Train Lovers

Gentle, un-seasonal, late summer rain falls and the drips from the gutters reminding me of yet another chore to be done. However, I would rather sit in the cozy computer room and hearken back to another day, very different weather-wise.

The Salinas Valley was a myriad of greens and auburn hues in the early Spring of 1984. My year of teaching at San Ardo, in Monterey County, was coming to a shuddering end. The year we spent there had been turbulent, for many reasons. My sobriety was non-existent and teaching quality had suffered. Our family life in the “teacherage” had been somewhat uneventful, and there were some wonderful people that we met and befriended. The quaint little Catholic Church a block away was a haven and I had often gone there to sit quietly and try to make sense of what I was allowing to happen around me. Soon, I would be job-less and prospects were dim. The educational hiring freeze that had greeted us upon our return from Powell, Idaho, was still gripping the state. My resolve to be sober had yet to stiffen into a serious reality. To me, so many of the days were grey and promise-less thus making this joy-filled and happy event stands out so.

On this particular late afternoon, we were returning home from King City. Whether we had picked up Cece at St. John’s School or had been in town shopping, I do not remember. Eschewing the boring freeway drive, we took the winding country road and our 1982 Chevy van was purring along, Katie at the wheel. Here, the road parallels the (then) Southern Pacific San Joaquin Valley main line that threads the state. I was in the passenger seat and our little punks were all belted in the back seat, Dan and Becca in their car seats. As we were rounding the gentle curves hemmed between the green and fallow fields of barley and other grains on our right, and the railroad embankment on our left, I caught sight of an SP through freight making time heading south coming from behind and about to overtake and pass us. Those huge grey and red diesels were HAULING! All of us laughed and encouraged Kate to speed up and race the trains. She, good naturedly, pretended to do so and gripped the wheel harder assuming the stern race car driver look of concentration. Of course, all of this was to no avail! Hundreds of thousands of brute horsepower easily outstripped the distance between us and in seconds it seemed our little van was neck and neck with the monstrous, lead engine. Then it was that the legendary event took place.

I got the kids to wave at the engineer, who was visible in the right side cab window. This was a standard practice on our car trips and Dan was moving his arm up and down in the universal appeal of all children to have the engineer (or trucker) sound their horn. I remember Cece being a rather silent and dignified onlooker, no doubt acting “much more mature” as the grown up first-grader. Becca, however, started to move her little fudgy arms back and forth in the motions of the pistons of a steam locomotive, all the while making chuffing engine noises. This had been a standard, playful practice when changing diapers or even when Dan and Becca were in their car seats and bored. I would move their legs back and forth and we would all make the chug, chug noises, moving faster and getting louder as the “engine” speeded up. Invariably it brought out giggles and laughter.

Anyway, here Becca was furiously moving her little arms back and forth and making loud chuffing noises all the while sitting in the car seat. The engineer of the freight, casually looking over caught sight of this frenetic arm motion; Becca going back and forth with pursed lips and Daniel hanging over her with his arm going up and down expectantly. The hogger threw his head back in laughter and waved. Then he turned to someone inside the engine cab and seemed to be in conversation. Another face (I presume it was the fireman’s) appeared at the train window. They both waved and were laughing and chuckling. Suddenly, from the deep throat of that Southern Pacific locomotive, were ripped many, many, many loud and strident whistle blasts. Still looking and waving and laughing, the trainmen, their engine and finally the whole train were swiftly swallowed in the distance ahead. Silence once more surrounded us but our little Chevy van was full of some very satisfied train lovers on that golden afternoon.

The many times we repeated that ride, to and from King City, we never had the same good fortune again. Gratefully, though, of our time in San Ardo, that is the first image that I conjure up when thinking of those days and that place.

9-30-2010

Boldly Going Where I Have Not Gone Before

Hello dear family and friends. Thank you for bearing with me on this embryonic literary endeavor. At the instigation of my techno-children, this 19th Century man is being dragged unceremoniously into the 21st Century.  It should prove interesting!