I believe it was Christmas1959, I was 5 and. he was 42. unknown at the time he only had a few years left before the cancer would take him. Soon it would be Christmas and this night we were returning to Buffalo from New York City. My father a superintendent for the Central had business in the city, he had brought me along this trip to see relatives. He promised me a cab ride in the electric on our return.
I am old now and with every passing year the memories become less clear. And so, this night maybe, if put it into words I can better remember. I write only of the beginning; how trains and Christmas, and my young father's last years all became entwined into a lifetime of memories. Feel free to share your story.
Merry Christmas my friends.
So long ago, it is very dark, late, and cold, there is excitement and joy in the night air. The Christmas season all about.
Snowing in the great city, a wet snow. Grand Central aglow, late light spilling through cathedral glass windows, an invite of warmth and dry. They emerge from the taxi curbside, the sidewalk sloppy with slush, so he carries his son; a porter brings the luggage
The little boy, holding father's hand as they make their way through doors of significance, across the expanse of polished marble. High above, the night sky, constellations painted on arched ceilings high above. Past the great clock, swept up among travelers moving quickly with purpose, then going, under the sign "To Trains", a list of stations goes by. A friendly and familiar nod by the uniformed attendant. Down the carpeted ramp. Ahead, an underground world in shades of dark and gray.
On an endless platform they walk the length of shiny gray cars "The Twentieth Century Limited" for many, the world's greatest train; alive and waiting, many are those who rush, there is hurry all about. the great train readies, waiting patiently to take her leave.
The magic arrives unnoticed. Conductors, and porters, shiny stools at the foot of platform steps, announcements broadcast, steam aimlessly drifting about, ice from earlier ...dripping. A clanging bell, whistles piercing, orders called out, it is the din of railroading, a backdrop to the main stage; below the city, in the dim sepia light it seems like chaos, but it is the nightly pageant well-rehearsed.
His five-year-old excitement overshadows his concerns as he is lifted at the waist; up to the locomotive engineer who leaning down hoists the lad by his suspenders. Frozen, in the lap of a bigger than life railroader, smelling of oil and work, and very much in charge; deliberately checking ......always checking the watch.......the watch.
A trainman calls out while swinging a lantern high and pulls the lanyard in the vestibule, followed by a screeching steam signal. The great train begins to move, lurching very slightly as the slack in the couplers take-up. Slowly at first then accelerating, a rhythmic rocking takes hold. The lighted platform disappears, a quickening pace past blurring lights of amber, green and red; colored luminescence gives up the darkness and shows the tunnel's depth. Two rails ahead converge in the distant beam of the headlight bright. With a roar the great machine drives into the earth, into the dark.
At speed now, emerging from the tunnel below the city, they take flight.
The dream began........
The future raced in.......
faster and....faster.......
