Boxcar Betty 
Written by C. James
Betty loses an eye, but cripples Ox for life
Update: 22/09/1997 to misc2



      Boxcar Betty could have easily been one of those clasically 
stunning beauties had it not been for a single conspicuous flaw.  That 
flaw marred an otherwise perfect face.  But rather than lament the 
imperfection, Boxcar Betty reveled in it.  It was her own personal badge 
of honor and courage.  Over the years, many had urged her to erase it by 
means of a surgical implant, but Betty refused, preferring to accept the 
cards fate had dealt her. 
       Still others, such as her numerous past boyfriends, found her 
black eye-patch to be oddly stimulating.  Particularly when they 
reflected on the history of her missing eyeball.  For you see, Betty had 
lost her eye in a most noble conflict.  
       As her nickname suggested, Boxcar Betty had a long and close 
association with the railroad.  Beginning as a young woman, she had 
worked alongside her father, a section hand with the Union Pacific.  
They were known as "gandydancers," and it was because of their heroic 
and often dangerous labor that the heavy rails were laid and pounded 
into place with those famed sledgehammers. 
       It was due to this physically demanding work that Betty developed 
her astounding physique.  And that was clearly evidenced by her thickly 
muscled torso.  One of her male admirers persuaded her to acutally 
measure her muscular proportions.  And the "tale of the tape" was 
lengthy indeed.  Betty's shoulder girth was in excess of 51 inches while 
her chest taped out at a mere 46.  Those phenomenal dimensions may have 
explained why Betty took pride in being referred to as a "broad." 
       But that was only the beginning.  When the tape circled her 
flexed bicep, it stretched to just under 20 inches.  And don't forget 
those forearms.  Good grief, they measured in at a whopping 15 inches.  
It's no wonder she'd become such a spectacle on the section crew. 
Imagine the reactions of her mostly male co-workers as they gawked in 
disbelief at the statuesque six-foot, 200 pound blonde.  Hell, she could 
handle a sledgehammer almost effortlessly. 
                                                                  
       Early on, Betty experienced some of the usual problems that 
exceptionally strong women face when they invade traditional male turf.  
The guys seemed intent on proving that she could never be their equal.  
But Betty was an easy-going sort, nothing like the militant feminist 
stereotypes that these guys found so threatening.  So, for the most 
part, she took the ribbing and teasing in stride. 
       That is, until a certain guy crossed the line and made it a 
personal issue.  His name was Vern Anderson.  But he was simply known as 
Ox to the others on the crew.  As the story went, Ox Anderson had 
actually been a professional wrestler back in the early 70's.  And even 
though he was now pushing forty, he was still a rather striking physical 
presence. 
       Not that he was in any kind of "buff" condition.  On the 
contrary, Ox Anderson weighed in at around 270 pounds at just a shade 
over six feet.  In fact, most would have probably just written him off 
as another over-the-hill fatman.  But Ox Anderson's kind of fat was 
extremely deceptive.  For example, he often entertained fellow crew 
members with a series of one-armed pushups.  But his favorite feat 
involved standing flat on the floor and without jumping the slightest 
bit, kicking a light bulb out of a ceiling fixture.  
       Aside from these playful macho stunts, Ox Anderson was a braggart 
and a bully of the worst kind.  He used his railroad seniority to 
manipulate and punish those he disliked.  And he disliked no one more 
than Boxcar Betty.  Why?  Well, the simplest and most obvious 
explanation would have been that he didn't approve of women working as 
section hands.  But that issue was of no real importance to him.  He 
hated Betty because she was the one person on the crew who he couldn't 
intimidate.  
       At age 27, Betty had accumulated almost ten years of seniority 
herself.  And besides, her father had just retired after some 30 years 
of railroad service. So, being secure in her position, Betty chose to 
ignore Ox Anderson completely.  And nothing irritated the fatman more 
than being ignored. 
                                                                  
       Of course, Ox also resented Betty's obvious physical attributes 
and hurled insults and veiled challenges at her whenever possible.  But 
Betty shrugged off the abuse as easily as she swung a sledgehammer.  It 
didn't, however, come as a great surprise to Betty when Ox Anderson's 
animosity fianlly flared one night at the Four Aces. 
       The Four Aces was a typical working-class drinking establishment 
near the Union Pacific railroad yards.  Railroaders had been gathering 
and drinking there for generations.  Betty was herself a Four Aces 
regular who enjoyed shooting eight-ball and knocking down a few beers. 
Over the years, she'd had a few minor skirmishes.  But most of these 
situations were soon resolved before Betty was forced to lower the boom. 
       However, on this occasion, Ox Anderson would leave her no choice.  
It began while Betty sat at the bar conversing with a male friend.  In 
strode burly Ox Anderson and it was clear that he'd been drinking prior 
to showing up at the Four Aces. When he took a stool directly next to 
her, Betty's sense of unease multiplied.  Glancing over her shoulder, 
she could see that he was not only drunk but brooding.  A bad 
combination.  He ordered a beer and for several minutes seemed to sit 
and contemplate his next move. 
       Not wishing to tempt fate further, Betty decided  to call it a 
night and stood up to leave. But a large paw suddenly gripped her wrist 
and a beery voice issued a challenge.  "Hey, you're not leavin' already.  
C'mon Betty, I've been waitin' for this chance for a long time."  For a 
moment, Betty feared he might actually be making some lame sexual play. 
       "Waiting for what?"  
       Ox laughed in his raspy way.  "Can't you guess?  I've been 
wantin' to arm-wrestle you forever.  How 'bout it Betty?  Let's you and 
me have a little arm-wrestle."  Betty would have liked nothing better 
than to slam his beefy arm to the bar, but she sensed something more 
sinister. 
       "Sorry, Ox, but you don't have to beat me at arm-wrestling to 
prove you're more of a man than I am," she said with a sarcastic grin. 
                                                                  
       Betty's male friend burst out laughing while Ox struggled to 
grasp the meaning of her remark.  "WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN," he 
demanded.  
       "Figure it out," she quipped.  Meanwhile, the guy next to Betty 
was still giggling.  Ox scowled at him. 
       "SHUTUP ASSHOLE, I WASN'T TALKIN' TO YOU." 
       "Good," said the guy who appeared to be hiding behind Betty's 
hulking frame. 
       "I'M TALKIN TO THE SO-CALLED LADY.  ARE YOU GONNA ARM-WRESTLE ME 
OR ARE YOU JUST A CHICKENSHIT?" 
       Now it was Betty who was provoked as she forgot all about 
prudence and avoiding conflict.  She just wanted a piece of the 
loudmouthed jerk. 
       "YOU GOT IT BIGMOUTH," she said as she rolled up the sleeve of 
her flannel shirt.  "I've got a few extra seconds to kill and that's 
about all it'll take to put your arm down," she said as she planted her 
awesome right arm on the bar. 
       While waiting for Ox to put up or shut up, Betty pumped her huge 
bicep several times for his benefit.  Ox squinted disbelievingly as 
twenty inches of muscle rose under his nose.  "Sure you wanna go through 
with this?" she asked. 
       "Anytime you're ready," he retorted as he thrust his arm next to 
hers.  "Go ahead.  Count to three and let's go," he added as they locked 
fingers.  
       Squeezing his hand with all her strength, Betty stared him square 
in the eye and counted slowly.  "ONE . . . TWO . . . THREEEEEE." 
       Never before had Ox Anderson felt such sheer power as he did with 
Betty's initial surge. And instantly, he found his arm inches above the 
bar.  Betty knew she had him, but the big man wasn't exactly a weakling, 
and his trembling arm was not quite flat.  His throbbing wrist caused 
him to blink rapidly and his crimson face shook with futile effort. 
       Finally, with a second burst of overwhelming strength, Betty 
whipped his arm flat and held it there for several seconds as a broad smile appeared on her lips.  
"Looks like I win.  Care to go for two out of three?"  Embarrassed 
beyond words, Ox could only grimace in pain as Betty shoved his arm off 
the bar and got to her feet. 
       "Well, I guess not.  But don't worry.  Next time I'll let you use 
both arms." 
       Feeling more than vindicated, Betty turned her back on the big 
man and took several steps away from the bar before a paralyzing pain 
stopped her cold.  Then she heard that familiar raspy voice and felt 
another stabbing pain that sent her sprawling forward onto the floor.  
She'd been sucker-punched to the jaw and kicked in the ribs by an irate 
Ox Anderson who now hovered above her. 
       The bar was alive with screams and the bartender rushed to 
restrain the raging Ox.  But the Ox couldn't be stayed as he kneed the 
bartender to the crotch and decked another concerned customer who had 
entered the fray.  And poor Betty was having trouble clearing her vision 
as the mad Ox prepared to kick her in the head. 
       Fortunately, she sought refuge under the pool table as his heavy 
boot came down on the floor.  She crawled out on the other side of the 
table as Ox scrambled after her.  But before he could round the table, 
he found himself surrounded by several guys who blocked his way. 
       "HEY, JUST LET HIM GO.  LET THE FUCKER GO," she ordered. 
       And with a shrug of their collective shoulders, they did. 

       Ox seemed bent on serious mayhem as his 270 pounds flew at Betty.  
But the blonde Amazon met his charge head on, and while she blocked a 
wild punch, she countered with a stiff right hand to the head.  The Ox 
went back on his heels and Betty staggered him further as she brought a 
sharp knee up into his ample belly.  Ox gasped and his body shuddered as 
Betty then clamped a hand onto his crotch.   For several seconds she 
just tweaked his balls in her powerful grip as the Ox actually began to 
whimper.  
       She wanted to crush them in her bare hands, but instead, she 
decided to give the big boob a ride he'd never forget.  So, while 
still clutching his gonads in a painful pinch, she gripped his throat 
with her other hand and actually hefted his entire 270 pounds overhead.  
Of course, having once been a pro wrestler, we can presume that Ox 
Anderson was familiar with the bodyslam. 
       But this would doubtless be the first time that he'd been 
bodyslammed for real, let alone by a woman.  Savoring the supreme 
moment, Betty held him high above her head and watched him squirm in 
agony while one hand choked him out and the other brutally massaged his 
genitalia.  Tears formed in the big man's eyes as the pain became just 
too much to bear.  Then, as if sparing him further humiliation, Betty 
brought him down hard. 
       The impact of Betty's bodyslam sounded like a nuclear blast as 
the Ox slammed across the pool table on his back.  It collapsed and 
splintered as she drove him through the table and into the concrete 
floor.  Lying motionless in the debris, Ox Anderson seemed finished for 
the night. 
       But that was the least of Betty's concerns as she knelt over his 
crumpled body and found herself actually hoping that she hadn't killed 
him.  Credit Betty for some simple human compassion if not wisdom.  
Because being the loathsome coward he was, Ox Anderson had one more 
despicable card to play. 
       To this day, Betty cannot accurately recall what happened next.   
But "eye-witness" accounts are rather consistent.  These accounts 
vividly describe the horror of Boxcar Betty recoiling in pain as blood 
streamed profusely from an empty eye socket.  From what we can gather, 
Ox Anderson used a jagged piece of shattered wood as the instrument with 
which to maim her for life. 
       The bloody weapon was never found.  Nor was Betty's missing 
eyeball.  And Ox Anderson continues to deny responsibility for this 
heinous act. He should be grateful for having survived that night at 
all.  But Betty's brutal bodyslam severed his spinal cord, leaving the 
infamous railroad bully to rot in a wheelchair for life.  An appropriate 
punishment for a shameless coward. 
       As for Boxcar Betty.  Well, it required months of emotional 
adjustment, but she finally came to terms with the events of that night.  
She now wears her eye-patch proudly as a symbol of strength and 
resilience.  To hear her talk, you'd think that having one eye is an 
advantage rather than a handicap. 
       Of course, she no longer works on the railroad.  She decided to 
quit her job as a section hand.  But she hasn't abandoned the railroad 
altogether. Absolutely not.  Today, if you really want to, you can 
probably find Boxcar Betty roaming the railroad yards across the 
country.  Her name itself has become synonomous with rollicking, rough 
and tumble adventure.  And wherever she goes, Boxcar Betty is a 
railroad tramp's worst nightmare and most delicious dream.  Hopping 
freights and bouncing from one boxcar to another, Boxcar Betty is 
brawling her way across this great land.