There is a beautiful hillside overlook near Curtis, Okla., where westbound freights on BNSF Railway’s Transcon must labor mightily to overcome a long 1 percent grade. I was standing there this morning with my fellow traveler, Tom Hoback, president of the Indiana Rail Road. Tom was ahead of me, waiting for a westbounder we could both clearly hear to pop into view. I looked through my camera’s viewfinder and clicked. Then I yelled to Tom over the noise of wind and train: “Hoback, I have the perfect picture to run with your obituary! You know, the one that proclaims, TOM HOBACK HAS PASSED.” Tom turned around and replied, “Passed what? Something I ate last night?”
We both got a good laugh, because we share a pet peeve, and it is the habit of more and more people to avoid the words “die,” “died,” “death,” and now even “passed away.” These frightened people include almost all rail fans who post on message boards. A Trainorders.com contributor reported the other day that Fred Springer had “passed” at his home in New Mexico. A respondent regretted the “passing.”
When I pass, I want everyone to know beyond any doubt that I just plain old died. That’s it: “Fred is dead!” If that is too much, and you fear it will offend peoples’ eyes and ears, then say I “crapped out” or even “lost the Biggest Blackjack Hand of All” or “stopped breathing for all time.” But damn it, don’t say I “passed” or I will arise from the dead and smite your sorry self.—Fred W. Frailey
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