I remember the old song by Tennessee Ernie Ford, "Sixteen Tons." I was much too young to understand life's travails and the burdens
felt so many as they struggled to make a living and feed their families. In many cases, there was no way out for them. That is the story of "Sixteen Tons"
and, though I do not owe my soul to the company store, I feel that a part of my soul will always be with the Munoz Lines. The song kept ringing in my ears as
I spent the last day running trains over a beloved railroad.
Our railroad closed for business today and the last train ran into Munoz, it's horn blasting and the folks lined up at the station with their cameras waving good-bye.
Scene by scene, I looked at the creations that have fascinated us, the people, their expressions, the "lives" they were leading every time Ginny and I walked by.
Ginny would ask me from time to time if I thought these folks came to life in the evenings when we turned off the lights and headed up stairs. I can just imagine
non-train folks laughing at the thought that one inch figures might seem real let alone "come to life" as they did when Rod Sirling wrote "The Twilight Zone." Can't you just
imagine the conversations and the lives represented by all of those figures. I am a sentimentalist, but not overly superstitious. Eastern philosophies speak of much more
than we in the West normally accept. The thought, however fleeting, crossed my mind. How would these people feel if I did not take the time to explain that their
neighborhoods would be no more and the train would no longer be stopping? Sounds absurd, does it not? But think those thoughts, I did.
Like Tennessee Ernie Ford, I remembered building each of dozens of wooden modules in the garage and hauling them down around the back of the house and into
our lower level. With each module, the railroad grew and became more exciting. Turntables were installed, locomotives spun, roundhouses were built, tracks were
laid, trains rolled . . . My favorite trains all had a place here on the Munoz Lines. The New York Central connected with the Santa Fe. The New Haven ran right alongside
the Southern Pacific. All of the big steamers that the Union Pacific rolled out, brutishly hauling long strings of merchandise, hauled the same cars up to Munoz. The Daylight
rushed through Roseville and the City of New Orleans passed through Mattbury Yard. And the Super Chief . . . . everyone's favorite. The Super Chief, with its gleaming
passenger cars and distinctive and iconic locomotives glided effortlessly up the grade through Independence and the last leg toward Munoz Station. I found saying
good-bye especially hard as that train, the train I longed for each year as a child, slowly crept toward the bumping post. Finally, coming to a stop, I could hear the engineer
pull on the cord. A long, cold, blast . . . . . it will ring for a long time.