My Home Town
My small home town in Indiana had a railroad running through it. And the town also had a ditch--we kids called it a ditch but I suppose the grown-ups called it a creek. Anyway, these two town landmarks were big parts of my childhood. We played around the railroad tracks, walked the rails out of town to fool around in the woods, scrambled over the highway overpasses. The ditch went underground through the center of town flowing through a large concrete culvert which tempted youngsters to explore. Both of these temptations were dangerous too, especially the railroad.
The elementary school I attended was on the opposite side of the tracks from my house. The school stood on a hill about five blocks from home and I normally ran home down that hill every day for lunch. I'd eat quickly and run back up the hill to make sure I had some time on the playground.
Many days a train would interfere with these plans. Slow moving freight trains went through town daily carrying coal to power plants near Chicago. They lumbered along while kids like me, east of the tracks, waited impatiently at the Wilhelm Avenue crossing. Sometimes it was just too tempting and a kid would grab a coal car handhold and swing himself up onto the ladder, clamber over the coupler, and jump to safety on the other side. I never actually had the courage (or foolhardiness) to climb onto a moving train but my older neighbors did.
One kid I remember very well was named Bobby. He was the smallest kid for his age in the neighborhood. Funny thing was, Bobby lived on the west side of the tracks but he'd often come down to our street to "pick us up" after finishing his lunch. Bobby was really impatient with the trains. He'd stand there fidgeting, itching to get back on the playground, and he'd see one of the bigger kids cross over the moving train. But Bobby wasn't big enough to grab onto a coal hopper's ladder. On occasion the temptation would be too great and Bobby, without warning, would slip in behind the slow-rolling trucks and slide under the hopper car and over the first rail. He'd lay there prone on the stony roadbed while the hopper outlet gates moved just over his back. He'd wait for the next set of trucks to pass then slip over the second rail and roll to safety on the other side.
After every such performance he'd jump up grinning and ridicule the rest of us for being chicken before running back up the hill to the playground. When the rest of us chickens finally arrived at the playground Bobby would resume the ridicule. Bobby was a year older than me though much smaller. I didn't like the ridicule but whether it was that I was simply afraid, or because my parents drummed it into me, or because I feared one of my aunts living nearby would see me and rat on me, I don't know, but I never climbed over or crawled under a moving train. My dad was a railroad man so maybe I figured he knew from experience the danger he was warning about.
Dad also forbade us crossing a stopped train. There was a railroad yard north of town so trains frequently stood blocking the crossings while waiting for switchmen to alter the way ahead for them. We were forbidden to cross stopped trains because of the danger they'd start up with a surprise jerk and throw us underneath. I must admit, this was a warning I ignored.
The elementary school I attended was on the opposite side of the tracks from my house. The school stood on a hill about five blocks from home and I normally ran home down that hill every day for lunch. I'd eat quickly and run back up the hill to make sure I had some time on the playground.
Many days a train would interfere with these plans. Slow moving freight trains went through town daily carrying coal to power plants near Chicago. They lumbered along while kids like me, east of the tracks, waited impatiently at the Wilhelm Avenue crossing. Sometimes it was just too tempting and a kid would grab a coal car handhold and swing himself up onto the ladder, clamber over the coupler, and jump to safety on the other side. I never actually had the courage (or foolhardiness) to climb onto a moving train but my older neighbors did.
One kid I remember very well was named Bobby. He was the smallest kid for his age in the neighborhood. Funny thing was, Bobby lived on the west side of the tracks but he'd often come down to our street to "pick us up" after finishing his lunch. Bobby was really impatient with the trains. He'd stand there fidgeting, itching to get back on the playground, and he'd see one of the bigger kids cross over the moving train. But Bobby wasn't big enough to grab onto a coal hopper's ladder. On occasion the temptation would be too great and Bobby, without warning, would slip in behind the slow-rolling trucks and slide under the hopper car and over the first rail. He'd lay there prone on the stony roadbed while the hopper outlet gates moved just over his back. He'd wait for the next set of trucks to pass then slip over the second rail and roll to safety on the other side.
After every such performance he'd jump up grinning and ridicule the rest of us for being chicken before running back up the hill to the playground. When the rest of us chickens finally arrived at the playground Bobby would resume the ridicule. Bobby was a year older than me though much smaller. I didn't like the ridicule but whether it was that I was simply afraid, or because my parents drummed it into me, or because I feared one of my aunts living nearby would see me and rat on me, I don't know, but I never climbed over or crawled under a moving train. My dad was a railroad man so maybe I figured he knew from experience the danger he was warning about.
Dad also forbade us crossing a stopped train. There was a railroad yard north of town so trains frequently stood blocking the crossings while waiting for switchmen to alter the way ahead for them. We were forbidden to cross stopped trains because of the danger they'd start up with a surprise jerk and throw us underneath. I must admit, this was a warning I ignored.
posted by Phil Govert at 12:52 PM
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