The Ash Creek Papers

We didn’t take and pick him up from the station everyday.  But it happened enough… so I think it was within in reason for me to think that my Father worked for the railroad.  If he didn’t drive our 1952 MGTD to the station in the morning, Mom or Mommie Soph would drive him and then pick him up in the evening on his return.  I loved tagging along.  I thought that it was cool that my Father worked for the New York, New Haven & Hartford (I would learn later that he did not).  What little kid doesn’t love seeing trains moving in the yard?  And my Dad was a part of that, or so I thought.

I think I was 7 when I took the 8:02 Bankers from New Haven’s Union Station to New York’s Grand Central (non-stop to 125th St.).  I am not sure that we took the MG to the station; but for the purposes of this story, let’s say we did.  I loved driving in the MG with my Dad, he would let me beep the horn.  On the way there, we would have stopped at Moriarity’s Garage… picked up a mechanic (maybe Mr. Moriarity himself?), I would have hopped in the tiny back and we would have proceeded the quarter mile down the hill to the station.  The mechanic would take the car back to the garage for safe keeping, and then would bring it back to the station for our return.

Dad and I boarded the dinning car of the train.  It was all new to me.  But I was impressed.  The tables had thick white cloths on them.  The Steward, in a starched white jacket, greeted my Father with a smile and a hello.  Perfectly natural, so thought I… after all my Father worked on the railroad… he probably knew everyone who worked on the train.  Dad got a cup of coffee and opened his New York Times, folding it lengthwise (in the manner of others who travel the rails)… the Steward brought me a coloring book and crayons and a glass of orange juice & a bowl of Cheerios.  Obviously, my Dad was very important.  I was in heaven.

I sat at that table.  Had my cereal… the thick cloth giving me a great surface for my book, as I carefully remained within the lines… coloring in pages that had related railroad themes… scenes of trains rolling thru the countryside, that sort of thing.  Dad caught up on the days’ news… and maybe chatted with other commuters.

It was my first ride on a train, that I can recall.  I was happy.  I had breakfast in the dinning car! I felt important… and after all my Dad worked on the railroad!

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I would eventually learn how prestigious The Greenbrier was.  For me, back then, it was simply a destination for a short family vacation.  Paul was in College, and Lynn not… so I had to be 8 or 9 when we traveled by train from Penn Station to a station that was close to The Greenbrier… a luxurious hotel in West Virginia.  I remember very little of our stay at the Hotel itself.  Somewhere there is an old snapshot of me in jodhpurs and a small tweed hacking jacket, either on a horse, or about to get on a horse.  Improbable to say the least.

But, I do remember the train ride.  It was an overnight trip… and we had a private compartment (maybe two?).  I can remember thinking that my berth (really a lower bunk) was perfect… small and cozy.  I buried myself in the blankets… there was a small night light near the bed.  I lay still, simply letting the motion of the train ease me to sleep.  I listened to the steady sounds of the wheels clacking along the rails and the occasional squeal when we traversed an interchange.

I am sure that in the nearly 50 years since that train ride I have enjoyed other nights’ sleep that were as good.  But none were better.  Nothing can surpass the lulling motion of a train combined with the repetitious sound of rolling steel wheels crossing rail joints.

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In 1960 Yale’s Varsity Football Team went undefeated and untied.  I was 10.  The team was captained by Mike Pyle (who became a All-Pro Center for the Chicago Bears), the QB was Tom Singleton (like Pyle a graduate of New Trier HS in Chicago) and Guard Ben Balme made All America (but washed out in the pros as an Eagle).

Our home was but five blocks from the Yale Bowl, and I saw every home game.  Yale’s final home game alternated between Harvard and Princeton.  And my parents always hosted a cocktail party for the final home game.  In 1960 it was Princeton.  And when Princeton came to town my parents’ friends, the Hiltons were invited.  Not the Hotel Hiltons… the Clothing Manufacturer Hiltons.

Norman Hilton was a grad of Princeton… and he added to an afternoon that included both Elliot and Marty Gant (the shirtmakers) & Izzy White and Henry Miller who owned men’s stores in New Haven and West Hartford respectively.

Norman was more than a supplier of my Father’s business.  He was one of his closest friends in the industry, one of his closest friends period.  And our 50 yard line seats that afternoon (albeit on the Princeton side) were due to the pull that Norman had as a distinguished alum.  I was warned not to cheer too aggressively for the Yales that afternoon, since we would be sitting behind enemy lines…

But that didn’t stop me from launching into some pre-game bravado in our living room when I told Norman that the Bulldogs were going to murder the Tigers that afternoon.  And to prove my point I was willing to bet a HO Train set that I had seen in a catalogue.  It think it cost all of $25.

Mr. Hilton, loyal alum that he was, said I was on.

Yale won, and the victory was its own reward. The thought of that train set didn’t enter my mind.  I also didn’t want to let a side bet put a hex on Yale’s chances against the Harvards the following Saturday… and I don’t recall ever bringing up the “bet” during the post game festivities back at the house.

But some time later a Tyco HO train set that had been advertised in the catalogue was delivered to our door… Norman had honored that side bet.  I had another train set at the time… a Marklin; but that set had a European look due to its German manufacture.  Tyco was American.

The set had a simple oval track, the Diesel bore the NH and color scheme of the New Haven RR and passenger cars were New York, New Haven and Hartford rolling stock!  I had 3 passenger cars and an observation car (to my knowledge, there never was an observation car on the line).  And the best thing?  It was New Haven RR!! The best thing in New Haven other than Yale!! I loved that set… and eventually added additional track, switches, other engines & cars… and built several Revel models to decorate my lay out.

But it all began with Norman’s gambling debt.

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1969 was the Summer of Woodstock… and of our Lunar Landing (more of the latter in a minute).  It was also the summer I hosteled thru Europe with a group of other college students.  The highlight of the trip was 10 days in the Soviet Union (my first of two trips there).  Also on the itinerary were two other stops behind the Iron Curtain: Prague and Budapest.

Vienna was to be our “jumping off point” for those two cities, and to get to Vienna we planned on traveling by train from Berlin.  Our route to Vienna would cut across Czechoslovakia… and while we had visas for our stay in Prague later that month… we were detained at the Czech border because we didn’t have transit visas.  Sound fishy?  I felt like saying that the “letters of transit” were hidden in the piano at Rick’s American Cafe… but what were the chances that the Czech border guards would know about Casablanca?

The train proceeded without us while the border officials sorted out this crisis.  After all, this was the era of the War in Vietnam, Eastern Communism was still a viable force and American College students were clearly CIA operatives.  We watched the American Astronauts landing on the moon on a TV in the border station with the Czech guards.  We were congratulated for our achievements… and then informed for twenty-five dollars American each, we would be provided “temporary transit visas.”  And that’s why being a Czech Border guard was considered to be a desirable job.

The next train we boarded, nearing the midnight hour, was a local train.  It brought a new definition to the word “local”.  It made as many stops as a bus traveling on Fifth Avenue.  Each station that we pulled into looked smaller than the next.  And we were traveling in the wee hours.  Where the hell were people going?  We were crammed into the spaces with fellow proletarians… each carrying one small valise and two large shopping bags… and another bag containing food… obviously there was no dinning car set with thick white cloths on this train.  Fat salamis, onions, cloves of garlic (I think it was used as a deodorant) and the smell of warm beer filled my traveling compartment.  The only thing that was missing was a goat and an open latrine.

The added charm to this train was that it was pulled by a coal burning locomotive.  How’s that for nostalgia?  Traveling the rails the way they did in the 19th Century!  The American West, the Orient Express, eh what?  I guess I was too exhausted to appreciate this romantic form of travel… but I tell you what wasn’t lost from the train ride… coal dust.  They don’t show you that in the movies!  Did you ever see John Wayne smeared with soot?

When I got off the train in Vienna I was coated with coal dust.  I took off my sport shirt and it looked like I had a good “tan”.  So this is what Al Jolson felt like in black face?

The journey had taken four times its scheduled length… but then again, I have always enjoyed trains… I guess I was just lucky.

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I think I was on I-84 late at night traveling back from a wine tasting when I first heard it.  I was cruising along, but just had to crank the tune up.  Maybe it was my mood?  I knew that this song… a song that I did not recognize… had that special feel.

Well, on a train, I met a dame
She rather handsome, we kinda looked the same…

I drove into the darkness.  More volume!

She was pretty, from New York City
I’m walkin’ down that old fair lane

Good guitar.  Good vocal.  No, great guitar.  Terrific drums.  Booming bass.  The road opens up.  The music demanded speed.  I loved the way the drummer changed beat half way thru the song.  The song picked up speed…

I’m in heat, I’m in love
But I just couldn’t tell her so…
I said, the train kept a rollin’ all night long
Train kept a rollin’ all night long

There are times that music captures you… you become enveloped… and then you can’t be held responsible for your actions.  You slip the jacket off your shoulders, stand on the table, move your feet as if nothing mattered but the pulsing music in your veins… or, if you’re driving in a car late at night, you just push the pedal to the floor.

Well, we made a stop in Albuquerque
She musta thought I was a cool jerk
Got off the train, and put her hands up
Lookin’ so good I couldn’t let her go

But I just couldn’t tell her so…
Train kept a rollin’ all night long

I drove further into the night fueled by the music.  No fatigue, I could have driven to the end of time.

Train kept a rollin’ all night long

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Trains keep rollin’… oh yeah