Amtrak Has ‘Disappearing Railroad Blues’ : Transportation: The impending demise of up to one-fifth of system’s trains is meant to staunch a projected $195-million deficit this year.

Peering out the window past the junkyards and gas stations that surround Birmingham, Ala., Ric Fordham spots a lesson coming down the other track.

“What’s that?” he asks his godchildren, 10-year-old Kiley and 7-year-old Chase. “Another train!” they reply, before heading back to the other end of the lounge car to play with their Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.

Fordham smiles.

“I’ve never forgotten my train ride when I was 10 years old,” he says. “I learned to count, counting train cars. It’s those kind of memories I can give these kids.”

Memories soon may be all they have. The Gulf Breeze, once a daily run between Mobile, Montgomery and Birmingham with connections for Atlanta and New York, is to make its last trip April 1.

As of Feb. 1, it’s down to three days a week, making Fordham’s birthday present for the children--a trip up to Birmingham on Saturday, a night in a hotel with a swimming pool, and back to Montgomery the next day--no longer possible.

Fordham is sad about the impending demise of up to one-fifth of Amtrak’s trains across the country, but he’s not surprised. Nor are others among the passengers riding the train this Sunday.

“Three days a week? It doesn’t seem worth the money,” says George Boyd, who stepped off the train in Birmingham to smoke a cigarette and then watched incredulously as switchers cut it down to one coach and a lounge car.

Boyd chose the train for his trip from New York to visit relatives in Montgomery out of “a bit of nostalgia, a bit of fear of flying, and a bit of economics.” But if the train wasn’t there, he says he would have made the trip anyhow, by plane.

As small as the train is this day, it’s only about half full; the 35 riders wouldn’t even fill a Greyhound bus.

“This line’s not making money. It’s providing a service for people like me who want these kids to know what it was like to ride the train,” Fordham says. “Sooner or later, the politicians are going to stop the service.”

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In many parts of the country, service will stop sooner rather than later. Amtrak announced Dec. 14 it would slash its nationwide rail network by 21% and lay off 5,500 workers.

The cuts were aimed at stanching the flow of red ink: $76.2 million in fiscal 1994 and a projected $195-million deficit this year.

The first round took effect Feb. 1, as several lines were cut from daily service to just three or four times a week. Amtrak originally scheduled service on four lines to vanish April 1, but some may get partial reprieves.

One is the route linking St. Louis and Kansas City, Mo., by way of the Missouri state capital, Jefferson City. Amtrak had planned to cancel both daily round trips on that line, but the state and the railroad later reached a deal to keep one train running until June 30.

That would be good news for people like Bill Siebert, who has been riding the train from St. Louis to Jefferson City each week for more than five years for his hotel and real estate business.

So familiar with the run is Siebert that when conductor Greg Perez announces, “In approximately five to six minutes, our next stop will be Hermann, Mo. Hermann’s famous for its rich German heritage, wineries, wine festival and Oktoberfest,” he can recite the words along with him.

“I enjoy it. It’s a scenic trip, and even if they doubled the price, I guess I’d still ride it. It’s the best buy in town,” Siebert says.

Only about 30 people are aboard the three-car train as it winds along the Missouri River. But Siebert says the low ridership is not the norm.

“This is usually pretty crowded,” he says. “When it’s really crowded is spring and summer, when the high school and grade school kids come to the state Capitol. There’s a lot of businessmen on here, a lot of lobbying people, Chamber of Commerce people. And the school groups use it more than anything.”

The train also gives Missourians who have ties to both of the state’s largest cities a relaxed way to go back and forth.

“I’ve lived in St. Louis all my life. I just moved to Kansas City a couple of years ago,” says Dorothy Willerth, who lives in suburban Raytown. “It’s nice to go through and see all the scenery.”

As Willerth and fellow travelers Norma Swinney, Delma Messina and Terry Sanchez stand in the aisle--there’s no buckle-your-seat-belts rule here--their conversation roams over everything from the greenness of the passing winter wheat to the O.J. Simpson case.

At one point, Perez interrupts to point out the cliff from which Jesse James used to pounce and rob trains on this line.

If there were no train, “I guess I’d fly,” Willerth says.

“Catch a ride with a tractor,” says Messina.

“That would be almost as good as the bus,” says Sanchez, who gives out Amtrak schedules at her hair salon in Odessa, Mo., and boards at nearby Warrensburg.

“They don’t have a bus anymore that stops in these little towns. Now, you have to go clear to Kansas City to catch it,” Messina says.

Or you could drive all the way--except in winter, when storms can close parallel Interstate 70 in a matter of hours.

“Two weeks ago, we had a big storm, a big snowstorm. It just shut I-70 down,” says Paula Smith, a lobbyist from St. Louis who takes the two-hour trip to the capital weekly when the Legislature’s in session. “Legislators got trapped in Jefferson City. Some of them chose to stay over, but most of them took the Amtrak home.”

If the trains are canceled completely, “I would quit doing business in Jefferson City,” Siebert says. “I’m 62. I’d consider early retirement. I don’t like driving. It’s dangerous, and besides, it’s boring as hell.”

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There are commuters on Amtrak’s trains. There are sightseers, and people going to visit relatives. And then there are the Mothers Gone Bad.

This boisterous group of women from Grand Rapids, Mich., leave their husbands and children behind each year for a weekend trip to Chicago. The train is an important part of their ritual, now in its seventh year.

They board Friday morning in Grand Rapids and take over one end of a car, spreading a huge buffet of muffins, pastries, juice and other delicacies across an empty seat.

“We prefer the train,” says Mary Oleniczak, a part-time nurse.

“We can visit,” chimes in Bridget Chulski, a bank worker.

“And we don’t have to drive in the weather,” adds Mary Jones, a teacher.

“We love the train part of it,” Chulski repeats.

“We would hate to drive,” says Barb Gengle, another nurse.

Next year, they may have to; the Chicago-Grand Rapids line is also on Amtrak’s hit list.

“After you ride with us today, you will not want to cancel this Grand Rapids-to-Chicago train,” Chulski tells conductor Michael Bennett.

He replies: “Afraid not. It’s gone.”

The trip takes nearly four hours, slower than driving the 177 miles. The women--all friends from church--drove to Chicago for their first joint trip eight years ago, then realized how much more fun it would be to train it.

If the route is canceled, the women say they probably will drive the 50 miles from Grand Rapids to Kalamazoo, the nearest place that will still have train service.

That’s not an option for all passengers. A woman with multiple sclerosis who gave her name only as Mary says the train’s April 1 demise could cut off her only contact with her daughter and infant grandchildren in Chicago.

“MS keeps me from driving,” Mary says. “Money problems keep me from flying.”

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In the past, when Amtrak cut trains from its system, it sometimes replaced them with buses. Now, even the buses are being cut.

One is a bus linking St. Louis and Carbondale, Ill., also destined for elimination April 1. Amtrak once ran a train along this 100-mile route, allowing passengers an uninterrupted ride between New Orleans, St. Louis and Kansas City.

Now, you get off the train they call the “City of New Orleans”--the one about which Arlo Guthrie once sang, “This train’s got the disappearing railroad blues”--at 3:10 a.m. in Carbondale to catch the bus.

Despite the early hour, seven people are riding the bus. If ever an Amtrak service seemed unnecessary, this is it.

Many first-time rail passengers love the train. And they wonder why it isn’t advertised more widely.

“A lot of people don’t know we exist,” says Perez, the conductor in Missouri. “The only advertising we’ve got is a couple of billboards on I-70 that say, ‘Take the train.’ But they don’t say when it goes or how much it costs.”

Amtrak officials don’t argue with that. “They’re absolutely right. We should advertise more,” says Sue Martin, senior director of public affairs at the railroad’s headquarters in Washington. She says the small advertising budget is yet another symptom of Amtrak’s money woes.

The cuts themselves have led to more publicity about the trains and efforts to save them.

A special Missouri Legislature committee is holding hearings. Towns in western Michigan have formed a task force and launched a letter-writing campaign. Alabama groups are trying to overcome their governor’s opposition to increase funding for trains.

Martin says Amtrak is interested in talking to states. She cited an agreement with Wisconsin to keep some Chicago-Milwaukee trains running that involves higher fares, more state funding and advice from the state on when best to schedule them. Vermont also recently agreed to pay Amtrak $581,000 to keep its daily train service.

But sitting in the half-empty station in St. Louis--a small, prefabricated building hidden beneath a highway overpass--former railroad worker Glenn G. Brown of Kansas City says he is none too hopeful that his thrice-yearly rail expeditions could continue.

“If they don’t have the passenger load, they can’t keep losing money on it,” Brown says. “That’s the sad part. People just don’t ride the train.”

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EDITOR’S NOTE

There is a magic to trains, a romance that started in the 19th Century and seems sure to continue into the 21st. But romance is not enough to run a railroad; Amtrak continues to bleed red ink, and has announced its intention to slash its nationwide routes. An Associated Press writer rode the rails for 3,998 miles to gauge the mood of riders and workers as the cuts approached.