When we were offensive little dirty, scrappy, bratty, snot nosed boys riding in the back of the school bus, we would challenge the snooty red haired pony-tailed girl sitting in front of us to hold her tongue with her fingers and say, "My daddy works in a shipyard."
"Awww... you cussed," we would tease, pointing and laughing at her.
What passes for comedy is much more extensive when you're ten years old.
We couldn't really do such a thing with the railroad. If your daddy worked for the railroad... well, it didn't get much better than that in the 1960s and 70s in suburban Roanoke.
Back then, if someone said his daddy worked for the governor's office or heck, was the mayor—a lot of us could just get all up in his face and say, "So? My daddy works for the RAILROAD."
We all know the railroad isn't exactly the big deal it used to be in town. But it's hoppin' down at the shops. And it still puts that wow feeling in your tummy every time we hear the whistle and that big black locomotive rumbles on by.