Lost Arts: How to Commit a Train Robbery

Bill Miner wanted poster

Never let it be said that we at the ol’ raincoaster blog stood by passively and watched our proud Canadian heritage slip into oblivion unmourned, unrecorded, unblogged. Now that the last of The Grey Fox‘s victims has been enveloped by the sweet embrace of the eternal, it is time to pause and reflect for a moment on that archetype of the Old West, the train robbery.

Consider this post to be the blogosphere equivalent of all those Schools of Chinese Culture, Roots Regained Circles, and those noble, innumerable, federally-funded oral history projects staffed by earnest future spinsters equipped with digital recorders and, always, the wrong shoes for the weather.

In true Canadian tradition, the art of the train robbery was introduced to Canada by an American, who brought it up from the States. Bill Miner, AKA The Grey Fox, AKA The Gentleman Bandit, was often taken for a Canadian by his own countrymen, perhaps on account of his legendary softspokenness and courtesy, despite possessing, all of his life, a telltale trace of his Kentucky birthplace in his accents.

Miner was no ordinary bandito when he arrived in British Columbia. Having been a stagecoach robber since the age of 16, he was as famous throughout North America as the man who first put crime and syntax together in the felicitous and elegantly simple catchphrase, “Hands up.”

But I digress…

Put simply, there are several traditional methods of holding up a train.

First (and this is common to all methods) select your train. It is advisable to select one carrying a great deal of money and moving slowly through rough, deserted territory. Steam trains taking safes full of gold dust south from the Cariboo mines are ideal. As you can see, here we tawdry moderns face our first insurmountable obstacle: the Cariboo gold fields are relatively played out, and you could probably get more money sticking up a bingo hall on Welfare Wednesday. Sic transit glamour mundi.

Now that you have selected your train, the methods diverge:

  • Method A is simply to put something big on the tracks, in hopes the driver will simply become so confused he’ll stop and sit there, perhaps wondering how that large, freshly-cut log got there, or cursing the obscure illness that struck that moose dead right across the tracks. At this point, the robbers pop out of the woods, flourish a weapon, and either take the loot or, for the more discriminating robber, proceed to Method D’s advanced steps. This method, however, is easily thwarted by train drivers who simply back up instead of sitting still. A variation of this method was used in the Great Train Robbery as late as 1963. I guess those Brits don’t watch a lot of Westerns.
  • Method B is simply to put something on the tracks that will derail the train, thereafter following procedures as outlined in Method A, only maybe sometimes horizontally. This has the following disadvantages: it is hella noisy, drawing unwanted attention even on the most desolate of mountainsides; it kills a lot of people, and this is always a disadvantage when you factor potential jail sentences vs potential lynchings into the ROI; and the entire thing may catch fire, preventing you from making off with the gold and rendering the entire episode needlessly gruesome and unprofitable.
  • Method C, favoured by film directors who’ve never left Los Angeles County, is to gallop up alongside the train and climb aboard, flourish your weapon in the engineer’s startled face, and take the loot, although not before stealing the heart of a winsome blonde passenger.
  • Method D, and this is the method favoured by the Grey Fox himself, is to wait till the train makes an scheduled stop at a mail depot or some other unpopulated spot, sneak aboard, climb over the tender (which carries the wood or coal for the engine) flourish your weapon in the engineer’s face, and proceed to the advanced steps.

The advanced steps are as follows:

  • You want the money. You don’t want the passengers; they’re a lot of hassle, just ask any porter. So you stop the train and uncouple the passenger cars, taking great care to keep the engine attached to the express car, the one with all the gold in it (some robbers were not so careful about this and even The Grey Fox’s team screwed it up from time to time). You then proceed forward with the train; this has the advantage that, if another train is following up the track, it’ll hit the passenger cars and that will slow down pursuit as well as buffer the cars that the gang is in. You convince the guard, through effective flourishment of your weapons, to open the safes. If he fails to open the safes, you proceed to use dynamite to open them. You then stop the train at a prearranged point, where your getaway man is waiting with the horses, bid the beleaguered train crew good evening, and ride off into the night with gold and securities worth a king’s ransom.

Any questions, class?

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And this is where the cops come in

Still with me? How the hell would I know if you’re not, eh?

So.

I’m getting hungry. Popcorn’s not very filling. Maybe I’ll make some pasta.

So at this point I called the cops. I gave them the deets, they said they’d gotten another call from someone here, I described the 5’5″ or so Caucasian male in his twenties, but weathered-looking, thin, very DTES, “you know, he looked like a junkie” wearing a hooded jacket with the hood up and a backpack. There was reflective stuff somewhere about the jacket or backpack, I don’t know which, but it was pretty unmissable.

Hey, that subcutaneous cyst I just had lanced isn’t gone yet; there’s a wart or something there for sure, and something under the surface of the skin as well. I should go back and get it fixed up properly. I can’t hold a pen with this thing on my hand.

So it turns out the buzzer is not working, as per usual, so they call back and I trot out and let them in. They’re keeping their voices down but I blithely babble away and of course it doesn’t occur to me until now but they weren’t trying not to wake up the neighbors, but trying not to let the perp know where they were. And they were, according to the dispatcher, EVERYWHERE, completely surrounding the block. Say what you will about them, when they do come out for something on the DTES, they come out in force. I think they’re terrified of the Chinatown Business Association.

So, in they come, three of them: one at the gate to presumably let the SWAT team, a tall, lantern-jawed (what does that actually mean? Does anyone even know? but it’s always in the descriptions of these kinds of guys) uniformed dude with the most gorgeous German Shepherd I’ve ever seen, and a shorter, stockier plainclothes dude dressed much like the perp in this case, although I’m sure he’s not chubby, just bulletproof vest-wearing.

They review what I already told the dispatcher, and they look at the ladder and are greatly relieved I didn’t touch it, although I did think about it. Since the guy was out of the apartment, there didn’t seem to be any point taking the ladder down, and besides, where would I put it. So I am sure that’s where they had the dog take her scent from, although you could tell she knew already, she went straight over to the patio door. Perhaps junkies have a unique smell and she’s been around so long she knows it’s ALWAYS the junkie-smelling one who’s the perp?

You know, maybe “she” was a he, although I don’t think so. The dog was momentarily distracted by the potted plants…but then, maybe the junkie had peed on them or something.

They wanted to go down to the parking garage, but I don’t have the key thingy that gets you down there, so they took the stairs instead. I phoned the manager’s answering machine and left a message asking for one of the key thingies, because this is twice in four days I could have used it for the nice uniformed gentlemen.

I don’t think they have many policewomen and the ones they do have generally seem to work days.

In any case, once they went off to the stairwell there was nothing for me to do but say “If you need me I’m right in here” and (thanks for the reminder, max) make sure they’ve got my cell number.

Perhaps three-quarters of an hour later (enough time to do all the stairwells and the parking garages, both of them) as I was standing out on the patio scanning the sides of the building for robes ropes, sorry, Harry Potter moment, he’s just entering the C of S now and Lockhart is snoozing quietly, I heard a knocking upon my door.

It was them. It was they? It was cops.

No joy. They asked again about ways down to the South parkade, and again I had to say that I couldn’t take them down there, and then they left.

fin

Where was I?

After I let him out of the building and saw him walk away (although ’tis true I didn’t see him leave the complex) I thought I’d trot down to the North parking garage and make sure he wasn’t camped out in there, having somehow gotten in. He was not, and it’s probably a good thing, because what could I have done about it, really? Just more razorwire and the ladder there undisturbed.

We’ve really got to start locking up these ladders somewhere. Like, for realz.

And then I got back to my apartment and I thought I’d call the cops, and so I did.

The bright side

So, I was saying that I was at first regretting that I did all that dealing with the cops wearing my very attractive eyelet night shirt and my much less superfantastic XL plaid flannel pj pants, but on second thought it’s better this way, since I haven’t actually done my legs.

Where was I?

Right, no idea how he got out there. The noises. The eyebrow-cocking. The down-from-the-ladder climbing. He walked into the lobby as I held the door and paused. He saw me standing there, watching him and pulling the door closed as fast as its hydraulics would let me and he went out the front door into the Co-op mall, headed for the North gate. I didn’t see him get there, just made sure the door closed solidly behind him. He can’t get back in that door without me hearing it, nor use the elevator without the same.

It’s at P. I have no key for P, dying as I am to get down there.

on second thought (or is it ninth by now?)

I’m really quite disappointed the cops haven’t come back. It’s been a half-hour. I guess they’re gone, sigh.

It really was a nice dog, and so very excited to be working. She was like a kid at Christmas, and the cop, all six foot quite-a-lot of him, had difficulty restraining her. Occasionally he said something sharp to her, but in a soft enough tone that you could tell he was all too fond of his partner and would love to give her a hug to calm her down if only the dignity of the uniform allowed it, which it did not.

So, he didn’t come down by rope.

He didn’t climb up, neither. The public patio off the lobby is a good 15′ above the ground. The South side parking garage ends under it. There is a concrete wall with spaces for windows all along the back of the parking garage, but it’s topped with razor wire the entire way, and the patio is 5′ above that. Razor wire is

Had to pause there. Snape’s big confrontation scene after the car crash. Oooooh, Snape.

I think I’ll do a bellydancing workout before I go to bed tonight/tomorrowmorning.

Where was I? and does anyone on Earth say that as often as I do?

So, it seems he didn’t climb up. He certainly didn’t come from my apartment (razorwire on the 8′ wall in between anyway). And I’d be willing to bet he didn’t come from the apartment of the Chinese family on the other side: that little dog of theirs would have woken up the entire city with his pipsqueak baying.

So he apparated, obviously.

Maybe he went out to grab the ladder, which you could see from the lobby, leaning up against the wall, and then realized he was locked out. Because there’s no way to open that door from the outside; I got stuck out there once myself, when I was coming home from a party and went out to look at the full moon. I spent a solid hour out there trying to get over the wall and the razorwire to my patio without shredding my cocktail dress or my good coat.

Perhaps I’m overconfident, but my patio door is still not locked. It’s so warped someone could just pick it up off the runners anyway.