It’s 4:53 a.m. on a summer Sunday. For some reason, I’m awake. As my foggy mind gathers itself, the too-familiar answer is revealed: BRAAAAP! BRAAAAP! BRAAP! BRAAAAAAP!
Another freight train is rumbling through the heart of Loveland. The engineer is obeying the Federal Railroad Administration’s train horn rule, which went into effect on April 27, 2005. The FRA is quick to cite statistics that suggest the mandatory four-part tootles are saving lives.
That’s all well and good. But for 10 years, the trains have been waking me up whenever we crack a window to let in some cool night air. In the still of those nights, the horns are audible from five separate crossings, the nearest of which are 1.4 and 1.7 miles away. It’s a testament to the power of sonic blasts at the required sound-pressure level of 96 to 110 decibels, which is steel-mill loud.
For Lovelanders, this is old news. In 2008, citizens lobbied the city to take action. During a July 2008 council meeting, the city’s director of public works reported a cost of $4.25 million to upgrade train crossings and implement a horn-free “quiet zone” as defined in the FRA’s 29-page how-to guide. The council was unwilling to pony up, and instead encouraged the townsfolk to contact their senators and representatives.
Fast-forward to January 2013: In response to constituent complaints, Sens. Michael Bennet and Mark Udall wrote a letter urging the FRA’s director to re-open the horn rule for comment.
The result? Predictably, nothing. Just recently, on May 29 — 29 months later — Bennet sent another letter, asking the FRA to “follow through on its commitment to review its train noise rules” and consider ways to “make the required train-crossing upgrades more affordable for local taxpayers.”
Will his stern follow-up at last motivate the FRA? Will hearings lead to meaningful change in the next 29 months? I think not.
Letters are less effective than action. Within our region, Arvada, Commerce City and Westminster are implementing quiet zones. Fort Collins has been working on it since 2011. More impressively, Windsor — population 22,391 — secured a $2.7 million federal grant to create a quiet zone.
This all brings to mind a required first-year MBA class with the dull-sounding title “Business and Public Policy.” Professor Pablo Spiller stressed
the power of a “political entrepreneur.” This is not a politician but rather a galvanizing individual who rallies the rabble — that’s you and me — into a lasting, organized unit.
An inspirational example comes from Colorado history and a case from 1962: The Farmers Irrigation Company vs. The Game and Fish Commission of the State of Colorado. The plaintiffs were Western Slope farmers who got their water from East Rifle Creek, a pristine mountain stream.
In 1955, the state built a fish hatchery upstream from the farms. By allowing large quantities of protein-based fish feed to pass unfiltered into the water, they rendered the creek “unwholesome and unfit for domestic purposes.”
Enter Frank Delaney, a rancher from Glenwood Springs. He also was a water-law attorney who authored the 1937 legislation that created the Colorado River Water Conservation District. This savvy barrister and political entrepreneur organized the farmers and guided them all the way to the state Supreme Court, where they prevailed.
It’s now 6:31 a.m., and I hear another train. I shake my head and wonder: Where is our Frank Delaney for the 21st century? We need someone to guide and unite the insomniac citizens of Westminster, Louisville, Boulder, Niwot, Longmont, Berthoud and Loveland.
It’s time to pull together, apply the FRA guidelines, and silence the train horns that are making long stretches of our sleepless little cow towns unfit for domestic purposes.
Ross Van Woert is founder and manager of a marketing consulting and communications agency that specializes in high technology.
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