Rio Grande Depot revives grand memories

It's the sound I still hear whenever I walk into my Rio Grande Depot.

As a kid, if you were part of a railroad worker family, the depot was a source of pride, a place to play, to hide and slide on the marble floors. The tall, back-to-back benches with curved varnished wood served as a mini slippery slide no kid could resist. At the end of the benches were polished brass spittoons in which tobacco chewing customers could do their thing. As you walked through the double doors, the smell of cigars permeated the air.

Oh, if only the walls could talk. You had to put a dime in the door slot of the toilet stall to use it — unless you crawled under the door (so they tell me). And for kids who only had outdoor toilets, it was a luxury to see those restrooms.

The old Rio Grande Depot was the crown jewel in Salt Lake City — better than the Union Pacific Depot. As railroad kids, we felt a sense of rivalry about which railroad and which depot was the best. You had, and still have, a sense of ownership about the depot with all its grandeur. In the glory of the old railroad days, it was a treat to go there and be part of the hustle-bustle of the place. Every few minutes, the dispatchers would announce the arrivals and departures of the trains. The acoustics in the place were "marbelous." The "all-aboard" call by the conductors or porters was the best. The sound bounced from wall to wall to marble floors that made its special sound that was fun to hear.

If you were to go there today and cough, you would know what I mean.

The redcap porters pulled high, flat wooden baggage wagons with such ease. The wagons were the size of a covered wagon, painted green with the spokes painted red. They were hot. As the steam engines slowly pulled in to the station, one could hear their puffing and chugging sounds and the burst of steam let out as the train came to a stop. The conductors, with their flat-top caps, were hanging out on the steps of the passenger cars; and, as the train came to a stop, they quickly threw a step down for the passengers.

On the platforms were family and friends waiting for their loved ones, while the porters quickly pulled their big wagons to load and unload baggage, mail bags and cargo.

During the summer, one of my chores was to pull my wooden wagon around the station platforms and between the tracks, and pick up the old ice blocks the maintenance workers would throw out from the passenger cars. Refrigerators were unknown to many families; rather, we had wooden iceboxes kept cold with the discarded ice blocks I brought home from the depot.