THE TRAIN CLATTERED DOWN THE TRACKS, AS TWO YOUNG MEN RODE PERIOUSLY ON TOP. NOTHING BUT THEIR SENSE OF BALANCE, AND TENTATIVE IT WAS, KEPT THEM CLINGING TO THE BACK OF THAT IRON BRONCO.
THEY WERE YOUNG THEN, AND FULL OF SPIRIT AND VINEGAR. THE WAR YEARS WERE STILL AHEAD OF THEM, AND STILL OBLIVIOUS OF ALL THEY WOULD ONE DAY SEE AND EXPERIENCE; THOSE HORRORS WHICH WOULD MAKE THEM OLD MEN BEFORE THEIR TIME.
THEY WERE DETERMINED TO RIDE THIS TRAIN TO GEORGIA, COME HELL OR HIGH WATER; WHICH THEY SUBSEQUENTLY MANAGED TO DO. HOWEVER, THEIR EXPECTATIONS WERE TO BEAR SOUR FRUIT.
IT HAD STARTED WITH A DARE AND AS THE DARE TURNED INTO REALITY, THEY REALIZED WHAT A BAD IDEA IT HAD BEEN.
‘Henry, let’s go back to Florida. We came up here to pick beans, and we discover they’re picked out.”
WITH THIS, HENRY SCRATCHED HIS HEAD AND HAD TO ADMIT DEFEAT, THOUGH THIS WASN’T A WORD HE WAS FOND OF, NOR A WORD HE OFTEN USED.
“Well, Earl. As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right. But understand, I don’t say that often and you’re not likely to hear it again soon”.
EARL LAUGHED WHEN HE HEARD THIS AFFIRMATION BECAUSE HE KNEW HENRY, AND KNEW HIM WELL.
AND AFTER HAVING BEEN IN GEORGIA LESS THAN A DAY, THE BOYS HOPPED ON A TRAIN VERY MUCH LIKE THE ORIGINAL, AND RODE IT ALL NIGHT. AND AS THEY LAY ON THE ROOF OF THE OLD BOX CAR, THEY ENJOYED A BOTTLE OF LIQUID REFRESHMENT.
THEY WERE HAVING A WONDERFUL TIME, AS THE WIND BLEW PAST AT NIGH ON 50 MPH. LITTLE COULD THEY KNOW THAT SOMETHNG ELSE WAS BLOWING IN THE WIND. FOR YOU SEE, WITH THE WIND CAME SMOKE, AND WITH THE SMOKE CAME SOOT.
ONLY A MIRACLE KEPT THE BOYS FROM ROLLING OFF THE TRAIN CAR THAT NIGHT. THEY WERE DRUNK AS SKUNKS EVER HOPED TO BE, AND THEY SLOWLY DRIFTED OFF TO SLEEP; HEARING THE CLANK, CLANK, CLANK OF THE TRACKS FAR BENEATH THEM.
Pt. 2
AND SOMEWHERE ALONG THE LINE THE TRAIN ROLLED TO A STOP AT A TRAIN DEPOT; SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE SITE OF THEIR FAILED BEAN PICKING VENTURE, AND THEIR BELOVED HOME TOWN. AND THEN IT OCCURRED TO THEM. THEY WERE COVERED HEAD TO TOE WITH COAL SOOT!
Henry spoke.
“Earl, I think we have a slight problem, ole buddy.”
His young friend nodded his head.
“Yep. I believe we do, Henry.”
The conversation continued.
“Earl, let’s get off the back of this train car, and sneak into the bathroom, and get this mess off of us.”
AND WITH THIS, THEY CLIMBED DOWN THE LADDER WHICH RAN DOWN THE SIDE OF THEIR STEEL AND WOODEN CONVEYENCE, MADE THEIR WAY INTO THE RESTROOM, GRABBED A QUANTITY OF PAPER TOWELS OFF THE COUNTER, AND PUMPED HANDFULS OF BORAXO POWDER FROM THE DISPENSER ON THE WALL.
HAVING SCRUBBED THEIR RESPECTIVE EPIDEMIS’ FOR SEVERAL MINUTES, AND MAKING LITTLE OR NO HEADWAY, THE BOYS WONDERED OUT LOUD WHAT THEY MIGHT TRY NEXT.
IT WAS THEN THAT THE BATHROOM DOOR SWUNG OPEN, AND THE STATION MANAGER APPEARED BEFORE THEM.
His fury was not long coming.
“Boys, what are you doing in the ‘whites only’ toilet? You
N_ _ _ _ _s aren’t allowed in here!”
Pt. 3
AND AFTER RECOVERING FROM THEIR SHOCK, AND ACKNOWLEDGING THE TEMPORARY COLOR OF THEIR SKIN, HENRY AND EARL REALIZED THE DEPOT MANAGER HAD MISTAKEN THEM FOR BLACK MEN. OF COURSE, SEGREGATION WAS ALIVE, AND WELL IN THE 3rd DECADE OF THE 20th CENTURY, AND PEOPLE OF COLOR HAD BEEN ASSAULTED AND EVEN KILLED FOR SUCH INDISCRETIONS AS THEIRS.
Earl spoke first,
“Oh, no sir, it’s not what you think it is. We aren’t N_ _ _ _ _ s.
We’re white boys.”
AND BEFORE THE MIDDLE-AGED ACCUSER COULD CONTINUE HIS TIRADE, HENRY ADDED A BIT OF CRUCIAL INFORMATION.
“What my friend says is true, mister. We rode all night on the top of that train sitting out there. Right behind the locomotive. And we can’t seem to get this soot off our skin. Look here.”
AND HENRY TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY TO RUB HIS HAND ACROSS THE COUNTER TOP; LEAVING BEHIND A NASTY BLACK STREAK.
SUDDENLY, THE EYES OF THE STATION MANAGER GREW WIDE, AND A SMILE BROKE OUT ON HIS FACE.
The stranger continued,
“Well, I do declare. You boys certainly got yourself in a pickle! Never fear. We’ll get you cleaned up, and send you on your way.”
BY THIS TIME ALL THREE OF THE MEN WERE LAUGHING, AND THE RAILROAD MAN MOTIONED THEM TO FOLLOW HIM TO A NEARBY STORAGE CLOSET.
“Sorry I called you what I thought you were, but you ain’t.”
AND HANDING THEM A BOTTLE OF GREEN LIQUID, HE ASSURED THEM THAT THE STUFF WOULD STRIP THE BARK OFF A TREE. AND HAVING SMEARED A LIBERAL AMOUNT OF THE DETERGENT ON THEIR FACES AND ARMS, AND HAVING PROCEEDED TO SCRUB THEIR SKIN WITH SOME OLD RAGS WHICH THE DEPOT MANAGER GAVE THEM, HENRY AND EARL REASSUMED THEIR LOST IDENTITIES.
AND BEFORE MUCH MORE TIME ELAPSED THE YOUNG MISADVENTURERS MADE THEIR WAY BACK HOME; NONE THE WORSE FOR WEAR, AND HAVING LEARNED A HARD, AND BITTER LESSON.
(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 65. By William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending.
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**To be sure I hate the use of the "N Word" but the story is told as it happened.
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