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turning the ride over to one of the yellow-shirts for a half-hour, I'd grab my lunch box and go behind the huge rocks that made up our waterfall. I'd climb the back of them until I could perch on a ledge that overlooked the pond. It was there I'd enjoy my lunch, nodding and waving to people as the train passed by twenty feet below.

I always enjoyed taking over again, of course, particularly if the yellow-shirt was willing to play along with me. On the front of the engine were two short flag staffs, with bright American flags fluttering as the train rolled along. As the train came though the station on its first turn around the tracks, I'd be sure to be wiping my brow with that big red bandanna, holding my engineer's hat in the other hand and complaining about the heat.

Somehow, as the engine passed me, my hat would simply disappear from my hand...and everyone waiting their turn could see it being carried off on the peak of a flagstaff, not to be reclaimed until the engine returned to the station.

Sometimes I'd make a little speech about the importance of having a railroad running on time; that's when that over-sized pocket watch would appear. I'd scowl at it and mutter something about "...running thirty seconds late out of Denver" or whatever popped into my head at the moment.

There were more photographs taken that year than I can number, almost always with a kid in the cab with The Engineer standing by. If it was their birthday, I'd let the kid ring the bell or blow the whistle.

The truth is, I found it hard to believe no one wouldn't like the job; I was always delighted to find the Zoo actually paid me to play with their handsome railroad. It was more than a kid's ride; it was a wonderful adult's toy.

There were also the private delight of closing down at night. On some summer evenings we'd stay open until nine at night. I'd turn on the lights that outlined the eaves of the station platform, and the trees in the petting farm area would light up with thousands of little white lights. Nighttime rides on the railway were special, a slow trip through a fairyland; the heat of the day was ebbing, a soft breeze would have sprung up and the whole world seemed to slow down a bit.

When the last riders of the night had left the station platform, I'd turn out all the lights and mount the cab one more time. I'd ease out of the station and up the hill into the tunnel house...not necessarily to park the train for the night. Once in a while, if I knew I had the area all to myself and was the last one to leave, I'd set the throttle to "slow" and step off the engine to the roadbed, letting the cars pass by.

At the last moment, I'd swing into the last car - into the conductor's seat - and put my feet up on the railing, letting the slow "tack-tack...tack-tack" lull me into utter relaxation and content.

In those moments, the world belonged to The Engineer and all was well.

Eventually, I'd have to put the train away, of course, parking it in the tunnel house and locking the wide doors at each end, turning off all the lights, then making my way carefully along the roadbed toward the station platform towrd the time clock in the office and a reluctant transtion into reality.

But there was always the happy thought of the next day, when I'd don my engineer's striped overalls and cap, hang my big watch across my chest and tuck a red bandanna into my pocket, ready to resume my wonderful job as The Engineer.

Without doubt, it was the best job I've ever had.

Learn more about this author, Virgil Teague.
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