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Choo Choo Tales

The Source

I was standing next to the Channel 20 cameraman during President Carter’s visit to Jacksonville, and in the middle of the shoot we heard a train whistle. The train tracks are some distance from IC where the TV crew was shooting, but it was a humid morning and the sound was plainly audible while the reporter was laying out the details of the President’s visit. After he’d finished and the camera lights clicked off, the camera guy said, “Damned trains. Do you have them all the time over here?” I told him that yes, the trains seem to run on the tracks and someone laid tracks straight through Jacksonville, but I was curious. I asked, “Don’t you have trains in Springfield?” The guy thought a brief moment then said, “Yeah, I guess we do. I just never notice them.” And so it goes. If we live around a train line long enough we sort of forget it’s there. I live a long block from the train tracks traversing the Arenzville hill, and I have their schedule memorized: They come chugging and tooting through exactly two seconds after I get on the phone. It’s like magic, man. But I’ve never seen a passenger train pass through Arenzville and that’s a pity. Train travel has decreased rapidly over the past decades, despite the government’s dream to make Amtrak the thing of the future. If you’re a numbers person, we rank about 12th in the world in terms of railroad riders. China and India lead the pack with numbers that blow the top off the passenger cars. Springfield now plans to become one of the hosts of high-speed rail, but the verdict is still out on that one. It seems that everyone likes trains; they just don’t like them in their neighborhood. One of my spring highlights used to be the night when I’d pick a carload of especially nice Triopia seniors, tell them to dress up, and I promise to take them out to eat. I wouldn’t disclose our destination. We’d pull into the parking lot of Springfield’s Amtrak station and their eyes would open wide. “I’ve never been on a train before!” “We’re going to Chicago? I told my folks we’d be back early!” I’d herd their disbelieving butts onto the train as we began what was for most of them their first railway adventure. Actually, we’d only go as far as Lincoln, Illinois, where there used to be a nice restaurant at the depot. We’d eat, take a short walking tour of the town, and then catch the return train to Springfield with memories of adventure still clacking along in our heads. And I’ll confess to one little trick we’d pull as the train eased its way into the station. Since my high school group consisted mainly of kids with theatre experience, I’d send two of them to walk back through a couple of cars as we approached the station. I instructed them to get off the train as soon as they could, run through the front of the station then straight to the platform just as the rest of us were debarking. When they’d see us the two actors would start shouting, “There they are! There they are! I can’t believe they’re in Springfield!” and they’d run up to us asking for autographs. The reaction of our fellow passengers was priceless. They had no idea who we were, but it was obvious that we were extremely famous. Okay, a sleazy trick but no one ever got hurt and it gave my students a few moments of celebrity, albeit artificial. My sister-in-law once organized a Girls’ Day in Chicago as she and a covey of Jacksonville gals climbed aboard Amtrak one morning with tickets in hand to see the Oprah Winfrey show. She said that when they boarded in Springfield the conductor said, “You gals going to see Oprah?” and their Chicago taxi driver asked the same question. Apparently every group of five or more women going north in those days was headed for Oprah. I’ll admit that I’ve spent a lot of time traveling on trains in Europe and Asia, but I seldom avail myself of U.S. rail. I guess this is because when I’m in Moscow or Paris I don’t have my Nissan with me. My quick train rating goes something like this . . . Switzerland: the very best, Germany: darned good, France: good if you know where you’re going but God help you if you have to ask for help, England: antiquated but cute, Italy: take the bus, Russia: take out insurance and carry a weapon. Still, there remains something vaguely romantic and adventurous about train travel and if they ever put in a commuter line between Arenzville and the Jacksonville Square I’ll be the first customer.