Boomer Brown, he called him, (Mr. Chief Dispatcher, Jay),
The Walshes of the railroad, on that 50's summer day,

Remembered when he'd worked for them and sent train orders out,
Now he's an operator and working 'round about,

Nearly every depot he's seen this side of Oregon,
And maybe Milton-Freewater, or even Pendleton,

The extra board is sometimes slow as run by Pat and Jay,
He needs to keep a-working to earn his daily pay,

His family, his main concern -- I've heard that he has six
Children growing up these days, he's doing second tricks,

Many lonely nights, but then, he gets home many a day,
To them, unless perchance he's working very far away,

Two long years I've been on leave, of military time,
But back again to working on the Washy here and I'm

Wondering just what became of him who signed "KG"
And ask an operator what he knows of Mr. B.,

It's somewhat like the accident that killed an Agent's son
Shortly after purchasing a policy, and one

With double indemnity from Section Foreman Ted,
A crashed antique and suddenly old Sam's one boy was dead,

But Brown's old car fell on him while he was there below,
Pinned beneath the vehicle, his neighbor found him so,

From efforts vain to save him, the elderly distraught
Owner of the property collapsed and freed him not,

Brown's wife inside the house came out and found them both, it's told
In this newspaper article we saved about our old

Colorful and interesting railroading friend,
Who met an undeserved, untimely, tragic, fatal end.

                                                          by D. Edgar Murray