I love youtube and usually have it playing in my background. The other day I lucked onto the life story of Box Car Willie. I do not remember dates, but he was one of the old singers and very successful in that endeavor. He grew up in a shack with his mom and dad just a few feet from the railroad track where his dad worked. The man could make the train whistle sound and it was so authentic that it was like the train was right in front of you. And guess where that man took me? Right back to Nickerson.
The railroad ran right across Main Street from East to West. It came from somewhere and went to Hutchinson. Kind of ran parallel to Highway 50 as I recall. I have found in later years that it runs to La Junta, Colorado and turns south there and goes some where. I used to ride from Garden City, Kansas to Hutchinson with my kids when I lived in Western Kansas. But back to Nickerson.
In grade school I had a friend named Eveline. She had very black hair and eyes. Mother always said she was an Indian. I did not know. She had one sister and her name was Georgia. They lived in a boxcar that set where the water tank for the train was located. In Kansas, and I suppose all the places the train ran, there was a water tank every 7 miles. The first trains had to take on water as they were steam engines. Water had to be kept ready for whatever time the train came through. That is why all the towns are 7 miles apart. Some of them survived; some did not. Nickerson was one that did.
A lot has changed. I know many years ago there had to be a man who shoveled the coal and kept the engine running. I am sure now that if there are coal fired engines they are fed through some sort of mechanical means. Now how I got off on this tangent is more that I can figure out! What I want to tell you is how I would lay in bed at night and sometimes here the train whistle far off in the distance. It was always the loneliest sound in the world. The whistle would also bring on the howls of the wolves. Train whistles and wolves have been ingrained in my mind as long as I can remember. There is not a train track near my house now, but sometimes on a clear summer night with my windows open I can hear a faint whistle and it takes me back.
I recall when I started high school that I had to cross the tracks to get back to the road that led to my house. That road was actually a county road that ran North to Sterling. I lived one block off the highway. Sometimes the train would be lumbering through and I could stand and watch it pass. There were times that I could see men through the open door of the box car. One time there was a man setting in the open door and he waved at me. He wore overalls and he looked very sad. After that I talked to Jake Smith who lived on Strong Street and he told me about how the hobos and tramps "rode the rails." He said sometimes the "bulls" would pull them off the train and beat them to death. Not sure if that was true or not, but in my impressionable little mind, anything was possible.
Then my brother, Jake, took me around to show me some of the signs that hobos left on peoples fences or trash cans to either denote a friendly person, a mean dog, or a hot meal for the asking. They would make a mark to communicate and the other hobos knew to ask or pass that house by. I do not know if there are still hobos or not and I do not know how to find out. I do know in later years the railroad owners hired people to keep the hobo's off the trains.
Life is so sad, isn't it? Who knows what stories these men (there may have been women too) could tell. I wish I could go back in time and talk to one of them. I am pretty sure had I tried my mother would have beat me to death, but what a rich history that time was, and I was not smart enough to know it! But back to Box Car Willie. He brought the railroad to life. He brought poverty to our door and he took the history of the box car to England. He was a scruffy little man, but he could pack a house. They do not make them like that any more.
That era is gone and soon there will not be anyone to remember. Sometimes my heart is very sad that I do not have knowledge of what I was living at the time. My grand kids will never know what the outhouse was or that water had to be pumped from a well in the ground, or that the homeless people of today are the ancestors of the men who rode the rails.
Peace! and prosperity to all.
The railroad ran right across Main Street from East to West. It came from somewhere and went to Hutchinson. Kind of ran parallel to Highway 50 as I recall. I have found in later years that it runs to La Junta, Colorado and turns south there and goes some where. I used to ride from Garden City, Kansas to Hutchinson with my kids when I lived in Western Kansas. But back to Nickerson.
In grade school I had a friend named Eveline. She had very black hair and eyes. Mother always said she was an Indian. I did not know. She had one sister and her name was Georgia. They lived in a boxcar that set where the water tank for the train was located. In Kansas, and I suppose all the places the train ran, there was a water tank every 7 miles. The first trains had to take on water as they were steam engines. Water had to be kept ready for whatever time the train came through. That is why all the towns are 7 miles apart. Some of them survived; some did not. Nickerson was one that did.
A lot has changed. I know many years ago there had to be a man who shoveled the coal and kept the engine running. I am sure now that if there are coal fired engines they are fed through some sort of mechanical means. Now how I got off on this tangent is more that I can figure out! What I want to tell you is how I would lay in bed at night and sometimes here the train whistle far off in the distance. It was always the loneliest sound in the world. The whistle would also bring on the howls of the wolves. Train whistles and wolves have been ingrained in my mind as long as I can remember. There is not a train track near my house now, but sometimes on a clear summer night with my windows open I can hear a faint whistle and it takes me back.
I recall when I started high school that I had to cross the tracks to get back to the road that led to my house. That road was actually a county road that ran North to Sterling. I lived one block off the highway. Sometimes the train would be lumbering through and I could stand and watch it pass. There were times that I could see men through the open door of the box car. One time there was a man setting in the open door and he waved at me. He wore overalls and he looked very sad. After that I talked to Jake Smith who lived on Strong Street and he told me about how the hobos and tramps "rode the rails." He said sometimes the "bulls" would pull them off the train and beat them to death. Not sure if that was true or not, but in my impressionable little mind, anything was possible.
Then my brother, Jake, took me around to show me some of the signs that hobos left on peoples fences or trash cans to either denote a friendly person, a mean dog, or a hot meal for the asking. They would make a mark to communicate and the other hobos knew to ask or pass that house by. I do not know if there are still hobos or not and I do not know how to find out. I do know in later years the railroad owners hired people to keep the hobo's off the trains.
Life is so sad, isn't it? Who knows what stories these men (there may have been women too) could tell. I wish I could go back in time and talk to one of them. I am pretty sure had I tried my mother would have beat me to death, but what a rich history that time was, and I was not smart enough to know it! But back to Box Car Willie. He brought the railroad to life. He brought poverty to our door and he took the history of the box car to England. He was a scruffy little man, but he could pack a house. They do not make them like that any more.
That era is gone and soon there will not be anyone to remember. Sometimes my heart is very sad that I do not have knowledge of what I was living at the time. My grand kids will never know what the outhouse was or that water had to be pumped from a well in the ground, or that the homeless people of today are the ancestors of the men who rode the rails.
Peace! and prosperity to all.
