Trains

I like trains. Always have. When I was a kid I had American Flyer and HO model trains. One of my favorite Christmas memories is set in Rochester, NY, at my grandparents' house. I was the first one down on Christmas morning and there, in Norman Rockwell overkill, was an electric train laid out under the tree. I was ecstatic -- at least until Grandma came down and scolded me for playing with my new toy before anyone else was up.

I like passenger trains too. When I was eight we took a train from LA to Chicago and I thought it was great, even though it was hours late. I'm old enough to remember eating dinner on a train from Vermont to Richmond: prime rib on real china at a table topped with linen, drinking wine from a stemmed glass. Ransom and I took Le Train Bleu from Paris to Nice and, though it was not at all what it had once been, it was still a romantic and charming experience.

We also took Amtrak from New York to California a few years back; it too was not great but was worth doing once. A highlight of that trip was a late night stop in a small AZ town. I wanted a picture to commemorate the greatest line in all of rock and roll: "standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see. It's a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford slowing down to take a look at me." Alas the station was closed up with nary a light on; no picture that night.

A friend of mine tells a great train story: traveling from Philly to Richmond she came across a very upset older woman. Asking how she might help, Kathy was told, "it's my husband, he's not on the train. He was in the last car and when the train separated his car didn't follow us." Kathy assured her it would all be ok and that she would help the woman contact her husband. "No, no, you don't understand," cried the woman. "He's DEAD! It's his coffin that's no longer on the train."

My friend Don and I had a sit-com moment traveling to Jacksonville in the 70s. As the attendant got us settled in our sleeper I told him where we were going and asked to be woken up 45 minutes before we arrived. I figured I'd tip him in the morning. Big mistake. After a late night of eating and drinking I slept late. The train wasn't moving when I finally rubbed the sleep from up my eyes to see that we were in . . . Jacksonville! I shouted at Don to wake up and we rushed out the door, shoeless, with bags trailing clothes. The train was already moving again as we jumped off. My Dad was standing on the platform, shaking his head, not wanting to ask.

My weirdest train tale is from MetroNorth a couple years back. I was on my way to an opening at City Opera. Ransom was conducting. Just past Stamford the train stopped and, after ten minutes, the conductor told us there was a problem and we'd be here for a while. An hour later another train pulled up next to us and we boarded that train to continue our journey. The problem? A 55 year-old man decided to show his wife and three kids how to flatten a penny on the train tracks. We came along and ran him over. Cut him in half right in front of his family! I was sad to miss the opera but you know the really sad thing: he had already passed his genes on!