Weed Mowing Dude

The Santa Fe Depot in Sweetwater, Texas.

It was August 1971 and I had just finished walking from Brownwood to Sweetwater with the Rail Joint Gang in a little over a month. It was Saturday and I was home wondering if I should buy a new, sturdier pair of boots when the phone rang. It was the Santa Fe Division Engineer's office wanting to know if I would be interested in a machine operator position. I replied that I was planning on returning to school in September but asked how much that job would pay. They said the job would pay a couple of hundred dollars more a month than I was making on my present position. I told them yes, I would take the position. I was told to report to Sweetwater Monday morning to Roadmaster Scott as a machine operator on a weed mower (tractor).

           

I reported to Roadmaster Scott Monday morning and was told that my machine was loaded in a boxcar that had been moved to a loading dock. He instructed me to go unload the tractor and begin mowing the right-of-way in and around Sweetwater. Contrary to popular belief, not every male born in the state of Texas knows how to operate a tractor and I was living proof. I had never been on a tractor in my life but didn't think Roadmaster Scott wanted to hear that.

          

I found the boxcar with my tractor loaded inside. As I opened one of the side doors and viewed the tractor with attached mower inside the boxcar, I wondered how in the heck did they get that thing loaded and even more important, how was I going to get it unloaded. You have seen these whiskey bottles with a schooner built inside and wonder how anyone could have done such a thing; that is the feeling I had at that moment.

Have you ever tried to unload a tractor from a boxcar? I Have.

After hours of working and head scratching and finally figuring out that I was going to have to open the side door on the other side so that I could maneuver the tractor where the mower was sticking out the opposite side of the car, I finally drove the tractor out of the boxcar. Needless to say, by then I knew what every lever, button and peddle did on the machine; I was indeed a weed mower operator.

          

I spent several days mowing in and around Sweetwater with only a few happenings of interest. On the second day I noticed some belts and bolts that had worked loose on my tractor. I had yet to build up a good arsenal of tools but I saw a Signal Maintainer's truck setting nearby. I walked over and was about to open one of the toolbox doors on the utility bed of the truck, when someone hollered for me to stop. It was the Signal Maintainer. He asked what I was doing. I told him that I just was wanting to borrow a wrench. He told me that I should never open any of the tool boxes on his truck. He slowly opened one of the tool box doors and inside was a live rattle snake about four feet long. He explained that as he found these snakes, he would catch them and keep them in his tool boxes. He went on to say that everyone who worked in that area knew of his habits and that he didn't have a problem with people stealing his tools.

          

After finishing up mowing at Sweetwater, The Roadmaster told me to move my tractor to Ballinger and start mowing on the San Angelo District. When I asked how I was going to get the mower to Ballinger, his response was "Drive it, it's just sixty miles or so!" So, bright and early the next morning I began my trip to Ballinger. About two hours into the trip, bouncing down the shoulder of the highway at a blazing ten or fifteen miles an hour, I came across a roadside park. At this park was a white van with San Angelo State Cheer Leaders printed on the side. There were seven or eight cheer leading type gals setting around tables eating and talking.

          

My weed mower was almost identical to those used by the Highway Department, so I wheeled in and mowed every inch of the park. I even picked up some trash and placed it in the trash cans near the tables. It was probably the best that park had looked in years.

          

The rest of the trip was uneventful other than occasionally, due to sheer boredom, I would drop the mower down and mow a strip a mile or two long down the edge of the highway. I'm sure the Highway Department appreciated my help.