I worked for Gus Peterson in 1972 as engineer on his Klamath & Hoppow Valley RR. It was a great summer and I enjoyed the heck out of it even though I didn't have a day off from early June 'till after Labor Day.
We used to fire up the engine early in the morning right at the end of track at his millsite. He also owned a diesel-powered crane that he'd take down to the reload along with a flat and pick up Redwood logs from Simpson for his mill. Since the crane was always out ahead of us and he'd get going right away, they stayed out of our way, no problem.
Well, one morning right after I'd lit the fire, Gus comes along all in a rush and asked just how much pressure we had. At that point it was just shy of 40 lbs. He told me to follow him down to the landing and then get ahead of him so he could load early. I replied that we didn't even have enough steam yet to start the compressor, much less move, but he was adament.
"Just stop her with the Johnson Bar", he said. I had heard of this, but wasn't real wild about
trying it here as I was pretty green then.
There was another PLA member along with me, but he didn't know steam at all, so I just picked up the fire and sat him on the seat so he could see what was going on. Then I got down on the ground and opened up the drains on the valves and cylinders of the Heisler. I still had this
tight feeling in my gut, but went ahead and moved the engine forward. The rail up at the mill was all covered with Redwood slash and it served to slow our progress for awhile. Then there was this square curve just out of the engine shed and it held us up pretty good. Once by there, the cadence of clicks over the rail joints started to pick up. Gus was out ahead of us maybe 200 ft., so I horsed the reverse over to backup and opened the throttle. Nothing. So I opened it some more & could only hear a pitiful "pfft, pfft, pfft" from the cylinder cocks.
This wasn't doing a thing even with the throttle now opened pretty far, there just wasn't enough pressure against the piston faces to be effective. I could see that we were going to hit the crane & I gave a couple of weak toots on the whistle. BANG, we hit him a good lick and I knocked Gus right off his seat and couldn't see him any longer. We both came to a stop and still no Gus when I spotted this fist out of the window shaking at me.
I worried for hours whether I still had a job, but never did see Gus again.
Late in the day while tying up, he snuck up behind me and slapped a hand on my shoulder and said "Tom, if you're going to try to kill the old man, I wish you'd be a little more subtle about it".
That was Gus, he didn't carry a grudge and nearly always had this great sense of humor. I still have a letter of recommendation that he wrote for me. Gus lived to over 90 years.