by James Burke

"All Around the Water Tank."  Words from a classic American folk song sung by Jimmy Rogers “The Singing Brakeman” during those Great Depression Days—fertile for “Grapes of Wrath

In those dark days water tanks stood like sentinels —stalwartly beside the steel that ties the country together—and the Iron Horse paused impatiently 
to slake its persistent thirst. 

Many a jobless young man came 
to watch the horse drink 
and the beckoning of open boxcar doors 
started them to think 
about better times and places 
just waiting down the line. 

So as the fading whistle screamed its final fond farewell a hobo was born aboard the train trailing by the tank. Another tank most likely stood to see this stranger step down at another town where the big iron steed felt the need for water. 

Maybe the young man thought his odds were better here or maybe he’d been found by the brakeman of the renowned verse “He said if you’ve got money I’ll see that you don’t walk.” 

Many a scene has played 
within these old tank’s shade 
—scenes of violence and of relief 
—scenes set in clamor and in quiet 
—a crew wisecracking and cursing while cooling down a hot box 
—a transient sipping his cup of brew in the smoke of his smoldering fire awaiting the promise of a distant whistle—hoping the beast is thirsty. 

On hot summer days the shade of the persistently dripping tank provided cool respite for track men to tend their appetites 
and the sight of the tank was pure delight for many sweating firemen who saw the ten minute stop as the break to save their life. 
Like whistles screaming thru the nights 
and splendid smokey, steamy sights 
the stage plays set round water tanks 
were doomed by dieseldom. They have followed coal chutes and cabooses into oblivion 
—with precious few exceptions. 

One such exception stands today at Needleton Siding in the spectacular Canyon of the River of Lost Souls. In the passing of its days the sounds of the river are salient—Barely submitting to being surmounted by sounds of occasional trains. 

As with most tanks in my travels (but particularly in this setting) the question of what the tank would say—if it could—arises 
—What of the tremendous energy it has seen expended in pursuits of the power of fortune 
—What of the power of this river here 
to compromise or eclipse such pursuits 
—What of the enduring indifference of these cliffs 
in whose patronizing shadows it perpetually stands 
But the tank stands silently by the track—speaking volumes about our visions and valor and our vanity and vulnerability 

And asking where will you be when—like other tanks—it is gone and all the people that passed beneath it.