My grandmother’s two story “farmhouse style” Victorian on Collett Street, where I grew up, sat just two blocks east of major north/south railway lines that carried the Illinois Central trains of “The City Of New Orleans” fame. One and a half blocks north, Collett Street was intersected by the New York Central railway line. On the next street to the east, and three blocks north stood the C&EI Railway Station that took us directly into Dearborn Station in Chicago.

I shared a bedroom with my sister Sandy and my brother Steve. My parents occupied the other first floor bedroom. At the back of the house, behind the living room was the focal point of the house, a large kitchen with a formica table surrounded by matching chrome and vinyl chairs. I attribute this time in my life to the unfolding of my psychic awareness. In the wee hours of the morning I would be pulled half way out of my dreams by the aroma of bacon, eggs, coffee and black pepper wafting from the kitchen. That was the smell of my father preparing for work. Black pepper was his signature. Without black pepper, the odor of bacon, eggs and coffee could have been almost anyone else. 

From this hypnagogic state of awareness, I would be pulled from my body by the sound of freight trains coupling and uncoupling their loads in the distance. As the heavy metal wheels rolled across the tracks, they would squeal, as if to warn of the impending collision. Then came the unmistakable crash of metal upon metal, followed by a moment of silence, broken by the sound of a voice, first soft, then louder and faster. “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!” The rhythm of the rails.

To a landlocked boy on the plains of America, following the lines of the tracks as they worked their way towards convergence at the horizon, was no different than standing on the shore looking out over the ocean. At the other end, exotic places and interesting people waited to stimulate the imagination.

The C&EI depot was a favorite hangout when I was growing up. During the few moments the train stood in the station, passengers embarking and disembarking, I would survey them from the platform. Where did they come from? Where were they going? 

Put a penny on the track

Kneeling beside the cold steel

I am overcome

By the fragrance of creosote 

Putting my ear to the rail

My mother's voice warns me

Of imminent danger

Box cars

With odor of grain

Lure me inside

My stomach full of butterflies

Imagines the door closing

A secret wish to escape

To anyplace but here

The railroad men

With greased

overalls

Will take me under their wing

And we will eat supper in the caboose

I will sleep beside them

And awaken with black grease

On my body

Perhaps I will go with the sailors

In the shiny silver train

Sit in the dining car

With white linen tablecloths

Then stow away in the upper berth

Where a man with tattoos

Will hide me beneath his sheets

Standing in the dark

With red lights flashing

Bells ringing

I watch the train pull away

I take inventory of the passengers

Giving them a past

A destination