In its first year, Cairo Terminal racked up revenues of $98,000. "That's not bad," says Mowatt, "when you consider that Conrail didn't think the line was worth it." Nevertheless, the railroad only broke even, and there wasn't enough money for the three partners to draw salaries.That year, they lived off their savings. With only one customer, and a line that reached few additional businesses, they felt the need to expand.
Then, in 1983, Illinois Central Gulf Railroad (ICG) decided to abandon a 17.5-mile branch running north from Cairo. Cairo Terminal immediately bid for it. This time, however, the owners needed extensive financing. From the Illinois Department of Commerce and Community Affairs they secured loans worth $740,000, using the line's assets as security. The Illinois Department of Transportation made an outright grant of $180,000 for track rehabilitation. Another $55,000 was lent by on-line shippers, which had a keen interest in preserving rail service. "Our debt doesn't bother me," says Mowatt. "Most of it is in the form of low-rate, long-term loans. State governments like to give small railroads like us a break."
By purchasing the new line, Cairo Terminal added two paying customers. What it didn't add was more employees, and it wasn't long before 18-hour workdays were common. "I haven't had a day off in a long, long time," says Mowatt. He might be complaining, or proud.
An even more problematic aspect of the purchase was 4 1/2 miles of track that connected Cairo Terminal's original line to the new one. ICG owned it, and they didn't want to sell it. To run a countinuous railroad, Cairo Terminal is obliged to pay ICG a right-of-way fee for every car that passes over the section. Thus, like many short lines, Cairo Terminal lives in the shadow of a larger railroad that has the power to derail it.
"It is extremely important for a short line to have good relations with the Class I carriers it depends on," says Mowatt. (Class I carriers, such as ICG, have revenues in excess of $50 million.) "You don't want to alienate them, because they can blow you right out of the water.If ICG suddenly decided to raise the fees we pay for tracking rights, it could ruin us." As one might expect, Mowatt spends a good portion of his time in the executive suites of ICG, mollifying its officials and keeping them apprised of his company's intentions.
By following the right steps, preparing for contingencies, investing in track rehabilitation, and getting their own hands dirty, the owners of Cairo Terminal have proven that an unwanted rail service can indeed bring in cash. In 1984, revenues reached $289,000, finally enough money for the three partners to pay themselves. "Some people get a thrill from riding trains," says Mowatt, who expects revenues to top $400,000 in 1985. "I get a thrill from making money."
And the short line continues to get longer. Last March, a community development agency in Jackson, Mo., purchased 18 1/2 miles of track from Missouri Pacific Railroad, which was planning to abandon it. The agency, acting at the behest of local businesses that depended on the line, asked Cairo Terminal to lease and operate it. Under the agreement, Cairo Terminal has the first option to buy the track at a fire-sale price if they run it at a reasonable profit for the next five years. Although it is too early to tell how much traffic it can attract, the Jackson line comes with at least 14 customers.
One of them makes bricks. "If we had lost the use of the Jackson line, we would have had to load bricks on trucks and ship them 18 miles to the nearest railroad," says Loyd Birk, traffic manager of Kasten Masonry Sales Inc., in Jackson. "We would have had to raise the price of our product. Even worse, it would have stranded this city. I think Cairo Terminal can make this line work."
Gathered in their cramped office in the back of a florist shop in downtown Cairo, the three gray-haired rail barons discuss their company's future. "We don't want to get too big and unwieldy," states Cecil. "After all, our major advantage is in being small. If we purchase more track, we'll have to start hiring extra people. There's only so much the three of us can do with our time." During the weekdays, they live in Cairo; on Friday nights, they drive 135 miles to see their wives and children in Mount Carmel. On Monday mornings they drive back to work. Cairo, stupefied with poverty, plagued by roaming gangs of unemployed youths, is not the best place to raise kids.
"But that's the life of a railroad man," Hockgeiger says with a sigh. "We've always spent most of our time out on the road. It takes a special breed of woman to put up with a husband who works in this business."
"I really do hate railroading," Mowatt insists, apparently without facetiousness. "This is just a job. If I thought I could make more money running a McDonald's franchise, I'd quit this company tomorrow."
You can believe that if you want to. But when tomorrow comes, and the morning sun tears up the mists over the fields, you'll probably find Bill Cecil and Dick Hockgeiger hauling freight as usual, the wind in their faces and the rumble of box-cars at their backs. And Mowatt will be at his desk, juggling typewriter and telephone, wondering how much work three rail hands approaching their sixties can take.
