"Train"ing Wheels

It is inspiring to watch enthusiasts. They often are as knowledgeable and functional at their select discipline as those who practice it for a profession. If the enthusiast’s discipline were turned into a job, their interest would more than likely deflate. Their ambassadorship is beyond monetary definition and to reduce it to a mere salary would erase personal passion.

Train enthusiasts are no exception. They have been and still are an integral part of the landscape of the railroad industry. Train enthusiasts possess a variety of focus and interests. Some focus on passenger trains while others on freight trains. Some may focus on a particular railroad company, even if the company that has passed into history. There are enthusiasts for particular types of locomotives while others dwell in the nostalgia of by-gone days.

My grandfather was a railroader. He worked with the Gulf, Mobile & Ohio Railroad, a line that has long since faded into the annals of railroading history. My grandfather died before I was born and although his railroad heritage has been passed to me, I am not in the ranks of enthusiasts. However, the passion of enthusiasts and the heritage of family have firmly planted experiences that are forever present with me. They are very much a part of my tapestry.

My “growing up years” were spent in Meridian, Mississippi. I lived in a fading working class neighborhood that bordered a once large railroad industry. Although the train industry was in its latter days of supremacy, my neighborhood was still filled with the sounds of trains and the activities of the freight yard.  Like the sounds in neighborhoods that are in the flight paths of major airports, the sounds of the train industry were mere background noise to me and my cohorts.

We were acclimated to the sounds. We were acclimated to the trains. The locomotives, the train cars and the tracks were all familiar. They were actually part of our exploration and play. Foolish...YES. Like many adults I look back on my developmental years and whisper a sentiment that “It’s a miracle I’m still alive”. I’ll not dwell on the details of our “play” but there are a few places in my life I consider myself to be a complete fool. This was one of them.

Our “firsts” hold vivid memories. I recognize that “firsts” do not necessarily equate to positive, but for my “first” train ride the experience was more than positive.

Over the course of several years Southern Railroad would bring an old steam locomotive to Meridian. It was restored and maintained for exhibition. With the help of enthusiasts and retired professionals the old locomotive would tour throughout the southeast. Its tour occasionally included a stop in Meridian.

We as kids usually had no foreknowledge of its arrival. It may have been announced in the paper or on radio but we weren’t mindful. For our group, the arrival of the steam locomotive would be announced by the call of its whistle. It would fill our neighborhood with that lonesome sound and we would come running. (or biking in our case)

It would usually visit for a few days. Enthusiasts from far and wide would appear in en mass and marvel at its majesty. We would stand around it for hours. We would ogle at the men charged with its operation. We would watch them climb on and off with competent dexterity. We would listen intently to its clicks and hisses and that would cause us to want to study its “innerds”. On rare occasion, when the stars were perfectly aligned, we would be “snuck” into the cabin by the engineer who would let us shovel in some coal.

We also knew the visit of the Steam Locomotive often brought an opportunity for an excursion. The public could buy tickets and ride a train pulled by the old steam engine.

One day it happened. My father announced that we were “excurting” and I busted a gut. As a boy I remember possessing the spiritual gift of busting a gut. What that means is I would get so excited that the gut could contain its possessions no longer and so it “bursted” forth. I assume you get the picture here.

My first train ride...and it was a train pulled by a steam locomotive. We sat in the back of the train. It was the section that had the cars with no windows. It was the section that was perfectly positioned to receive the soot from the burning coals. It would burn our nose and make our eyes water..

I do not recall, but I probably complained about something. I remember it being a warm day. I remember it was only a short twenty mile excursion. I remember there was some problems with the old locomotive. However, my memories have coalesced and brought their weight to bare in true fondness.

Trains have truly brought me training.