by Keith Wohlfert
Railroading Memories
With a Marquette County connection, you may recall my nearly five-year run of weekly articles in the Marquette County Tribune under the heading Notes from the Duck Blind. Sometimes we shared hunting or fishing adventures. Most weeks we explored anything from travel to nature or observations around the farm.
Being from a railroading family it was only natural that I would bond to the lifestyle. I spent my childhood trackside watching for the next train. It was my job to see that they passed safely before waiving a highball to the conductor. My dad and railroading neighbors were my ticket to explore depots and interlocking towers located at busy railroad junctions. I was a railroader myself during my college days in the mid-1970s. I was a laborer on track maintenance gangs and traditional section crews around the state.
You may know that my family has a railroad caboose in our back yard. For nearly 40 years it has been a playhouse for the kids and a gathering place for friends and family. My trackman skills came in handy as I built a railroad home for the caboose. At just 39 feet our railroad is not very long, but it’s just as wide as its bigger cousins.
Driving by our farm, you may notice a stick figure near the road. Standing tall, and slightly bent at the knee, he is carrying a heavy load on his right shoulder. His left hand is resting on his leg for support. The man figure is made of railroad rail; he is toting a wooden beam. We call him Railman in deference to the original South Dakota rail design that inspired his creation.
I never passed up a chance to go to work with my dad. There are memories to fill a book, though I suspect interest among readers would wane long before I tired of telling them. All of those interlocking towers are long gone - Bayview, North Milwaukee, and Duplainville. Even the Portage depot, where my dad retired on December 30, 1986 is lost to history.
One of my earliest memories is being with my mom visiting my dad at work on the Menomonie River Swing Bridge just south of Milwaukee’s downtown. The strange lights and sounds of the city night are forever etched in my mind, as are the smells of the tiny bridge tender’s shack. My dad didn’t much care for that job; who could blame him? He only worked it for a time as part of a relief position. A four-year-old boy never held his mom’s hand as tightly as I did that night.
Through old photos and maps I spend time exploring the lost rail lines that once crisscrossed Wisconsin. I wonder about the men who worked at those lonely rural outposts. Browsing the Official Guide of the Railways almost raises more questions than it answers about railroad operations from a past era. Oh, to travel back in time. I would take more pictures.