Sometimes, it’s not power, money, or large innovation teams that change the world. Sometimes, it's just one person with an idea, a computer—and a burning desire to make things better.
This is the story of Thomas Tydal. Train driver. Coder. Visionary. And perhaps the most important figure in SJ’s digital history—without anyone even asking him.
From Binders to Screens
It’s the early 2000s. SJ’s traffic control still relies heavily on paper. Train drivers and traffic coordinators flip through thick binders, print out updated schedules, and use the phone as their most vital tool. It’s slow, person-dependent, and not very reliable in a business that runs on seconds and precision logistics.
Thomas Tydal, then a train driver at SJ, sees it every day. And he thinks: There has to be a better way.
— I was tired of how time-consuming everything was, of the lack of overview. I thought: What if there was a system where all the information was on screen, updated in real time?
So he sat down. In his spare time. At home. With his computer. And started building.
Code Instead of Complaints
Thomas Tydal is not a trained software developer. He’s self-taught. Like many passionate problem-solvers, he didn’t arrive there through formal education—it was frustration that drove him. Instead of complaining about the system, he chose to solve the problem himself.
— I coded in the evenings and on weekends. It started with a simple planning function, then it grew. Soon you could see train delays, staff allocations, swaps—everything.
He connected real-time data, built interfaces, and created a complete traffic control system. No order. No budget. No salary.
He did it because he wanted to. And he honestly thought someone would reach out.
“SJ Will Get in Touch Soon…”
He figured that once SJ saw what he had built, they would naturally reach out. Adopt the system officially. Offer compensation. Maybe even a new role?
But nothing happened.
The system began spreading internally. Traffic staff shared the link. More and more people within the company started relying on it. It worked better than anything else. And it was free.
— I thought: it sells itself. Surely SJ will ask which bank account to send the money to. That never happened.
The System That Guided the Trains
For nearly two decades, Thomas Tydal’s system became an invisible backbone of SJ’s daily operations. It was used at various levels in real-time to monitor train movement, scheduling, delays, and rerouting.
It became indispensable.
Still—no contract. No official recognition. No compensation. Not even a thank you.
— I often wondered: maybe they don’t realize how much they rely on it. Or maybe they just don’t want to admit it.
That feeling—of being essential yet invisible—slowly wore him down.
The Red Button
Then one day, the unthinkable happened. Thomas Tydal shut the system down. Pressed the button. Pulled the plug on the digital tool that had quietly guided SJ’s operations.
And panic erupted.
— My phone rang immediately. People were asking what happened, why they couldn’t see the trains anymore. That’s when it became clear how dependent they really were.
SJ—the state-owned railway company with billions in turnover—suddenly stood without the digital tool they had relied on for years, because the person behind it couldn’t take it anymore.
It was a demonstration of power—and a lesson in the fragility of relying on a system built entirely on one man’s unpaid effort.
When Reality Caught Up
After the shutdown came the calls. Not just from worried users—but also from SJ’s decision-makers. Suddenly there was interest. A willingness to “explore opportunities” to adopt the system formally.
But for Thomas Tydal, it was too late.
— It wasn’t just about money. It was about respect. About someone simply saying thank you. About someone asking how it was created. I didn’t do it for money—but I didn’t do it to be exploited either.
His voice carries bitterness. A sadness over how something built with so much passion could be taken for granted for so long.
A System Built on Trust
Thomas Tydal’s story isn’t unique at its core. It’s the story of passionate individuals who see what needs to be improved and take initiative—without being asked. Of people who build systems to make the world function a little better. And of institutions that gladly use them—but rarely acknowledge them.
And that makes it important. Because it reveals a systemic weakness in many organizations: the inability to recognize internal innovation. A blindness to anything that doesn’t come from above.
— If only they’d had their ear to the tracks, Thomas says with a wry smile. Then maybe they would’ve heard what was coming.
What Could Have Been?
What if SJ had reached out early? Further developed Tydal’s system. Officially implemented it. Acknowledged it as an in-house innovation. Maybe their entire digital transformation could have moved faster, smoother, and cheaper.
But that would require something many large organizations lack: the courage to listen downward. To value ideas regardless of where they originate.
It also requires a culture that rewards initiative instead of ignoring it.
From Hero to Outsider
Today, Thomas Tydal is no longer with SJ. He works in other fields, far from the complexities of train logistics. The system he built lives on in other forms, but no longer under his control. No longer with his passion.
— I’m proud of what I built. But I also learned that you have to set boundaries. Even for the things you love.
His story is a case study of what happens when passion, skill, and a desire to improve meet an organization that doesn’t know how to handle it.
It’s also a reminder: sometimes the most important innovations don’t come from consultants or tech departments—but from individuals who care.
Epilogue: A Lesson for the Future
Maybe it’s time companies—not just SJ—rethink how they capture engagement and ideas. How they reward initiative. How they listen to their own employees.
Because next time someone hits the “shutdown” button, it might not just be a system that goes dark. It could be the heart of the entire operation.
By Chris...
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