Amerikai Magyar Szó, 1986. július-december (40. évfolyam, 27-49. szám)
1986-12-04 / 46. szám
Thursday, Dec. 4. 1986. 8. AMERIKAI MAGYAR SZO It was a good robust wine. A second glass was already on my mind. I thanked Mr. Janka and said, "If I die by drowning, I hope it's into a big barell of your wine." *Thank you, Johnny. Let me pour you another glass." I was aglow and happy, despite the tardiness of my sister and her husband. Mr. Janka had to leave, wishing me a Merry Christmas and more of that fine wine over the holidays. After five, I was peeved and helped myself to a third glass. When that was downed I was getting angry, because my pals came by and told me where to join them if I could get away soon. It was six when I poured my fourth glass, either to calm my anger or because the Hungarian wine tasted so delicious. By the time the folks came home, the baby was asleep and I was past anger and very woozy. I reported the afternoon's events and pointed to the glorious wine. It was now short of a gallon and my brother- in-law stormed. "My father always brings a full gallon of his best wine for Christmas. Did you and your buddies drink a lot of it?" Rather than argue, I ran upstairs to my room, put on my sheepskin coat, woolen cap and leather gloves. No one in the kitchen noticed my departure as I slipped out the front door. It was snowing heavily, with large wet flakes and the wind was blowing fiercely. Too late for the planned evening with my pals, I headed downtown and somehow walked or staggered to the Union Depot. I asked the ticket agent when the next train was due. He looked strange when I said it didn't make any difference where it was going. It turned out to be the St. Louis Limited, with the next stop Indianapolis and a brief stop at Richmond to take on water. That was a 100-mile run and a brilliant idea came to mind. In my billfold was a brief love letter, with the address of a girl I met in August while hitch-hiking through Indiana. Three of us went to the Hoosier melon fields to earn more money than we made as caddies at the city golf course. Stuck for a few hours waiting for a lift, we met two pretty girls living nearby. I can still taste the delicious KoolAid that Ann gave me with a charming smile. We exchanged addresses just before catching our ride. That was the beginning of a mail romance. About Thanksgiving my letter was returned, undelivered. Now my Christmas Eve escape from the shame of drinking someone else's gift wine took on a purpose. I would find Ann and rekindle our summer love. At the station platform when the crack train pulled in from Columbus, unloaded and loaded passengers, I waited for the train to start. "All Aboard!" boomed the conductor. As the wheels began to turn, the conductor grabbed a handrail and swung aboard the moving train. I darted out from behind a pillar and grabbed the handrail at the back of the coal tender, swinging up to the "blind", a narrow platform with eight or ten inches for standing room. Behind the steam engine was the coal pile and water tank. Next was the first car, usually for mail and baggage. The "blind" was in the center and front of that car. So "riding the blind" came to signify riding on the only place available outside a passenger train, while "riding the rails" meant riding on a freight train. Most hoboes who rode the "blind" were Gojack Children 1919. Catherine, John, Michael (chair) and Andrew in a hurry to get nowhere in particular. These were mostly young men and a few daring boys. Riding the "blind" was considerably more dangerous, which added to the romance. Those who stayed on the slower and safer freights were scorned by the elitist fast travelers on passenger trains. Having done this many times, it was easy even in icy weather. Still heady from the wine, I felt great at once more being a non-paying guest of the Pennsy Railroad. But as the engine picked up speed the wind began to cut fiercely and it threatened to be a brutally cold ride. As we crossed Wolf Creek I saw people on the Summit Street bridge and then noticed Pop's house. For a moment I thought it would have been wiser to go to Pop's instead of the Pennsy Station. Until then I was still aglow from the wine, but that euphoria was gone a few miles later as we passed the Dayton Rubber Company. Beyond were open fields, cutting winds.and a driving snow that blotted out all sights except the coal car a few feet in front of me. A new danger developed when the moisture from the smokestack wet the iron I was holding. Freezing, my gloves stuck like glue to the iron. I had to hang on with one hand and alternate them frequently. Despite wearing two pair of woolen socks in my heavy work shoes, my feet started to feel numb. Long before we reached the Richmond water stop, I wondered if anyone could live through this bitter cold. I moved from one side to another to avoid the strongest winds. Now I wondered if I could hang on until Richmond, let alone Indianapolis. At times I could not see. Steam from the engine often blinded my view. Then a blast of icy snow would blot out the ladder rungs in a scary white-out. When I realized it was not possible to hang on much longer my tears were blinding, even when the steam and snow blew away from me. I was wailing like a baby at the thought of my impending death. "Oh, God, don't let me freeze," I screamed. "If I fall, those cold iron wheels will grind me up in seconds." My earlier plans for the Priesthood had been given up on meeting pretty girls like Ann, but I still held the faith of my fathers and now prayed fervently as never before. Realizing that fighting to live was better than waiting for doom, I started to climb the ladder to the water tank. This seemed to take ages because my hands were like blocks of ice. With my gloves frozen, fingers could not be bent and at times it was necessary to use my elbows to hold on to the rungs. Finally I reached the top and tumbled onto the water tank. There I crouched into a ball, still freezing but out of danger of falling between the wheels. Suddenly it seemed warmer, as the train slowed down and rolled to the water stop. The fireman climbed up the coal pile. Reaching for the water spout, he noticed my frightened, shaking and nearly-frozen body. "What are you doing out on a night like this? Are you crazy, kid?" he shouted above the noise of the engine. "No," I yelled. "I'm just going to Indianapolis for Christmas." He told me to stay put while he finished king on water. Then he ordered me to slide down the coal pile into the cab. I began to thaw out as he shoveled more coal into the firebox. "Can you believe this kid has been riding the blind since Dayton, in this blizzard, on Christmas Eve," the fireman yelled to the engineer. They moved closer to exchange some words out of my hearing. "Are you hungry, boy?" they chorused. "Hungry?' I could eat the ass end of a pig if you’d help me catch it." Out of a lunch box came the most delicious ham and cheese sandwich, on dark rye with onion, that I have ever tasted. Is that why ham and cheese on rye became my favorite sandwich? Next came a big piece of apple pie, washed down with good, strong, hot coffee. With a warm body once again and a full belly, I gained a soft spot in my heart for the Railroad Brotherhoods. With heartfelt thanks, I wished them and their families the best Christmas ever. As we slowed down for the Indy station they gave me directions to Ann's street, which was not far away. Coal dust and soot were washed off in the station men's room. Now sober but excited, I walked fast down the cold, deserted streets. Arriving at my destination, I found only empty lots instead of Ann's house. While I was frantically double-checking street signs in the stiU-falling snow, a police car drove up. They listened to my story. "That block of small old houses was razed," they said. "You'd better stay the night at the Salvation Army." They were kind and drove me there, feeling sorry for this cold ghost of a boy. The Sally procedures were known to this seasoned traveler of sixteen, who had booked into many throughout the country. Registration, shower and delousing went quickly and it took only seconds to fall asleep on that luxurious army cot, with sheets and warm blankets. Early breakfast was strong coffee, buttered bread and hot oatmel. Christmas morning went fast, playing checkers, cards, thumbing through old magazines and swapping tales with older homeless men. Experienced hoboes had long since gone south.
