Joe, Beans, and the Dope
Every division point kept a counter where the crews drank the mud, waited on the beans, and traded the only intelligence that mattered. Most are dark now. Ours isn't.
Read →Around the Counter
// the beanery, then
Every division had a beanery — the railroad lunchroom where crews thawed their hands around a cup, killed an hour waiting on a call, and swapped more lies than the timetable had columns. The coffee was usually bad. The stories never were. This is that beanery, kept online: rail culture, history, the photographs, and the kind of talk that only happens over a hot cup on a cold night — for the railroaders and the rail-struck both.
Every division point kept a counter where the crews drank the mud, waited on the beans, and traded the only intelligence that mattered. Most are dark now. Ours isn't.
Read →Does a shadow catching a ride on a doublestack constitute a crime? The railfan's lot in a changed world — and why the responsible enthusiast is an advocate, not the enemy.
Read →A salute to the modern railroader — two-person crews carrying what five once did, living boots-to-the-ground. The tip of the spear.
Read →New dispatches from the beanery, straight to your inbox. No dispatch-desk seriousness — just the good stuff, over a cup.