The escapade had a clear connection to Dad. He’d often regaled us with tales of eluding the Santa Fe railroad dicks prowling freights looking for freeloading hobos. What was James’s motivation for coming along? I didn’t think about it.
I didn’t think about a lot of things. What were the dimensions of this fandango? I didn’t know. Would we travel all the way to Kansas City or Emporia or someplace like that before we even had a chance to jump off the train? Did I even try to scout out the entire route the tracks followed? I didn’t think about it.
The fact of the matter was that if we’d stayed with the train, we could have gone on a somewhat straight shot through Emporia and Amarillo all the way to Needles, California, one of the hottest places in the nation. I can only say that I assumed I could jump off and go back at any point along the way. It was just for a couple of hours. A walk in the park. Oh boy. What about mishaps? What if? What if? What if? I didn’t think about it.
I ran alongside the moving freight train on a level platform. Sprinting at full speed, I reached up for a handhold on the ladder at the end of the car, and at the last moment leaped to grab it with both hands and swing up, assuming all the while that James was doing the same thing on the next ladder. I scrambled up the ladder to the roof of the car. Then, on all fours, I crawled along the roof to the next car thinking I’d suddenly be confronted with a tunnel that would scrape me off the top to oblivion.
It was a little dicey hanging off the ladder looking straight down to the railroad ties flashing by under the rails and the ladder to the next car beckoning across the chasm between cars. I hung on with one hand, stuck my foot out feeling for a rung, grabbed the ladder with the other hand and made a short jump to the next car. I was thankful for the gloves I’d thought to bring, and for the warmth of my Army parka. James had gloves, but a much skimpier coat. We were both hatless.
We joined up atop a freight car and inched along its length. The night was moonless, but we sensed the signal towers beside the tracks flying by at a quickening pace. A glacial blast of air froze the worried expression on our faces and whipped through our hair. Diesel fumes stung our eyes. A mail car materialized in front of us and we scuttled down to it, burst through the door, and fell to the floor. Out of the wind, it was still cold but not the immobilizing iciness on the roof of a freight car. It dawned on us that breaking into a mail car was illegal, and that while the interior of the mail car was a welcome relief from the cold, it rendered us blind to the landscape outside. My anxious mind conjured us locked inside this mail car all the way to Needles. We got inside all right, but had the door locked when we closed it?
“Hey, James, we can’t stay inside of this thing,” I shouted.
“I’m really cold. Let’s jump,” he said.
“Well… We do need to be able to jump when we reach Burlington.
That can’t happen inside here.”
“We’re out of the wind. I don’t want to—”
“Come on, let’s go.”
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