A Good Friend Passes

It has taken me a while to sit down and write this. A good friend and cohort of many misadventures passed away last month after a short illness. In many ways, it just does not seem like he is gone. But Ed Mackinson left his mark in oh so many ways.

I met Ed in the spring of 1976 at the then California Railway Museum at Rio Vista Junction, which is located between Fairfield and Rio Vista, in California’s Solano County. It was a brief introduction through another good friend, as Ed was introduced as one of the Diesel Children. This particular group of individuals was somewhat the odd ones out at the Museum. They had adopted as their project a diesel electric locomotive and brought it back into operation for a second life, now as a preserved workhorse for the railroad there.

Looking back across the years, who could have foretold what those brief introductions would being? Ed had managed to get through his college years in Sacramento and was gainfully employed with the Western Pacific Railroad. That brought plenty of tales to share and the occasional slides of something seen before, during, or after working hours. At the time I met Ed, I was considering a possible career in railroading, with a family connection to the Southern Pacific. Yet, the advice was to get some college and then go railroading. It turned out the national economy would end those dreams for me and put Ed’s career on hold, as the recession of the 1980’s was not kind. We both found ourselves in office jobs. Mine with AAA and Ed’s with the Social Security administration. We commiserated on the vanities of office politics on more than one occasion.

While my career at AAA spanned 26 years, Ed managed to get on with Amtrak when it made the decision to hire its own train crews for operations. His training as a passenger train conductor took him to Los Angeles, with an oddly located hotel. Directly across the street from Disneyland, complete with a complimentary cocktail hour every afternoon. And yes, I did manage to drag him across the street for a memorable day with another museum comrade, young David Wallace. The highlight of which was the purchase of a multitude of pirate merchandise including plastic hook for the hand and patches for the eye. Ed was also glad to have found a long playing record album for the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction, that he recalled from childhood. It was a very silly day and the start of many memorable theme park visitations together.

One of Ed’s long term assignments at Amtrak was aboard the San Joaquin trains between Oakland and Bakersfield. He would have a day in the Oakland coach yard on Tuesdays, starting at 5 am; and then two round trips, ending up in Oakland on Saturday mornings. At the time, it somewhat dovetailed with my own schedule; working overnight at AAA, starting at 11 pm Monday nights and ending with my weekends free at 7 am on Saturdays. If I didn’t sleep Saturday mornings, I would end up with three days off. Likewise with Ed. Which led to misadventures of all kinds, either at the Junction or out and about.

These misadventures often included a tight group of friends. Young and single at the time, we managed to enjoy ourselves. A weekend at the Junction usually included an interesting project followed by a good meals and cocktails, with the required viewing on VHS of either 1941, Animal House, the Blues Brothers, and more than a few train videos in the Museum’s bunkhouse for volunteers. Ed, myself, David Wallace, Jeff Ferris, Chris Allan, Dana Greely, John Plytnick, and a cast of others were often involved. Good times, indeed!

When it was time to head out beyond the Museum, we did indeed. It wasn’t always far, but there were more than a few multi-day trips. Nevada was one destination that we did explore a number of times. Whether along Interstate 80 or Highway 50, we did make memories. Be it an excess of Basque food, playing slot machines next to an indoor swimming pool while enjoying surplus wedding sparkling wine, or more; that and plenty of photography along the way. Ed would often repeat that “you can run out of food, you can run out of fuel, but you never run out of film.”

There were also a multitude of day trips. Some just a few miles from home, some taking hours there, and hours back. And it wasn’t always trains or more to photograph every minute. I learned patience from Ed along the way. I can’t count the number of hours spent just hoping that something would appear.

During this last December, Ed wasn’t feeling up to standard and went to see his doctor only to end up with a hospital admission for his efforts. A few days later, tests confirmed that he had stage 4 cancer of the gall bladder; rather rare and usually not discovered until it was too late to do anything about it. Such was the case for Ed. The prognosis gave him a month. During that time, we spoke by phone and in person. He was at peace with it. He had lived a full life and shared it with good friends, and if he had any regret, it was that he wouldn’t spend more time with his wide and daughter.

Anyone who didn’t think of Ed as a spiritual person was mistaken. He rejoiced in a number of things, but in particular in his family. He remarked how they were the best part of his life. And anyone who ever spent time with him knew how he enjoyed a sense of accomplishment. Be it a task completed, the acquisition of a rare railroad timetable, a well captured image with all of the elements telling the story of the moment, the publication of another book, a snarling four dollar burrito, tater tots or simply an ice cold Coca Cola, all shared with good friends, Ed expressed satisfaction in it all.

It was not uncommon for a quick phone call with Ed to discuss a simple point of information to turn into an hour or better elaboration on a variety of subjects. Perhaps that is what I will miss most of all. Hearing his usual greeting of, “Well… what do you have to say for yourself?”

Plenty, Ed. Plenty…