This one
word just naturally brings to mind the picture of a locomotive, and all its
accompanying cars lying haphazardly on its side by the track, and scattered
along a steep embankment.
Even as a
first grader, I walked the mile or so to school. In those days there was little
or no fear of child abduction. We didn’t even lock our doors at night. It was
simply a different era.
I suppose
I was 11 or 12, and in the process of navigating my way down Pearl, and
approaching my home turf of Formosa Avenue. On my right was an ice plant, (the
kind of establishment which no longer exists in this country, I suppose) and on
my left a lumber mill. To my rear, well, far to my rear was my already ancient
elementary school building. To my front, (and hearkening to my first paragraph)
… a train
track.
Of
course, I walked across this non-descript bit of rail twice a day, on weekdays;
in the morning facing east. In the afternoon facing west.
But today
was different.
For
“right there in front of God and everyone” was a railroad tie lying on top of
one of the rails. Of course, I recognized the danger to our friendly
neighborhood locomotive which passed this way once or twice a day. And as a
result, I bent down to do something about this obvious discrepancy.
Well,
that old beam was almost as big as yours truly. But I just managed to lift one
end, and move it off the rail, and onto the grassy edge of the street. And of
course, at this age I felt as if I had done something admirable. Rather akin to
the exploits of my Saturday cartoon hero. Mighty Mouse.
Well, if
this was all there was to the story, I suppose I would have long since
forgotten the entire episode.
However…
I had
just gotten home from school the next day, and was doing something in my room,
when I heard a knock on the door, and the subsequent footsteps of my mother.
I figured
it had to be one of my neighborhood pals. But the baritone voice I heard
reverberating through the walls belied that possibility.
“Hello
ma’am, I’m Mr. Swearingen. I represent Seaboard Railroad Corporation. There was
a train derailment yesterday; on the track which crosses Pearl Street.
Apparently, the locomotive ran over a railroad tie, or log. And I’m canvassing
the community to see if anyone can shed a little light on the situation. Do you
have any children? If so, I’d like to speak to them.”
One word
came to mind, (and it wasn’t a swear word).
“Uh-oh”
And no
sooner than that four letter word drifted through my mind, than another single
word drifted through the air about me.
… “Royce”
I
dutifully responded to my mother’s summons and walked into the living room.
“Royce,
this is Mr. Swearingen. He’s investigating a train wreck which happened
yesterday afternoon by the ice plant. Do you know anything about it?”
Suddenly,
I didn’t give a whit about being the neighborhood hero.
I
intuitively, and immediately knew that while I had performed a good deed by
removing the heavy beam from the track, any attempt to explain the scenario
could only result in implicating the innocent. (Yours truly). I recall clearing
my throat, and managed a weak,
“Uh, no
ma’am. I don’t know a thing about that.”
And with
this, the railroad investigator thanked my mother and me, and took his leave.
Though
over a half a century has come and gone since this incident, it only just now
occurs to me that whomever originally dropped the railroad tie on the track
must have replaced it again; (after I’d emulated Mighty Mouse, and had
heroically removed the obstruction).
By now,
Mr. Swearingen and his associates have long since gone on to their reward, as
have most of the fathers and mothers who lived in those pleasant little project
houses which lined Formosa Avenue. And I’m doubtful that event from so long ago
took up much more than momentary residence in the minds of my neighborhood
pals.
Of
course, it was different with me.
I was
involved in an action which managed to engrave the scenario into my brain; much
like Moses and the stone tablets upon which God inscribed The Ten Commandments.
And throughout
those 50 plus years since that old train coasted off the tracks, I’ve wondered
whether anyone was injured, (or God forbid) killed that day. But since at the
time I neglected to ask, (and really didn’t want to know) it is unlikely, in
this life, that I will have an answer to that question.
And other
than you, my readers, (and I trust you to maintain my confidence) I suppose
only Mighty Mouse and I will ever be the wiser for my heroic deed of so long
ago.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 38. Copyright pending
If you would like to copy, save or share this blog, please include the credit line, above
***********
If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following: Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog.
When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All of my 2015 blog titles will come up in the index
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 38. Copyright pending
If you would like to copy, save or share this blog, please include the credit line, above
***********
If you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015, do the following: Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog.
When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All of my 2015 blog titles will come up in the index
No comments:
Post a Comment