by railtrailbiker
Pierre Rasmussen loved the sway of the train, the power of its engine.
For him, there was nothing better than riding the rails.
Pierre, called Pete by his friends, was just 13 and already the envy of the neighborhood boys in New Jersey when he talked his way onto a train for the first time.
It was the most exciting moment of his life, he recalled in a paper he wrote in 11th grade.
"It swayed and jolted terrifically," he wrote.
Rasmussen lived and breathed the railroad and its history, buying his own little piece of heaven – the Middletown & New Jersey Railway – 43 years ago.
A week ago, Rasmussen, 80, died at his home in Middletown after losing a lengthy battle with prostate cancer. But his death may not spell the end of the line for Middletown's little railroad that was as much a part of Rasmussen's life as his family was.
"Railroading was his only life," said Lucy, his wife of 30 years. "Every single aspect of railroading fascinated him."
His dedication was indestructible, even while his business shrunk a little more every few years.
At one point, the train used to run through Slate Hill and Unionville and into New Jersey. Slowly, stop after stop dropped off until the railroad was left with one customer, Genpak. It's a familiar story, one that has plagued every one of the 300 short line railroads in the United States.
These days Rasmussen's engine rarely leaves the city limits, generating just enough revenue to cover the rail's tiny payroll.
"It never mattered," Lucy recalled. "He'd plug along and still make it work for him. As long as he worked for the railroad, he was happy."
Rasmussen's son, Harold, worked with his father at the station since graduating from high school in 1978. Now he's on his own, ready to carry on where his father left off.
"It's a tough way to make a living," conceded Matt Vanhattem, a reporter for Trains Magazine. "You have to love it to do it."
The elder Rasmussen did, spending most days pouring over paperwork in his wildly cluttered office in the tiny old station off East Main Street.
The station has been a welcome haven for the wayward and lost of Middletown for more than a decade. They sit on the stoop along the tracks, sipping beers wrapped in paper bags. If it's raining, they move to the end of the station where the overhang protects them from the elements.
Rasmussen never gave them a hard time, even letting a few down-and-outers actually stay in the caboose once in a while. And why not? It was an endless source of handymen to help out with the work.
The men, some who attended Rasmussen's wake, were part of his day, just like the trains were. He understood the life, likely envied the freedom that allowed them to wander.
Modern day hobos, like the kind that used to haunt the trains decades ago.
"He always said if he could do it, he'd become a hobo and ride the rails," his eldest daughter, Helen Ann Mahtaban, said. "He had a kinship with them, just like he did with the trains."
http://www.recordonline.com/archive/200 ... rasmus.htm
For him, there was nothing better than riding the rails.
Pierre, called Pete by his friends, was just 13 and already the envy of the neighborhood boys in New Jersey when he talked his way onto a train for the first time.
It was the most exciting moment of his life, he recalled in a paper he wrote in 11th grade.
"It swayed and jolted terrifically," he wrote.
Rasmussen lived and breathed the railroad and its history, buying his own little piece of heaven – the Middletown & New Jersey Railway – 43 years ago.
A week ago, Rasmussen, 80, died at his home in Middletown after losing a lengthy battle with prostate cancer. But his death may not spell the end of the line for Middletown's little railroad that was as much a part of Rasmussen's life as his family was.
"Railroading was his only life," said Lucy, his wife of 30 years. "Every single aspect of railroading fascinated him."
His dedication was indestructible, even while his business shrunk a little more every few years.
At one point, the train used to run through Slate Hill and Unionville and into New Jersey. Slowly, stop after stop dropped off until the railroad was left with one customer, Genpak. It's a familiar story, one that has plagued every one of the 300 short line railroads in the United States.
These days Rasmussen's engine rarely leaves the city limits, generating just enough revenue to cover the rail's tiny payroll.
"It never mattered," Lucy recalled. "He'd plug along and still make it work for him. As long as he worked for the railroad, he was happy."
Rasmussen's son, Harold, worked with his father at the station since graduating from high school in 1978. Now he's on his own, ready to carry on where his father left off.
"It's a tough way to make a living," conceded Matt Vanhattem, a reporter for Trains Magazine. "You have to love it to do it."
The elder Rasmussen did, spending most days pouring over paperwork in his wildly cluttered office in the tiny old station off East Main Street.
The station has been a welcome haven for the wayward and lost of Middletown for more than a decade. They sit on the stoop along the tracks, sipping beers wrapped in paper bags. If it's raining, they move to the end of the station where the overhang protects them from the elements.
Rasmussen never gave them a hard time, even letting a few down-and-outers actually stay in the caboose once in a while. And why not? It was an endless source of handymen to help out with the work.
The men, some who attended Rasmussen's wake, were part of his day, just like the trains were. He understood the life, likely envied the freedom that allowed them to wander.
Modern day hobos, like the kind that used to haunt the trains decades ago.
"He always said if he could do it, he'd become a hobo and ride the rails," his eldest daughter, Helen Ann Mahtaban, said. "He had a kinship with them, just like he did with the trains."
http://www.recordonline.com/archive/200 ... rasmus.htm
