On the wall of the office of long-time Highlands University department secretary Jean Greer was a framed photo that showed a lone goat atop a craggy mountain. The message beneath it was, “I’m so far behind, it looks like I’m w-a-y ahead.”

That was years ago, when I worked there. I’m reminded of Amtrak and its penchant for tardiness. Why doesn’t the government-subsidized railway company simply adopt this slogan: “We’re always prompt, no matter how long it takes”?

By contrast, the much-criticized Rail Runner, which hooks Santa Fe to Albuquerque and parts south, runs like clockwork. Having relied on the ‘Runner for many trips, I’m amazed at its punctuality. On numerous occasions, when taking my grandson and namesake to Santa Fe to catch the rails to Albuquerque, it and we arrived just in time.

But once, driving to the South Capitol stop, we arrived two minutes late, but the train waited for no man or woman. The second gamble was to try to head off the train at the next stop, a few miles south. That worked: no speeding tickets; in fact, no speeding.

Why then, can’t Amtrak acquire some semblance of punctuality? The last two times we’ve boarded America’s Railway, the waits have been lengthy. It’s no small matter, as the missed appointments due to late runs are real.

If the only north- and south-bound trains that come through Las Vegas routinely run hours late, why not change the arrival and departure times by that much? That way, Amtrak officials could claim that instead of being six hours late, they’re actually 18 hours early. That adjustment would probably exacerbate the problem, as — miraculously — the train might once be on time. And there exists the possibility that if a passenger arrived fashionably late, that day the train would have been on time. For spite?

My wife and I waited the customary hour before boarding Amtrak for Jefferson City, Mo., this month. Of course, we were on time, but the rails were not. It would be an overnight haul that would put us in Kansas City by early morning.

However, because our train from the Las Vegas depot was already late, conductors down the line blamed “those guys in Albuquerque.” When we arrived in Kansas City, hoping to transfer to a local train that would take us to the capital city, we discovered that train had already left, “but there’s a bus to Jefferson City at 4 p.m.,” and that would constitute a six-hour delay.

We stood in line at the rickety tickety booth at the K.C. depot, listening as some 20 people railed at the ticket agent. It might be therapeutic to vent one’s spleen over a delay, but the trying-to-be-polite agent didn’t cause the delays.

The first complainer told the agent he needed to be in Chicago for an evening class. I assume he taught that class. Another demanded an immediate refund, which the agent could not provide.

We heard a litany of complaints: “My wife needs to get to the doctor in St. Louis”; “Where’s the person in charge? I want to give him a piece of my mind.” The most sensible among the fulminations was the issue of why, given there were 30 people facing a six-hour delay, Amtrak had not arranged for a bus to be waiting at the station, to replace the already-departed train.

Though the delay didn’t exactly thrill us, we walked around and took in Kansas City sights, including a traveling display of King Tut’s possessions.

When we returned to hop the 4 p.m. bus, we recognized the familiar faces of fellow pilgrims. Angriest was the man who that morning ceremoniously tore up his train ticket as he announced he would rent a car.

But no rental was available for him, and sheepish and red-faced, he returned to the train station, asking to be re-sold the ticket he’d torn up. But even that was no longer available.
Was it payback time?

•  •  •

Jose Maestas, the owner of Furniture and More, appeared on local radio last week to mention an upcoming store sale.

I didn’t catch whether a particular item is for sale — merely that Maestas mentioned having it. He described an old-time radio with no dials, only push-buttons.

Immediately, I began thinking about car radios which for decades have used buttons that you push, not knobs you turn. And I believe there’s a safety factor involved: Pressing a single button is safer when driving than fishing for a particular radio frequency.

Maestas mentioned that the radio in his store “must have been specially made,” as there were two stations pre-programmed to KOB, in Albuquerque, and our own KFUN.

I wonder if the radio to which Maestas referred resembles one my dad acquired back in the ‘40s. It had one knob: on and off and volume; the rest were buttons. On these buttons were little replaceable tabs with station designations such as KNX in Los Angeles, KOMA in Oklahoma City, WOAI in San Antonio, KSL in Salt Lake City, as well as KOB and KGGM in Albuquerque and KFUN.

At the time I too wondered whether the radio had been manufactured specifically for our favorite stations, but it soon occurred to me that Dad’s nearly perfect penmanship made the call letters on the little tabs seem professionally printed. The tabs were about the size of those address label that every charity sends to hoped-for donors.

Dad let me tune the radio. We’d use a tiny straight screw driver and twist in either direction until our favorite station came in clear. We’d usually start at the lower end of the spectrum — I believe that was KGGM, 660 AM — years before our local KNMX 540 came on the scene.