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// Hiring On 
// Story: Life of an Equestrian Engineer 
// by Railroad Brony 
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	Three years had passed since Regulator's unsuccessful attempt to go firing, and during this time he became a strong young stallion. The clanging of the school bell never did appeal to him. After passing his 17th birthday, the call of that lonesome whistle drew him irresistibly to his chosen work.
The year was 1908 and once again the North Western was hiring. Occasionally, his father took his engine tot he shops in North Fond du Lac for repairs. It was a little over 30 miles south and in order to keep from interrupting the weekly workload, these trips were made on a Sunday. Regulator decided to ask to go along on the next trip. While his father would be supervising the work, he planned to inquire about a job. The next time the switcher made its way to North Fond du Lac, he was sharing the firepony's seat box.
After the engine entered the roundhouse at North Fond du Lac, Regulator made his way over to the yard office to see Herb Carkins, the traveling engineer. Regulator paused to adjust his belt and brush back his mane, then, with a firm step he entered the official's office.
Herb, a tall lean stallion with a soft voice and a kind face, was seated at a desk. Looking up over his horn-rimmed glasses, he studied Regulator for a moment and said, "What can I do for you?"
"I would like to have a job firing," he replied.
"You're a bit small for the job aren't you?"
Regulator was 5 foot, 7 inches and weighted around 140lbs, but it never occurred to him that his size would be a handicap.
"Oh no, sir!" he answered, and with that he quickly rolled up his sleeve, bent his arm at the elbow and leaned over the desk.
"Take a hold of that and judge for yourself," he added.
Herb pressed firmly on his biceps; a faint smile came over his face as he leaned back. Regulator felt confident he made his point.
"What year were you born?" asked the official. The question caught Regulator flatfooted. He lost his first chance for a job because he was too young. This time he planned to claim he was 21 years old and he had actually practiced saying, 
"I'm 21 years old, sir!"
But without thinking, he answered with the true date of his birth, "Born in 1890."
"Let's see now, that makes you how old?" said Herb as he started to reach for his pencil.
"Twenty-one years old, sir!" Regulators answer came back so fast and with such conviction that the official put the pencil down. If Mr. Carkins noticed the discrepancy, he never let on.
"You see, son," he said, "the working conditions under which a firepony must operate demand the utmost in physical stamina." And then he went on to describe the hardships and hazards involved. After a pause. he looked up and asked, "Do you feel you are able to accept the responsibilities of a locomotive firepony?"
Regulator detected that he wanted to emphasize the seriousness of this decision.
"Thank you for your concern, but I am somewhat familiar with the duties of the job and I feel confident of success." Then he added, "I want a job firing more than anything else in the world."
The official leaned back in his swivel chair and removed his glasses. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket he proceeded to wipe off the lenses. Regulator feared he was stalling to formulate a way of letting him down easy. The suspense was agonizing.
Then suddenly, Carkins scooted his chair back from the desk, reached in his drawer, pulled out a form and shoved it in front of Regulator. "Here, fill this out."
The questionnaire was brief and he completed it within a few minutes. After reading the application, Mr. Carkins looked up an asked, "Aren't you Berkshire Trotterson's boy, our engineer from Trottingham?"
"Yes, sir!" replied Regulator.
"Why, I made my student trips firing for your father," commented Mr. Carkins. After a pause during which he studied Regulator with renewed interest, the official grabbed the phone and called the company physician.
"Hello, Doc Pullian? This is Carkins. I'm sending Berkshire Trotterson's boy down for an examination so we can give him a job. Can you handle him this morning?" Carkins listened for a moment. "Good, I'll send him right down."
With that, he took a form out of his desk, signed it, and handed it to Regulator. "Take this to Doctor Pullian and get back here as soon as you can."
Regulator darted off. Everything went like clockwork and he was back from the Doc's before noon. Carkins met him at the door, glanced at the medical report and said, "Follow me."
They walked into an adjacent office where a stallion sat busy at his desk. "Wallie, I want you to meet Berkshire Trotterson's boy, Regulator. I've just put him on firing. Regulator, this is Walter Hoofman, our division forepony."
"Put 'er there," said Mr. Hoofman as he stuck out his hand. "If you're anything like your dad the North Western will be fortunate to have you."
"By the way, Herb, who has been firing for Berkshire?"
"That new fellow named Butski," Carkins replied.
"Ain't it about time for him to get some expierence on the main line?" inquired Hoofman. As he finished the sentence, he gave Carkins a sly wink.
Carkins developed a broad grin and answered, "That's just what I was thinking."
Firepony Butski was having dinner at the McGivern Hotel. Carkins picked up Hoofman's phone and called him.
"Hello, Butski? This is Carkins. I've decided you should get out on the main line and learn the road. So, I'm relieving you from the Trottingham switcher and marking you up on the extra board."
As he put down the phone, he turned to Regulator and said, "I'm assigning you to the Trottingham switcher to fire for your father. Now, they are just about finished with his engine, so I suggest you get out there and go to work."
Things seemed to happen so fast that Regulator was a bit overwhelmed, but the words "GO TO WORK" snapped him out of it. Both stallions shook his hand and Regulator started for the roundhouse.

As he arrived at the engine, one of the mechanics shouted, "She's all ready for you, Berk.*"
Climbing up into the cab, Regulator noticed the steam was back to 90 pounds, so he spread a layer of coal over the remaining fire.
While his father was inspecting the work that was done, Regulator jogged over to get a fresh jug of water. Upon returning, he saw heavy black smoke rising from the stack. A couple of twists on the blower valve, cleared it up. When his father returned to the cab, he looked around and said, "Where's my firepony, Butski?"
Regulator was busy cleaning the water gauge and pretended not to hear him.
"Regulator!"
"Yes, Dad?"
"Have you seen my firepony?" At this point, Berkshire knew nothing about his son hiring out.
Moving over to the engineer's side, Regulator directed an extended thumb toward his chest, and replied in an authoritative tone, "I'm your new fireman. What are you waiting for?"
Berkshire was one of those stallions who rarely ever showed any emotion. His father responded by reaching in his overall jacked for a package of chewing tobacco. Meticulously he prepared a good size quid and crammed it in his mouth. After two or three chews, he looked down at his son and said, "Well, have you got her ready?"
Regulator detected a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. "I've got 'er all set Dad," he answered.
With that, Regulator went back to his seat box and checked on his side to be sure all personnel were clear.
"All clear!" he shouted as he gave the bell cord a yank.
The little switcher moved out onto the turntable and lined up for the track in front of the coal shed. Regulator was starting to climb over the coal gate by the time the tank** was spotted*** under the chute.
"Be sure to stand clear before you dump the coal," shouted his father.
Regulator reached up and gave the handle a jerk and the coal came rumbling down with a cloud of dust. When the tender became full, he jumped down to the deck and proceeded to clean up the chunks that had spilled over the gate. Berkshire noticed Regulator's face was more black than white.
Better wash your face before we get home or Mother won't recognize you."
The engine moved up to the penstock and Regulator climbed back up on the tank to take water. When he returned, his father was studying the timetable.
"We can meet 216 at tower DX and check there with the dispatcher for a lineup," explained his father. "Let's get going," he added as he opened the throttle.
It was about three-fourths of a mile uphill to Tower DX. The little switch engine moved out gracefully and covered the distance in short time.
Personnel operating with a switch engine are in extreme danger. On two separate occasions when Berkshire Trotterson laid off, a pony in the crew was killed, but during his 56 years of service on a switch engine, nopony ever lost their life while he was at the throttle.
As the engine came to a stop directly across from the tower, Berkshire moved the reverse lever to high center**** and started to get off. Facing the gangway in order to climb down, he hesitated long enough to give Regulator some instructions. "Keep a watch on the engine while I get a lineup from the dispatcher. In the meantime, check your water level and get your fire in shape. I want to be ready to pull out when 216 gets by."
Firing a switch engine was not entirely new to Regulator. Frequently his father had let his fireman take off early on Saturday afternoon so that he could catch 216 to Fond du Lac. On those occasions, Regulator would have the opportunity to fire the last two or three hours of the day.
Regulator prepared his fire carefully and put on the injector. While waiting for his father's return he grabbed the squirt hose and washed down the deck.
When Berkshire climbed back up into the cab he announced, "The railroad is all ours after 216 passes."
A whistle sounded in the distance. Looking ahead, Regulator could see 216 rocking along at toward them at a good clip.
Lon Sage, the engineer on 216, fired for Berkshire many times and they were good friends. When the passenger approached, Berkshire gave him a couple of toots. The ground shook as the train sped on by. When the tail end of the last car passed, the fading sound of an answering toot-toot could be heard.
Berkshire moved the engine up to the north end of the siding. Regulator ran ahead and threw the switch. When the engine passed he closed it again and climbed back on. Soon they were rocking along about 35 mph and Regulator settled down to the routine of firing.
Running light, that is without a train, the little engine was easy on steam and didn't require much attention. While enjoying the scenery, Regulator was mentally figuring up what his first paycheck would be.
The swing bridge over the channel at South Oshkosh was aligned. As they slowed down for the city, Regulator got busy on the bell cord. His father gave a low whistle for each crossing. Leaving Oshkosh he widened the throttle. Them moved right along. Soon they were coming into Trottingham. As they crossed the main intersection of town, Regulator hoped that he might be seen by some of his friends, but a delivery wagon with a tired looking mare was the only spectator.
Easing past the depot they stopped for the lead which headed for the roundhouse. Again, Regulator took care of the switch.
The engine came to a halt over the ashpit and his father helped him to knock the fire. After his father backed the the engine into the roundhouse, Regulator opened the blower valve in order to exhaust the remaining steam out the stack. Berkshire shut off the air pumps and closed the valves on the feed water lubricators*****. While this was being done, Regulator climbed off and closed the huge doors to the roundhouse.

On the way home, his father outlined some of the things he would need.
"You'll hafta have some heavy duty shoes, and gauntlet gloves. Mother can get those for you. First day we get off in time, we'll go down and pick out a good 21-jewel watch."
Regulator respected his father and he was anxious to be a worthy son. He had hoped to see some external sign of approval, but Berkshire was a very austere individual and though he was proud of Regulator, he purposely concealed it. As they entered the house through the back door, his mother was busy at the wood stove and Regulator could smell onions frying.
"Honey!" said his father, "our boy got a job firing today."
Her face almost glowed with joy. Wiping her hands on her apron, she extended her arms toward her son. As they embraced, Regulator lifted her off the floor and made a complete turn.
"This calls for a celebration, Berk," said his mother excitedly.
Berkshire pulled out his pocketbook, handed Jewel a half dollar, and said, "Run down to the the store and get a couple quarts of cream."
Regulator brought the freezer up from the basement. After chipping off a good sized chunk from the icebox, he proceeded to chop it and spread it around the container. Meanwhile, Mother Trotterson got busy and stirred up a batch of mix. By the time Jewel returned, Regulator had sprinkled rock salt on the ice ans was ready to crank the handle. Ice cream was a rarity in the Trotterson's household. 
Regulator was in the spotlight for the remainder of the evening and he enjoyed every minute of it.