Sad to hear of Errol's passing. Since it appears that NCRY's tribute page doesn't have a live link for public postings, I'll just write some of my thought about him here and hope these are passed along to his friends and family:
As I understand, Errol was a third-generation railroader. Now I cannot claim to have railroad ancestry (I'm a foamer), but I will say that Errol's railroad family culture briefly and profoundly touched me and my family. I first met Errol in August of 1988, while he was working as engineer on the Petaluma to Suisun "Sprint" train. A fellow photographer and I had been following his train with particular interest in its SD-9 locomotives. After finishing some setouts in Schellville, Errol stopped his locomotive on the Highway 12 grade crossing, motioned us over and issued an invitation to ride the cab to Petaluma. Of course, I wanted go along but I couldn't leave my dog in a car we'd parked at the Schellville depot. Errol understood the issue, and said to bring the dog along. With automobile drivers at the crossing impatiently honking, I ran back to the car, grabbed the dog, and practically hurled her up onto the loco platform. It was crowded in the cab with a three man crew, two photographers and one dog but we all got along just fine. Enroute to Petaluma, the dog climbed into Errol's lap, and poked her head out the cab window into the wind. It must have been startling to trackside observers and motorists to see that train go by with a dog apparently at the throttle. What a ride!
A decade later, I received an invitation from an ex-NWP brakeman to visit him at work in the SP Ozol yard. On a fine Saturday morning, I strapped my four year-old son into his car seat, and drove down from Petaluma towards Martinez. Arriving at the yard office around noon, I was informed that my friend had already finished his day's work, clocked off and left the yard. Darn, I'd missed the opportunity to show my son what real railroaders do. The Ozol yardmaster kindly told me that another crew was in the yard building the "Benicia Flyer", and allowed that we could stand by the office and watch some that activity. When the yard goat came up past the office, the yardmaster stopped it and asked the engineer if he'd take on visitors. Up in the cab, I found Errol at the throttle. After introduction, Errol showed my wide-eyed son the loco control stand. Errol patiently explained to him the flat-switching technique of "kicking and dropping cars" into the yard, and we rode along with him into the yard for a couple of shoves. After his train was built and made ready for the road, we climbed off Errol's locomotive and bid a fond good-bye to him. Days later, my wife informed me that our son had been roughly banging his Thomas the Tank Engine train set on the living room floor. When asked what he was doing, our son proudly explained that he was "kicking and dropping cars" like Errol had showed him to do.
Errol may have chalked off the extra board here, but my son may soon be marking up time in his place. Thanks in part to Errol's enthusiasm, that grown-up boy is now interested in pursuing a railroad career. As I said above, railroading is not in our genealogy, but I do believe that Errol really "put the match to the fire" in my son, and I'd be proud if someday he commands the throttle of the "Benicia Flyer".