Letting Go of GO

Little Ivy was in a play downtown last night. Colleen and I attended with Patricia and Larry, Colleen's mum and dad. It was a brilliant show, Ms J. We were all so PROUD of that little girl! Afterward, Ivy went off with her father for the weekend and we rode the GO train from Union Station back to Mimico. After CN gave away our jobs there, I swore I’d never ride another GO train again. But I did, though, didn’t I? Ride, I mean. It was not enjoyable.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” began a young, perky, female voice on the P.A. “This is the 7:43 train. My name is Jennifer and I’m your Customer Service Ambassador. I’m in coach number five. We’re westbound to Aldershot making all stops. Exhibition will be our first stop. Please stand clear of the doors.”

Colleen’s mum was talking to me but I didn’t hear a word she said. I was busy with my own thoughts.

Customer Service Ambassador. Pfff. Gimme a break. Whatever happened to the conductor? Whatever happened to the days when a train ran under the direction of a conductor? An experienced conductor who was qualified in all aspects of train operation? Jennifer. Who the hell is Jennifer? What does she know about railroading? What does she know about tradition or history or the good times and friendships that were lost when that PRICK Harrison gave our jobs away? Nothing! What does this little girl know about the 143 good men and women – experienced railroaders – who were hung out to dry when CN walked away from a contract they’d held for forty years? And what does she care?

I know, Ms J. I know I’m better off than those poor souls for whom VIA is not an option. I’m trying to put the hurt and anger behind me, but .. I’m really struggling with it. I know. I know. I promised Colleen that when I left the parking lot at Willowbrook for the last time, I’d forget about CN and about the GO trains and all the misery there. “You’re off on a new adventure now,” she said gently. “Put the hurt behind you. Leave it there in the parking lot.”

I’m not nearly as bitter as I once was, that’s the Truth. I’m making more money here at VIA, and I’m certainly having more fun. VIA people smile, Ms J. They’re happy at work, proud of the job they do. Management values every employee. It’s an environment that I could only dream about back in my dark days at CN. Yes, I know I have every reason to rejoice in my great good fortune. I truly believe this job was a gift from God. I do, Ms J. And I’m grateful.

But so many people have been hurt by a cold-hearted business decision that was neither necessary nor wise. No one will ever convince me otherwise. I’ve lost friends. Friends have lost jobs. What will become of these people? Why has fortune smiled on me, but brought such sorrow to others?

I want to maintain some of these friendships, but I feel guilty. How can I face these people knowing that my future is bright while theirs is hidden in the uncertainty of murky shadows?

A few CN people opted to quit and join Bombardier early in the takeover process. They hoped thereby to preserve their jobs on the GO trains and to protect their seniority, albeit with another company. They became trainers for the new employees. They were despised for this action. Those who stayed behind at CN called them "scabs" and "traitors." I didn't know what to do, what to say, or what to think. So I said nothing. The fact is, one of those guys was (is) a friend. How do I reconcile all this?

And what about Kirk? Kirk has been a dear friend for years, helping me recover after my leg was broken. It has long been Kirk’s dream to operate a train. He’s a rail buff. Becoming a locomotive engineer is to him, the apex of his career path. Kirk is an employee of Bombardier, the company who was awarded the operating contract for GO Transit. When CN walked away, it was a blessing for my friend. Now, he’ll see his dream come true. I’m happy for him, Ms Journal. I am.

But .. Sighhhhhhhh

It's complicated. Talking about it helps. Thanks for listening.

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