Trains didn’t stop very often. When Steve was lucky, he would be there to watch and wave to the man in the Caboose. Steve would always make a special effort to be there when he could remember and his chores were done. One time he actually got to go inside a real Caboose when he was lucky enough to be there when the train actually stopped in front of the old Train Station.
He got to meet the Old Man inside that always waved back to him from the window on the top of the Caboose when passing through the crossing. He was black, ebony really. He was in great shape. His arms filled his shirt with muscle and his stomach was flat under his neatly tucked shirt. His face old with wisdom shaved smooth and his hair neatly trimmed and jet-black. He was a big, large man.
There was a real kerosene lantern hanging on a hook just inside the back door that wasn’t used much anymore, you could tell because it was all dusty. Steve was about to learn that the radio replaced the lantern. Inside, right in the middle of the car, but over to each side, there were seats next to windows that were up above Steve’s head that the Old Man sat in to watch the train cars ahead. The Old Man explained that depending which way the engine was going around a curve; he would sit in the seat that gave him the best view of all the cars in front of him. So he did a lot of jumping up and down from one seat back to the other. That was his job. To sit in one of the little window boxes sticking out of the top of the Caboose and watch the train from the front to the back. The engineer in the front can’t see all the cars behind him when the train went around curves, so the Old Man in the Caboose was like his second pair of eyes.
There was a place to crawl into and sleep, a bunk he called it, with dark green wool blankets stretched out firm and neat, just inside the back door by the place the lantern hung. It was small and had just barley enough room for a person to crawl into.
There was a small counter and a two-burner stove under the window, on the left side, just under the left seat above. A blue and white speckled coffeepot sat perking on one of the burners that made the Caboose smell of fresh brewed coffee, and a small table with benches was on the right side of the car, just under the right window and seat above, directly across from the counter.
Steve got to ask all kinds of questions; about Hobos, the Walnut Packing House and the Hobo Village right over there in the trees, just south of the train station. The Old Man knew everything. “Times are changing. Even the Hobos are disappearing.” The old man was trying to explain something to Steve that Steve would only read about in books. Just before the Old Man’s day, there was a “depression” and a lot of men used to travel to what they thought would be better places to get jobs. But because they didn’t have the money for a ticket, they would stow away on freight cars. This was cheating the railroads out of money and that was against the law. So the railroad companies would hire special men to “police” the trains and arrest the men for stealing rides without paying. Most of the time they would just simply beat them with their nightsticks and kick them off the train.
There was a sigh in the Old Man’s voice as he continued. “Why, my job used to be very busy. But not so much anymore, what with this radio they installed.“ The Old Man was patting his hand on a black holster that held his two-way radio on his belt. Now Steve understood why the lantern by the back door was so dusty.
The Old Man talked about the sleeper cars called a Pullman, and how there used to be lots of very fine people that rode the trains. “The airplane changed all that.” Taking a sip of his coffee out of the blue speckled porcelain covered cup, he continued to keep Steve spellbound. “Used to be Steam Locomotives ran these tracks before the airplane. Not so anymore. The electric motor changed all that.” The Old Man took another sip of his coffee.
Steve wasn’t going to fall for this story. “How come there is smoke coming out of the engine if it uses an electric motor?”
The Old Man’s eyes flashed and a smile came to his face. “You city kids don’t know squat. That’s from the diesel generator boy! Look closer boy. You don’t see no smoke coming from the engine. There’s a huge diesel engine in that big box on the back behind the engine. It turns a turban that makes electricity to run the engine. That’s just exhaust you see coming out the stack from the generator.”
Steve interrupted. “Do Steam Locomotives run anywhere any more?”
The Old Man took another sip of coffee and kind of settled back on the bench. “Not so much here in the States, except a couple in Colorado used to entertain tourists, and the ones down in the movie lots.” His face looked as if his mind was far away. “Mostly in Europe and less developed counties nowadays. Steam Locomotives are too expensive to run compared to these big electric ones. Now we can haul more freight up taller mountains for less money and even make longer trips without stopping for water or fuel.”
Steve’s excitement made his voice crack. “Have you ever been on a Steam Locomotive?”
The Old Man sat up straight. There was excitement in his eyes, as he looked Steve straight on. “I rode on one back not to many years ago right down these very here tracks that was headed for some museum.” There was a tone of pride in the Old Man’s voice. “I got lucky. They held a lottery to pick the crew that would take her on her very last trip on the rails. I put my name in never thinkin’ I had a chance. So did my Daddy, but he didn’t make the draw. There were a lot good people that wanted to make that trip. I got to ride her all the way clear from the East Coast to the West Coast up near Frisco down these here tracks to the station she was headed for a few hundred miles that way.” The Old Man was pointing out the back of the Caboose, down the tracks to the South, toward the Hobo camp. “She was quite a sight. All cleaned up and shiny with the most beautiful cars there ever were. Someone spent lots of money put’n the whole thing together. Heard it said it took over ten years to do it.
Every car had all the wood on the outside all re-finished and varnished to shine as pretty as the day she first set on the tracks. The insides was all re-finished to its original condition. A lot of people spent a lot of hours makin those cars as pretty as the day they first rode the rails.
The dinning cars had all the finest tablecloths; hand monogrammed silk napkins, crystal glasses and real silver utensils polished to a mirror finish. They was all set on eloquent carved Oak wood tables surrounded by beautiful, tall Oak chairs.
The Pullman’s had real fine white linens and big down pillows, with the finest hand-made quilt blankets all laid out like someone would be sleepin in them that night.
All the Negroes was dressed out in the finest black suits with fine white shirts and black bow-ties like nothin you ever seen.” Back then; it was rude to call a Negro a “Black Man” to his face. “Fine old men they were. I’m mighty proud to have been a part of the whole affair.” The Old Man’s eyes were wide with exclamation. “Every one of them rode the rails in their day. Each one of them was hand picked after the draw to make that last run. Only the best, and for some of them it would be the last time they would ever travel the rails. ” It looked to Steve that the Old Man’s eyes had a slight tear inside.
The Old Man got up and reached for the pot on the stove. He started to pour some coffee. A loud, short blast came from the engine up the tracks. He quickly set the pot back on the stove and turned off the burner. “You better be gettin yourself off now boy.” Two more loud short blasts came from the engine. “Time for me to be gettin back to work. Unless you plan on buyin’ a ticket!”
The Old Man set down his cup on the table and followed Steve out the back of the Caboose and out onto the gravel next to the tracks. The Old Man waved his arm up and down a couple of times, then jumped back onto the back of the caboose and disappeared inside. A long loud blast on the horn from the engine and the train jerked forward. As the train pulled away, Steve smiled, remembering the Southbound Steam Locomotive he told his parents about when he was a little kid.
That was the same year Steve had his tonsils removed.