Originating in Baltimore at the Back River sewage treatment facility, 10,000 tons of “treated” sewage (for all intents and purposes, raw poop) CSX took a consist of 61 railcars to Newcastle, LA. But it reeked to such an extent that residents raised a stink of their own. Officials told CSX to get it out of the state.
Thus began the saga of the infamous “Poo poo choo-choo,” a part of history no one wants to be reminded of.
After half of its cargo had been “unloaded,” the train was relocated to Mississippi, which wanted it on their rails even less than its neighbor had. It was ordered out, but hit a snag when red tape prevented any movement.
This may have been historic, marking the first time anyone in Mississippi was overpowered by the stench of human waste. Mississippi’s command was clear: “SCAT!”
Of course, being the autumn of 1989, the South was still quite “temperate.”
I recall that the summer in the Baltimore area had been hot, but the heat lasted well into September and October.
By November, my only memory of the weather seems to be that on Thanksgiving eve, it snowed, the white mantle substantial for that time of year; something I’ve never seen since, nor do I recall any such thing before it.
But at the beginning of the month, it is usually moderate here, while in the south, well. You can get the scent of where this is going, right?
It did not help that Baltimore could only unload the cars a few to six at a time, so engines pulled six-car consists (if anything else traveled with them, I can’t verify it) back to Maryland.
What you cannot possibly read or even imagine is that during this saga, Maryland residents were being served a pile of steaming hate and ridicule. Not just at the municipal level either; it really was a big deal, with people being interviewed having their remarks edited from video tape and print. The local news stations didn’t help much; how can one defend a trainload of poo from people still eating crab cakes, Esskay hot dogs and drinking Natty Boh and Carling Black Label?
Hint: you can’t.
Because the end results are always capable of summoning flies in January.
Facing the threats of considerable fines, the October-November journey stood still because, well, nobody wanted it. I’m assured that such things have happened before, but if so, nobody remembers it. The more offensive a subject is while it is in play, the more it seems likely to be easily forgotten.
But some of us can’t forget. Baltimore and its entire suburban region, which is massive, was nearly stoned to death with words and lip-curling loathing. Or humor that stung just as badly, because the insults were just included in bent humor. Even Arkansas got in on the fun as it, too, had rejected the horror on rails and hurled insults at CSX, Conrail and Baltimore. The scent smelled nothing like a Giorgio perfume but was by easily more attention-getting.
By far the funniest reference to it was printed in a Manchester article announcing a seminar: “All aboard the Poo-Poo Choo-choo” it says, which gives the time for the seminar as lunchtime. Even I, with my sick sense of humor, can’t understand that little nugget. A luncheon? Who even uses that word anymore? A “luncheon.” To talk about dukie. Those folks at Manchester must really be hardcore, that’s for sure. “And for desert, we have Pepto-Bismol.” Totally sick.
At the bottom of this pile was, of course, low income people and families, usually the last ones left when rich folks move away from the rails. As we’ve seen in San Bernardino and Ohio, residential areas anywhere close to trains are by definition in constant danger. So it’s enough that derailments can happen, but putting up with the stench of sewage sitting on a siding is an immediate threat to health. Not to mention the quality of life. Cooking on the grill tonight? You’d better reconsider that. Unless you like burgers that taste like they came from the south end of a north-facing cow instead of coming from the butcher shop.
I’ve had that happen when a neighbor next door trucked in about 2 tons of cow pies for his lawn. For months, there was no escaping it. Hamburger patties tasted just like the cow patties smelled. And this was fresh poo, not the dried variety. I was so sick at the time that I couldn’t even wonder where he got it or how the sale could be legal. We were very careful to leave baseballs and footballs right where they landed if it was in Mr. Charlie’s yard. Didn’t want them back. Ever.
It’s easy to understand now how those living near the rails felt. Their protests were justified. Even the government had to give a crap.
Feces to Newcastle? Don’t try that again! That was the message and the lesson.
And if you think that I’m removed from this situation at all, I lived in Dundalk about one or two air miles from the Back River plant. In the scorching summer of 1994. Without air conditioning. Depending on an open window and a fan to cool my room.
And guess which way the wind or the night breeze usually blew.
Yup.
Memoirs of an American Asshole 