We went to California during World War II. There were seven Pogues' in a 37' Plymouth. There was a carrier on the roof with suction cups and grippers that hooked on the doors. We had a big cloth bag hanging on the front of the car. It had our water. Route 66 was our highway for most of the way. There was work in the defense plants. Daddy took a job with Lion Van And Storage. They were packaging Norden bombsites for shipping to Europe. He later got a better job with Southern Pacific Railroad as a fireman. Their route was to and from Indio, California. It was an incredibly hot job crossing the California desert in summer in a train engine. It paid good. In a year and a half we headed back to Arkansas to Centerton. We had a small chicken farm. Daddy got a job with Missouri Pacific in Fort Smith. We would move there in a few months.
So my Daddy became a railroad man. He would retire from that job as a switchman. What was so unusual about that? Maybe this article from a Fort Smith paper in 1908 will explain it:"Eugene C. Pogue of the Midland Valley Railroad died at St. Edwards infirmary yesterday afternoon from a shock resulting from having both legs cut off by a train yesterday morning. He was engaged in making a coupling when in some manner he fell under the wheels where both legs were crushed.....funeral services will be held today. Deceased leaves a wife, 2 children and a mother." . One of those children was four-year old Everett Pogue, my Dad. In later years with the railroad Daddy would get his leg entangled with wire while hanging on a moving car. The wire would wrap around a finger and then get caught in a railroad tie. His finger was severed.
I guess it isn't so unusual. Coal miners,in a most dangerous profession,saw their sons and grandsons enter the same work, if they lived long enough. Policemen, military, pilots, etc., have had kids follow dads who lost their lives in a line of work.
I don't know that these men were working "just to pass the time away". They were doing it for family. Many today still do the same. The mournful sound of a train whistle reminds me of these things.
