ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, January 20, 1997 TAG: 9701200024
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: a cuppa joe
SOURCE: JOE KENNEDY
Sometimes reluctantly, they followed their fathers, uncles and brothers into the Norfolk and Western shops, dining cars and custodians' quarters to work as "non-promotable men."
The jobs were frustrating, low-paying and often dirty. But they were the best they could get.
"I couldn't raise my kids on just the railroad alone and accomplish the things we did," said George "Tiger" Long, who spent 41 years in the foundry by day, waited tables at the Hotel Roanoke by night and, with the help of his wife, sent his four children to college.
"I worked two or three jobs all the time," said John Divers, who started as a fifth cook on trains between Roanoke and Birmingham, Ala.
Retired educator Irvin Cannaday said his father cleaned coaches for 50 years. But he was a railroad man, "and we were proud of that. We thought the railroad was our lifeblood, and it was."
Warm thoughts and heated memories filled a room at the Virginia Museum of Transportation on a recent cold morning, as eight black veterans of the Norfolk and Western Railway recalled their working lives.
Marked men
Particularly at the East End Shops, the jobs and the people were tough, they said.
Any time a black foundry worker bent over, he stood a good chance of getting kicked by a white worker, Long said. But nobody kicked him, because they knew he wouldn't take it.
Older workers might have grown accustomed to abuse, said Clinton Scott, who started in the yard department sorting metal in 1941, but he and his friends were not.
"And knowing we had to go into the service" - to fight in World War II - "we would not accept it."
As a result, "We were marked."
The museum invited the men to breakfast so it could begin to plan a recognition of their role in building Norfolk Southern Corp. Kay Houck, executive director, hopes to find grants to fund the telling of their stories.
Love of camaraderie
Sometimes referring to handwritten notes, the retirees spoke proudly of their jobs and their families. Positive and negative, their words raised the temperature of the room like a good, strong fire.
John Divers remembered standing as a child in his yard in Bedford, watching the white-jacketed waiters in speeding passenger trains and thinking, "I wish I could get a job like that."
When he retired, he was chef in the executive dining room.
When Scott qualified to drive a forklift truck, his supervisor tried to make him do his previous job, too.
Scott protested and won.
"Then I was just a whipping boy for him," the Pentecostal minister said.
Because of the conditions, many employees "didn't really love the railroad," said Carroll Swain, a Roanoke city councilman who stocked dining cars before pursuing careers in the Army and the schools. "What they loved was the camaraderie that existed among the [black] workers there."
"You'd grit your teeth and go ahead," Divers said. "At the same time, we had our own little thing on this side of town" - a thriving community largely unknown to people south of the tracks.
Gradually, things improved.
Alphonzo Holland started as a janitor at the General Offices in 1938. He retired as assistant manager of tariffs in 1985.
"I didn't appreciate all the things that happened on the railroad," he said, "but it got me from Point A to Point B."
Scott became a labor foreman in the diesel machine shop in 1969. He and other retired supervisors have breakfast together monthly at the Roanoker restaurant.
"I'm the only one there who's not a Caucasian," he said.
What's your story? Call me at 981-3256, send e-mail to kenn@roanoke.infi.net, or write to P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke 24010.
LENGTH: Medium: 79 linesby CNB