Classic Cars Illinois
Classic Cars Illinois Video
Classic Cars Illinois
Christmas in a Box Car
The year was the 1960th I had just moved to Chicago and I wanted to spend Christmas alone, the first ever away from my family. I had bought gifts for all and packed them carefully into two large cartons and then threw them down on the Railway Express office. I knew shipping by rail was slow, but when I was about to send too early, I knew it would all get there before Christmas.
I do not remember now what the gifts were, but I recall that each was extra special that year. As it turned out, I was able to get away after all, so I decided to drive back to Peoria and just show up at my parents' doorstep and surprise every Christmas Eve.
And they were surprised, but not as surprised as I was, or should I say, as stunned as I was to discover that the gifts never came. My reactions kept ricocheting between disbelief and disappointment, then. . I was angry, and the more I thought about it, the more unhinged I was until I was on the verge of a wild-eyed fit. My mother tried to calm me down. She did not think packages had not arrived, she was just glad I was home. It was more than enough for her. She kept saying, "Aw, do not worry about it. They will probably return them for a few days. Come on, let's get some hot eggnog." My father agreed.
Well, it was not good enough for me. I said, "Get your coats, we will train station!" My father said: "What? Why? There will be no down there Christmas Eve. "My mother said," Oh, Sharon, you just got here. Let us not worry about now. "
But they both knew what signs I had been born during and after Bullhead kicks in, there's no stopping a Taurus. Moreover, I could always smell a story in its infancy.
So all packed up and we headed for the far outskirts of town. Looking back now, I realize what good sports they had always been. . Especially at night to let me draw them out of the house on what must have seemed like an insane astray.
My father got into the swing of things at once. As we drove, he started the memories of the old same station story he had told us so many times-how once, years ago, he had seen Nat King Cole. It was late at night and Cole and his musicians had just finished to play a concert in town, and there they were, at that board at Rock Island Line and riding the rails back to Chicago. He said he remembered how tired they all looked. . . and kinda and seedy. . . Smokey, but that Cole had a big smile.
Yes, they were probably higher than a kite, but I thought it best not to mention it. Why mess his nice memories with details? Moreover, he said that every time he drove past the station, after that there was very often, he always thought of his first and only celebrity observation.
I thought about my own recollection of the Rock Island Line. They were the classic memoirs, the slight sound of a train whistle just as I was drifting off to sleep. . . it was a distant sound that seemed to come from somewhere far down the dark alley behind slag our house. About the flat prairie land in Illinois, you can hear the sound for miles before finally towed away. It was the same comforting, but kind of lonely sound, poets and songwriters often write about.
We turned the corner and pulled into the train yard and in the dim light of street lights we could see about a dozen cars lined up on the tracks … boxcars, they were called back in those days. The place so pretty dark and desolate, until I saw a little watchman's hut in the far corner of the courtyard. And there was a light on.
Now my father was really enjoying himself. Any old reason to be around trains. My mother had just come along for the ride and to make me happy, but she certainly has not the slightest thoughts of actually finding the gifts I had sent.
Someone stuck head out of the hut. I said, "Hey Look, let's go." We went to the cottage and thin guy with a crewcut turned out to be someone from my old high school. I do not remember his name, but we guard recognized each other.
I explained my story, how I had sent two cartons from Chicago 10 days ago and how they had never been reached forward, and how I had come all the way down to spend Christmas with my family, and now presents were missing and surely they must be here somewhere, probably in either of these box cars, could I please, oh, please carry cars and see if I could find them?
My mother gasped and looked at me with his mouth open as if it just had dawned on her why we were actually there. Yes, I had asked him to unlock each Wagon, so I could climb and dig around in the dark. But it seemed like a perfectly reasonable request for me. My dad just shook his head in disbelief, but he could not stop grinning. And the young man seemed to be enthusiastic about the idea!
He received a flashlight, and the two of us began to go through the first car, stumbled piles of boxes, cartons, which probably contained Christmas presents, which also had not been supplied on time.
My mother and father stood outside peering through the sliding doors, inhalation of fumes into the cold night air. I'm sure she was also sucking air through her teeth at the thought of us bother this poor young man, the lone night watchman who had to work Christmas Eve, the one that I could tell was to have fun.
We had just begun to dig through the second car when I discovered our address in one of the boxes, and then on the other. I had a squeak! It was July miracle. It seemed almost surreal, and yet something about it seemed like the most natural thing to happen.
I was so excited and so grateful. He helped us put the cartons in the back seat, and I handed him a big fat tip, and as we pulled away, we were all wearing warm fuzzy smile. We came home, opened our presents, laughed our heads off, and finally had the cup of hot eggnog.
My parents are a part of my memories now, but if the guy from Van is still around, I hope he remembers the night he became my whole July.
About the Author
Sharon Rockey is a freelance ghostwriter who focuses on numerous subjects including business, finance, culture and personal memoirs. Her online portfolio can be found at www.webspinstudios.com.
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