Southern's
Louisiana Division

I was there at the beginning, and I was there at the end. Twenty-five years transpired in between, and the top floor of our Covington home became for me and for many a haven of model railroading, railfan conversation, and great fun.

In the early 1980s, my parents decided to move into my grandparent's lovely Southern home and our dad took on most of the needed renovations. I realize now that, in part, he had his O Scale eye on the unfinished upstairs space. Once the rest of the house work reached a tipping point, he turned his attention to the top. I was delighted to be boy Robin to his Bruce Batman every step of the way. It was always an adventure in handyman hijinks. He salvaged discarded fluorescent lighting from his workplace. We hung rolls of insulation and covered the rafters with a board he would later paint sky blue. We paneled all the walls, like you did in those days. We fought off the rats with giant traps and a calvary sword. Dad resurrected two enormous Chrysler (not kidding) window air conditioners my grandfather had purchased in the 1960s. They were 240 volt units, and when the compressors kicked on the lights in the room dimmed! Together these old beasts fought the daily battle with South Louisiana heat and humidity, and one of them lasted to the end of the layout.

The attic now habitable by human creatures, it was time to start building a layout. We brought a half dozen pieces of benchwork from Huntsville, Alabama, when we moved back south in 1978. We reworked those tanks to fit the new space and a revised layout. Soon new pieces joined the standing army, and before long the foundations of the Southern's imaginary "Louisiana Division" took shape and filled the room. Happy memories: Most Saturday mornings we fired up the Old Man's 1948 half-ton 3-on-the-column Chevy pickup (his main project in the early 1970s), adjusted the timing together on its Straight Six motor, headed out for donuts and (for him) black coffee, then made another run to Poole Lumber company for more 1 and 2x4s for bench and trackwork. Rinse and repeat next Saturday. I rode shotgun, of course, in the green truck ... but really for the entire project. Dad was a great teacher. I learned how to use hand and power saws, how to set wood screws, about the virtues of yellow wood glue, and of the joys of finding level in a bubble glass. My childhood smelled like pine lumber, Elmer's wood glue, and the sharp tang of solder resin. Speaking of electricity: Dad was the Michelangelo of low voltage Direct Current wiring, both on paper and in application. When the local Bell Telephone warehouse discarded boxes of multi-conductor 24-gauge telephone cable, dad fished them out of a dumpster and put what seemed like miles of it to work running turnout machines, track signals, and structure lights. With all his Central Locomotive Works and All Nation open frame DC motors, however, all our blocks needed good 12-gauge stranded wire. Radio Shack should have sent a ham every Christmas; we pulled a lot of wire in those days. The Louisiana Division could easily pull 3 to 4 amps with a good freight train going uphill! Dad collected ancient Lionel and American Flyer AC transformers — first for the fun of bringing them back to life, but also because they could handle all that O Scale current in the days before can motors and flywheels. We had a veritable substation running under that layout.

I'm so grateful for all the little skills and trouble-shooting techniques he taught me in those years — not to mention a palate for a good jelly donut. I find myself still using many of those skills in handyman, computer networking, and church audio/visual production. And something of the same approach applies even to the building and coding of this website. Dad was a hands-on man. All of us who learned something handy from him owe the United States Army a debt of gratitude. At Fort Riley, Kansas, some Army instructor introduced private Hawkins to the techniques associated with 50s-era military Field Telephone wiring. In both career and hobby, veteran Hawkins never looked back.

As with so many previous hurricanes in southeast Louisiana, my parents thought they would simply ride out Katrina at home. Some wind and rain, for sure; maybe lost power for a day or two. That's the way it had gone so often over the years with other storms. But when forecasters suddenly insisted Katrina was terribly different — the big one — mom and dad evacuated to family in Jackson, Mississippi, for what they still assumed would just be a day or two. It was two weeks. When finally they could return to Covington, they found the family property so littered with trees it would eventually cost $25,000 to have them all cut up and removed. Worse still, two towering pines fell over onto the house, crushing the main roof beam and ripping a huge gash into the upstairs model train room. Although the trees did not actually contact the layout, collapsed roof wreckage plus a week's worth of weather did significant damage to our beloved Louisiana Division.

In the weeks that followed, dad made use of a long career in the public utilities business by acting as his own general contractor in the rebuilding process. He knew how to move things along. Once a construction crew rebuilt the entire roof structure and new insulation and HVAC materials were installed, the work of cleaning up and stabilizing the layout began in earnest. Pictures below show the new roof structure over the damaged layout. Over the next few years, dad made some progress bringing the railroad back toward its previous level of operation and scenery. Grandsons John and Lonnie were a major help to him, and Grandpa wasted no opportunities to teach them carpentry and DC electrical skills. Trains would run again, but health issues in the late 2000s eventually made it impossible for dad to make more progress on the long recovery. I do think the loss of his ability to ascend the stairs to his railroad was a quiet heartbreak for my Old Man. But as with most other of life's trials, he faced these final years with courage and good humor.

After his death in 2009, mom remained in the house for a few more years. When the time came she could no longer care for a large Southern home with many acres, we knew the Louisiana Division would have to be retired and dismantled. I spent a week packing up locomotives, rolling stock, structures, and kits; then my brother Jack and his sons spent another week dismantling all the track and benchwork. Many items went across the Lake into the good care of Gordon Payne and his Louisiana Texas & Pacific O Scale layout. It was an emotional time for all of us, knowing how many years of building, operating, and fellowship took place in "The Attic" turned train room. As they say in Louisiana, "we sure passed a good time" in that space. Later I would sell off most of the plastic kits and generic items; later still, I divided up all of dad's custom and scratch built cars and locomotives among his children and grandchildren. Now everyone in the family at least one complete O Scale train to display and enjoy.

Three blessings did appear amidst the loss. The first is noted above: my nephews spending time with their grandpa, rebuilding and learning the hobby. They now treasure those memories. Second, my Ella overlapped with dad for a few years; she was 5 when he died. This meant she was just old enough to enjoy "playing trains" with Papa on several occasions. They ran some locomotives and cars around the surviving trackage and played with dad's incredible collection of 1:48 automobiles. Some snapshots below give a sense of those happy memories. Thirdly, the house remains in our extended family. My cousin Bill and his wife Martha purchased the property from my mother, hiring an architect to rework the house from the ground up. The spirit of his/our grandfather's original house was beautifully preserved, but dozens of needed improvements and creative changes were made to ensure the house will last through this century. And the train room? Now a beautiful guest room, with new dormer windows overlooking the lovely Bogue Falaya River outside. This "new" house is an amazing accomplishment, and we could not be more pleased that it lives on in a new season yet still in our family. I know dad would be delighted as well.

John was a solid craftsman and a jack-of-all trades model railroader. Even more, his encyclopedic knowledge of railroading in the Deep South meant that every locomotive and car had a story behind it. The Louisiana Division was a great layout. But looking back on its 25-year run, I think the real legacy of the Covington train room is the spirit my father brought to the hobby. It went something like this: Enjoy building and running and talking trains, but especially enjoy the friendships that spring up all along that journey. Life is too short and precious to take the particulars of this or any hobby too seriously. No rivet counting was allowed in Covington. Treat everyone like a friend, remember the better joys of childhood, and enjoy some trains.

After all, "Hobbies should be fun!"