of

town for a day or two, so I rode the local clear into Salina yards.

 In those days this freight train boasted as salt and efficient crew as

you'd find in a month's hunt. Sam Hollingsworth was engineman, Barney

Fidler the fireman, and Bill Mudge head brakeman. In the caboose were

Conductor Loren (Hop) Look, Flagman Jones and Brakeman Denny Haley.

 As we rattled over the frogs into Salina yards, late that afternoon,

Conductor Look fixed me with speculative eye, stroked his handle-bar

mustache and remarked:

 "What you doin' tonight, Doug?"

 When I assured him that my schedule was blank,  he continued:

 "You hang around till I sign off an' get washed up. I'm a-goin' over to

th' transfer dock for a minit, you come along an' I'll show you

something pretty dang classy."

 So, a little later, Hop and I crossed the yard and visited the R.W.& O.

transfer house, just above the point where the overhead now crosses N.

Salina St. Here was a scene of great activity.  Merchandise of every

description was being carted about the floors and shifted from one car

to another through the length of the long warehouse. At the point where

we entered, four or five freight handlers were loading a car of  cheese.

 

 This cheese was packed in wooden "half-boxes," weighing about 18 pounds

each. I dare say many of you will recall these cheese containers - flat,

round thin-sided boxes with supposedly tight-fitting covers. Two loaded

planks were placed across the interstice between the car door and that

of the warehouse, and the boys rolled these little boxes merrily up the

incline while one man in the car piled them up in neat tiers as they

arrived.

 It wasn't uncommon for a box to fall from the planks as it rolled, and

in such cases the container was frequently broken. For such emergency,

there were always near the transfer door, two or three tall piles of

empty boxes used as replacements. It was toward these boxes that Hop

made his way.

 "Hey, Rick!" he explained to Foreman Althaus. "Me an' Dough wants a

coupla these here empty boxes to take along. We're a-goin' to make some

whatnots fer th' wimin an' these'll be jest th' thing fer th' tops."

Rick waved a careless hand toward the empties. "Sure thing, Hop," he

agreed, "help yereself - they don't belong to me, nohow."

 Hop winked violently at the two cheese-loaders and as he engaged them

in loud and rapid conversation, they diverted two  of the rolling boxes

of cheese off the planks and in his direction. As one came to his hands,

he deftly placed it on the top of a pile of the empty boxes, and in a

short moment repeated the performance with the other.

 After a not-too-long exchange of persiflage with everybody in sight,

Hop turned to me and remarked:

 "Well, come on, Doug,  here's yer cheese box - let's  go."

 With no apparent effort he reached up and plucked the full boxes from

off the pile of empties, handed one to me and started for the door. "So

long, Rick," he shouted to the foreman, "be seein' you."

 And  now  you may visualize Hop and this narrator walking sturdily up

N. Salina, bearing between us 35 pounds of the best North Country

cheddar that was ever pilfered. We proceeded, forthwith, to  Gaffney's

Onondaga Hotel bar room, where the savory stuff was deposited right on

the bar and the barkeep's  kitchen knife quickly brought into play.

 The north side sure had a cheese fiesta that night. Indeed, it is my

fondest hope that this narrative may meet the eye of some old-timer who

was actually at the feast.

 Well sir, as we all stood around, eating cheese and otherwise keeping

the bartender busy, the swing doors with a mighty "swoosh" - and there,

immaculate and debonaire in his 6 feet 2 of virile manhood, stood my

partner, Wilfred Passmore, with whom I had parted in Buffalo only the

day before.

 After introductions all around,  I forced a huge triangle of cheese

into the not-unready hand of my friend and demanded to be enlightened.

"Nothing  to it," he averred. "I made it to Gillette in fast time and

explained everything to dad, especially how you were broke on account of

us using all the money for my carfare. So, like I've always told you,

he's a good guy and an understanding guy; and he handed me a stake and

told me to hunt you up, and here I am...This time, we'll try the far east. I

wired the New Haven chief at Willimantic and he's got jobs waiting for

both of us - come on, let's go."

  "Sure," I grumbled, "you've got a stake, but me - I'm broke and I'm

not going to trot around on your money, feller, you can depend on that."

 

 "My fine-feathered friend," bantered Passy, "I just told you my old dad

is an understanding man - and he thought about that, too. When he handed

me this hundred, he gave me another for you; here she is."   And he

tucked $20 bills in my pocket.

 There was nothing further to be said in the matter - so we went east.

And, do you know, down there on the N.Y.N.H.& H., Passy and I got

ourselves into the darndest mess you ever heard of. You see, it was life

this - but shucks! That's  another story, entirely. Let's save it.

 Thus we cavorted and cacchinated while still the glamor was on the

sunrise.

 

 Enjoy   Out of curiosity -I googled the following site  .Looks like more entertaining stories -especially if you like RR stories.

Biographical Sketch of Bertrande H. Snell, Parish, NY Part 1

www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~nyoswego/biographies/snellpt1.html

• Cached

Bertrande H. Snell, author of the following articles, a native of. Parish, Oswego County, N.Y., was a telegrapher all his working life. For many .... It was Bertrand

Kitty

 

 

 NYC     1988

 

This was ,also , on the Internet and I recognized it as taken by the Harris family barns..

You never know what you will find if you go" Surfin" on the internet.. K