I grew up in a railroad family;
both my father and my grandfather worked for the same small railroad, the
Kentucky & Indiana Railroad,
better known as the K&I. Before the final sale of the K&I in late 1981,
my dad transferred to the L&N (Louisville and Nashville Railroad). Both of
these railroads are no more. The L&N as a separate entity disappeared into
the larger corporate name of CSX. The fortunes of the K&I, its workers and
my grandfather were key topics of discussion in my early childhood.
Although the yards of the
K&I are still in the Portland section of Louisville, the only substantial
reminder of the old company is a railroad bridge, the
K&I
Terminal Bridge, from Portland to New Albany, Indiana. When I was growing
up, we would often cross into southern Indiana over the bridge. I often
remember it as a nerve-racking adventure. The bridge was high and the paths for
automobiles were narrow. It seemed that there were only inches on either side
for the car to pass through the blackened steel fences.
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Lady watching the model train around our
Christmas tree (still from family 8mm film) |
From my young perspective, the
best thing to come from that old railroad was a dirty old dog. I do not
actually remember it, but the family legend was that my dad called my mother
and asked if it was alright to bring her home. When she arrived, the dog, which
had been hanging around the yards for a few days looking for food was filthy.
It took several baths to clean the oil and soot out of her fur. That dog,
despite her humble beginning, would go on to become one of the legends of
family. Given the name Lady, she became very protective of me. She climbed on
top of my toy box each night and waited for me to go to sleep before creeping
out of the room, signaling my parents that I was, indeed, asleep. She was a
trusted, and loved, member of the family.
On another occasion the K&I
yards offered an abortive miracle. My father, the religious man he was, was
transfixed and perplexed by a question my brother once asked. We have driven
down to the K&I yards so that my father could speak with my grandfather
about something. (Perhaps it was a ruse to get out of the house) It had been a
longstanding practice to see my grandfather at work. He was kind and always
glad to see us; however, on this day, my brother and I were told to sit in the
truck (a 1950 Ford Pickup) and wait because it was too dangerous to go in to
the shop where my grandfather worked. While sitting there I asked my younger brother
if he had noticed the little plastic crucifix that was propped up on the side
of the building.
When my dad returned my brother
asked, “Can we go around to the side of the building and see Jesus?” The look
on my dad’s face was enough to tell me what he was thinking. Either that his
young son was having visions of the Christ appearing at, of all places, the rail
yards of the Kentucky & Indiana Railway, or he was having hallucinations
with religious overtones. Either way, this was something monumental. I relished
the moment for a split second. I enjoyed the confusion; the irony of something mundane
being mistaken for something extraordinary. But in an instant, my dad gave me a
look. All of the sudden I was being considered with suspicion. What had I done
or said to lead my brother to assume that Jesus was inhabiting the side of a
building at the K&I? My father’s stare became more focused on me, “What the
hell is he talking about?”
I explained that there was a
plastic crucifix on the side of the building where my grandfather worked. My
dad drove around to look at it, one of the arms, the right one if I am not
mistaken, was missing – probably broken off after a fall. My brother asked if
we could have it and dad replied that he would rather buy us one. This one had
been exposed to the elements and coal soot, and was broken.
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| Abandoned rail line behind the library in Lewes, Delaware |
The disappearance and history of
railroads continues to interest me. Although one of the great nineteenth
century inventions, its utility and allure continues well into the twenty-first
century. Railroad archaeology, abandoned stations, former right-of-ways
converted into paths for walkers and cyclists, and historic excursion rides are
all evidence of the profound effect the railroad industry has had on the modern
world. For me, it is a reminder of a bygone, yet personal, past that evokes a
great deal of nostalgia.
For many October is a time of
dread. The days grow shorter and the shadows longer. For me, the autumn
represents the beginning of a metamorphosis. A change that portends new
possibilities and adventures. The changing colors of the trees create a surreal
landscape in which walks become idyllic wanderings, the smell of leaves
decaying is reminiscent of a long ago Saturday afternoons, raking leaves and
playing games that required us to dive into the piles we made. 
One fall, we raked leaves and
put them into plastic bags. Eventually we would take them to a city park where
the city would dispose of them somehow. This particular year we devised a game
in which the bags of leaves were substitute, imaginary players in a game of
football. The bags were fellow teammates or obstacles to avoid during a running
play. Some bags, strategically distributed around the backyard acted as
receivers for our errant passes. Of course, the game devolved into one in which
we would throw each other the ball so that the receiver had to dive across
multiple bags to catch the ball. As we landed on the bags, great geysers of
leaves would fly high into the air. It was fun, and the smell of wet decaying leaves
today remind me of that invented game. Not too long after the game began, it
became one of diving into the bags, resulting in torn bags and leaves once again
strewn across the backyard. My father was there to sternly remind us that we
were wasting trash bags and with that we needed to recommence our labor. 
