2000-01-29 - 00:24:10

A SORTING DAY

we were going through a chest of old family keepsakes today (friday). we came onto my report cards from jr. high school, which brought me a lot of memories and names of forgotten but respected teachers.

along with the cards were a few telegrams which really jogged a long forgotten memory. as a little boy, living a few blocks from the santa fe train tracks i was entranced by trains and engines. i would wave at the men in the cab and the engineer or fireman would wave back.

in the winter time on a cold night it would sound as if the train was going through the front of the house. and that long, mournful whistle would leave tears of despair on the floor.

i utterly hated and despised winter cold and darkness, and i had itchy feet which had honed sharp claws by visits to grandmother in new mexico.

in jr. high school the combination of the aforementioned items worked on me like yeast in bread dough. when we would have a few warm days in march, and i was tired of the classroom, the whistle of a passing train going south would tell me, "doug, doug, it's warmer down south. eventually it would become too much for me and a partner in crime caught a freight train going south and wedged ourselves under an overhang of power poles. we got cold but were somewhat protected from the wind by the load. after a long, long timed (to us) the train slowed and stopped, we hopped off to evade the railroad bulls and found ourselves in raton, new mexico. we weren't on the street too long before we were picked up by the cops and taken to the jail. we were put into a cell because we wouldn't give our names. after a lousy supper and a more or less sleepless night on an uncomfortable cot, and a terrible breakfast we were taken into the office of one of the top cops in town who soon peacefully talked us out of our names and addresses. my dad was telephoned and he drove down and picked us up. sternly and silently we rode with him back to our homes, we knew we didn't dare say a word. deep in our gut we were thankful to be going home even though we feared punishment.

well, back in school and finally after a long period of home probation things began to ease off, peace was rampant and my grades were coming up a notch or two.

i went mostly the next winter, which was a severe one. one sunny day in early march when i just knew we were going to have more winter, the old screaming imp in my head urged me to head south again. it just had to be sunnier and warmer south of where i was. my buddy and i took off again, this time we were in a boxcar and it was a little more comfortable. the ride seemed a lot longer than the time before. when the train stopped we hopped out and out ran the railroad police and made it into town. it was dust bowl days and the wind was persistant, when you would open your mouth to talk and closed it again the dust would grate as your teeth met.

this time we had a bit of money, ate and looked for work. of course in the depression ,em were desperately seeking work. so even scut work and errands were non existent. we scrimped and managed to eat, we found an empty garage to bed down, thinking we would find some kind of work.

we didn't. the wind blow dust, probably, gave me a cold and a hacking cough and i a day or two pleurisy.

between us we decided that we were on a hopeless mission. my buddy wouldn't call his day and the onus was on me. we had enough for me to to telegraph my dad with some cash left over. we drifted around, bedraggled, forlorn kids and kept checking back at the western union office. almost quitting time the answer came back to us. it was from our fathers, "you boys made it to amarillo on your own, guess you will have to return the same way, you are welcome at home."

bummer ! after a miserable night in that cold dusty garage we crawled out and went to the crummy ulcer gulch near where we were and had hot coffee and pancakes, couldn't afford eggs. walked across town to the highway going north and started thumbing. after an hour or two we decided the only way we would get a ride is to split up. i went about a mile down the road and started thumbing. after about a half hour my buddy waved to me from a car window as he went toward home. pretty soon i snagged a ride in a jouncy old truck.

my ride home was pretty uneventful, when one ride would diverge from the northern direction i managed to hitch a ride before long. one car i remember the two men in the car were drinking bootleg booze. i became trepidatious because of their wild talk and somewhat unsteady path. when we got to the next whistle town they bid me good by and headed off to their homes. the rest of the trip was a little more calm and i rode in a succession of cars, until i was let off a few blocks from my house. it was late at night by then, i had to wake mom and dad up to let me in.

for some weird, strange, throttled reason my itchy feet retired. my lesson learned the hard way. we had learned that south in march was not so peachy keen and warm. the "big rock candy mountains" didn't exist.

it was in later years the realization came to me how much we put ourselves at risk going off like that and how fortunate we were to be safe, sound and warm with our families. and how lucky to have the parents we did.

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