Mill Pond

The correct order of our earliest memories is often a jigsaw puzzle rather than a chronological mural. For some strange reason three events compose the first big pieces of my retrievable data base.

When WWII ended, I can remember the entire neighborhood pouring onto the streets with shouts of joy and relief. Older kids banged garbage can lids together. From the third floor of a nearby apartment building twin effigies of Hitler and Tojo were suspended by ropes around their necks. Years later, I graduated from college and started a 20 year military career.

At age four I distinctly recall an aunt and uncle taking my slightly older cousin and me to a basketball game. I can recall the players wearing knee high socks, using a basketball with laces, and during each time out they would sit around their respective free throw circles. I do not know who won or who even played. I have loved the game of basketball ever since.

Somewhere between the ages of four and five, I caught my first fish, a small bass, using one of my grandfather’s cane poles. My grandfather, on my mother’s side, never owned a store bought rod and reel. I have in my possession what is thought to be the inside portion of his faithful companion minnow bucket.

The location of that first catch was at the tail end of a pool of water that slowed after making a rushing, bubbling sound over a small dam that corralled a small river which once powered a water wheel grist mill. Hence, the name Mill Pond. An oscillating suspension foot bridge crossed the Mill Pond from the old mill to a house on the opposite side. Even though I returned to the Mill Pond many times, I never attempted the certain walk of death across the frightening bridge. All diseases start somewhere. My now terminal fishing infection was contracted at the Mill Pond and my grandfather served as a willing enabler for many years.

I'm hooked !

MAY ALMIGHTY GOD FORGIVE THIS NATION

THE FOLLOWING URL IS EXTREMELY UPSETTING. WE MUST BE ON THE VERGE OF GOD'S HOLY WRATH:
http://www.ajc.com/news/news/national/safe-haven-baby-boxes-installed-indiana/nrHyW/


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

WHO SAID IT WOULD BE EASY?

I HAVE HEARD, AND SAID, "GETTING OLD IS NOT MUCH FUN!"


THE SIMPLE, PROFOUND TRUTH JUST HIT ME THIS MORNING WHEN I GOT UP:


"WHO SAID GETTING OLD WAS EASY?"


ANSWER: "NOBODY!"


I AM CONSOLED BY THE FACT THAT GETTING OLD BEATS THE ALTERNATIVE !!!


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

VIRTUAL KEYBOARD

WOW! CHECK IT OUT !
http://coolpile.com/gadgets-magazine/keychain-ctx-virtual-keyboard


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

UFOS: OURS? THEIRS? THEM?

THE URL BELOW IS ONE OF THE BEST FILMS ON THE SUBJECT OF UFOS:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGMGOdKOPKk


I HAVE FOLLOWED THIS TOPIC FOR SEVERAL YEARS AND HAVE CONCLUDED SOME OF THE REPORTED SIGHTINGS ARE REAL UFOS---NOT A HOAX !


MY CONCLUSION IS THAT THERE ARE  ONLY 3 LIKELY EXPLANATIONS:


1. OURS---CONSTRUCTED AND CONTROLLED BY U.S. CITIZENS OR OUR FRIENDLY ALLIES.


2. THEIRS---CONSTRUCTED AND CONTROLLED BY CITIZENS OF NATIONS HOSTILE TO THE U.S. AND OUR ALLIES.


3. THEM---CONSTRUCTED AND CONTROLLED BY BEINGS NOT OF THIS PLANET.


WHAT DO YOU THINK????


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

IT WASN'T REALLY ALL THAT HARD

THE FOLLOWING WAS PRINTED BY THE SHAWNEE NEWS-STAR MAY 1, 2016. THIS WAS BEFORE THE PRIMARY ELECTION IN INDIANA MAY 3, 2016. WHEN THE "HOOP" STORY BROKE I KNEW MR. CRUZ HAD FOULED OUT OF THE GAME!

A HOOP IS A HOOP—NEVER A RING

“Five…Four…Three…Two…One…  let’er fly  (Pause) in and out.”

That is a line of dialogue spoken by alcoholic Shooter ( Dennis Hopper) in that wonderful movie—“Hoosiers.”  Shooter is explaining to Coach Dale (Gene Hackman), the new Hickory high school basketball coach how Hickory came so close in winning the Sectional Tournament several years earlier. It was Shooter who took that almost winning shot. The implication is that basketball is so important in Indiana, before the current class system, that almost winning shot drove Shooter to the bottle and near destruction.

Ted Cruz’ attempted to identify with Indiana voters when he tried to invoke the underdog can still win persona. Only problem is Mr. Cruz committed the Indiana equivalent of the unpardonable sin by referring to a basketball hoop as a “ring.” Basketball players, coaches, parents, and fans have a cult-like devotion to their Indiana high school and the game itself. They will permit praise to other teams and players as long as you know what you are talking about. The only time a “ring” and basketball go together in Indiana is the awarding of Championship Rings to winners.

Ask any person, regardless of current age, who has ever played basketball in Indiana if they could somehow turn the clock back for 24 hours what time would it be. I am not a prophet or the son of a prophet but I will hazard a guess that a good share would remark, “Friday night, age 17, playing Indiana high school basketball just one more time.” That’s how important basketball is in Indiana.

Little things mean a lot in presidential campaigns: A sweating Richard Nixon in his debate with JFK; a leather-helmeted Michael Dukakis sticking his head out of an open tank turret; rapist Willie Horton in a 30-second Bush ad and Walter Mondale’s biting reference to Ronald Reagan‘s old age and Reagan’s rapid response in saying he would not hold Mondale’s youth against him! The voters in Indiana will soon signal to all whether Cruz’ gaff of calling a hoop a “ring” should be added to this list.

In most states, Cruz’ gaff would not make the evening news. However, in Indiana, calling a hoop a “ring” could be the final almost winning shot.

GLENN <><

JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

NO BUDDY---THAT JUST AIN'T TRUE !!!!!!

WHEN WELL-MEANING PEOPLE GET MENTAL VERTIGO THEY CAN'T DETERMINE UP FROM DOWN. THE FOLLOWING URL TAUTS DATA THAT IS NOT SUPPORTED BY OBSERVATION.


http://www.indystar.com/story/news/2016/05/01/indiana-one-top-states-demographically-resembles-1950s/83803266/


THIS "RESEARCH" MIGHT PLEASE SOME OF THE FOLKS THAT WENT THROUGH THE 1950s; HOWEVER, FOR THIS FRONT LINE OBSERVER IT IS WAY OUT OF FOCUS.


IN 1950'S AGRICULTURE ON SMALL FAMILY OWNED FARMS WAS THE NORM.
TODAY BIG AGRI-CORPS RUN THE FARMS. A COUPLE OF FARMERS IN JENNINGS COUNTY OWN/MANAGE OVER 10,000 ACRES!!!!! IN THE 1950'S MOST FARMS WERE 160 ACRES OR LESS.


TAKE A SUNDAY AFTERNOON DRIVE AND NOTICE THE COLLECTION OF HOUSE TRAILERS THAT POPULATE MUCH OF WHAT WAS ONCE FARM LAND IN THE 1950'S. THE POPULATION DENSITY AND MAKE UP IS MANY TIMES GREATER THAN THE 1950'S.


IN THE 1950'S KIDS GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL AND STAYED CLOSE TO HOME. NOW THE EXODUS GOES INTO AREAS WE COULDN'T SPELL OR EVEN LOCATE ON A MAP!


MAYBE THE BIGGEST DIFFERENCE IS THE NUMBER OF INTERNATIONAL BORN RESIDENTS NOW IN THE HOOSIER STATE. INDIANA NEEDS MEDICAL AND ENGINEERING PROFESSIONAL


INDIANA IS NO LONGER A MAGNET FOR KENTUCKIANS LOOKING FOR WORK. INDIANA IS NO LONGER A CONDUIT FOR SOUTHERNERS GOING TO DETROIT


FINALLY, THIS WILL MAKE A GOOD NUMBER OF READERS OF THIS POST VERY, VERY ANGRY---THE MASSIVE INFLUX OF PEOPLE FROM THE EAST COAST OF THE U.S. TO INDIANA HAS DRAMATICALLY ALTERED THE POLITICAL, ECONOMIC, SOCIAL, AND CULTURAL MIND SET WITHIN INDIANA.


TO ATTEMPT TO TIE THE NOW TO THEN IS VERY INACCURATE. IT JUST ISN'T SO. ASK SOME FOLKS WHO WERE HERE IN THE 1950'S. THE OLD GRAY MARE AIN'T WHAT SHE USED TO BE---NEITHER IS INDIANA.


WELL NOW, I STAND BY THESE OBSERVATIONS BECAUSE I WAS THERE IN THE 1950'S SO I GUESS I OUGHT TO KNOW !!!!
GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO 1959 MUSIC !!!!!

OF COURSE I AM PARTIAL TO 1959. I DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR THAT. HERE'S WHY:


1. GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL
2. ENTERED PURDUE UNIVERSITY
3. TURNED 18 YEARS OF AGE
4. SIGNED UP FOR SELECTIVE SERVICE
5. MOVED FROM HOME
6. LAST GREAT YEAR TO FISH GRAHAM CREEK
7. DISCOVERED REAL MEANING OF TRUTH


I CAN MAKE A STRONG CASE THAT 1959 WAS THE EPICENTER OF ROCK-N-ROLL. THERE ARE A TON OF TOP CHARTS FOR ROCK-N-ROLL AND COUNTRY SONGS. THIS URL MAYBE THE BEST PLACE TO FIND THE CHART TOPPERS. CHECK IT OUT.


https://www.google.com/search?sourceid=navclient&aq=&oq=100+greatest+hits+of+1959&ie=UTF-8&rlz=1T4PRFD_enUS642US677&q=100+greatest+hits+of+1959&gs_l=hp...0i22i30l4.0.0.0.13146...........0.oEeN_BjnBTg&gws_rd=ssl

INFO YOU MAY NOT KNOW

I HAVE DEALT WITH FUNERAL DIRECTORS IN SEVERAL STATES. MOST HAVE BEEN PROFESSIONALS IN BOTH WORD AND DEED.


THEY ARE BY AND LARGE VERY SENSITIVE AND COMPASSIONATE. ONLY A FEW THAT I HAVE WORKED WITH ARE JERKS.




MOST VIEW THEIR JOB AS A CALLING LIKE A MINISTER. THEY PUT THE FAMILIES THEY SERVE FIRST.


I HAVE A FONDNESS FOR THE OLDER FAMILY-OWNED FUNERAL HOMES IN SMALL TOWNS. THEY HAVE A LEGACY AND REPUTATION ON THE LINE AT EVERY SERVICE.




SADLY THAT IS NOT ALWAYS THE CASE WITH CORPORATE-OWNED HOMES. THEY ARE MONEY-MAKING BUSINESSES FIRST AND FOREMOST.


 I HAVE ENCOURAGED MANY FAMILY-OWNED FUNERAL HOME DIRECTORS TO ALWAYS AVOID THE TEMPTATION TO SELL OUT AND MOVE TO FLORIDA. BIG BUCKS SOMETIME TRUMP LOCAL SERVICE TO HURTING FAMILIES.


I HAVE ENOUGH STORIES OF  CORPORATE  FUNERAL HOMES TO FILL A BIG BOOK AND GET ME SUED !!! 


(HAVE YOU HEARD THIS BEFORE?)


"WOULD YOU AGREE WITH ME THAT AFTER THE LAST BREATHE, EVERYTHING THAT'S DONE IS DONE FOR THE LIVING??" (THE LARGE CORPORATE FUNERAL HOMES USE IT OFTEN !)


THE STORY OF THE CROOKED FUNERAL DIRECTOR IN INDIANA TAKING A RING FROM A DEAD BODY IS SICKENING.


SEE THIS URL: http://www.indystar.com/story/news/2015/09/29/police-funeral-director-stole-corpses-ring/73056756/


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

WHY I AM ASHAMED OF INDIANA ! v. 2.0

THE FOLLOWING URL TELLS A SORDID STORY OF AN INDIANA EDUCATION SYSTEM RUN AMUCK.


http://www.wnd.com/2016/04/what-public-schools-now-encourage-homeschooling/


TO ABANDON SLOW LEARNERS JUST TO MAKE SCHOOLS LOOK GOOD IS NOTHING LESS THAN CRIMINAL !


SINCE WHEN DO PUBLIC EDUCATORS HAVE THE RIGHT TO JETTISON KIDS WHO SEEMINGLY MAKE THE SCHOOLS/TEACHERS LOOK BAD?


THAT'S NOT THE INDIANA I KNOW ! THAT'S NOT WHAT TEACHERS I KNOW ARE CALLED TO DO! THAT'S NOT WHAT THE SLOW LEARNER NEEDS !!!


 HOLD ON TO YOUR SMART PHONE: COULD IT BE THE EAST COAST INVASION HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS ????  IF YOU HAVE LIVED IN INDIANA 20 OR MORE YEARS YOU KNOW FULL WELL WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT !!!!


NEWS FLASH FOR INDIANA TEACHERS/PARENTS: DO YOU THINK A PUBLIC SCHOOL SETTING IS REALLY WHERE A SLOW LEARNER MIGHT GET THE PROFESSIONAL HELP THEY NEED? DO YOU? I SURE DO !!!!!!


EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF HISTORY WILL REVEAL THAT MANY KIDS WHO WERE CONSIDERED SLOW IN SCHOOL WENT ON TO DO GREAT THINGS. EVER HEAR OF EINSTEIN? DARWIN? EDISON? CHESTERTON? CHURCHILL? THESE AND MANY OTHERS WERE CONSIDERED SLOW LEARNERS.


I FIND IT VERY, VERY, STRANGE THAT INDIANA JUST HAD TO HAVE MORE SPORTS WINNERS AND CREATED THE MAZE OF "A TROPHY FOR EVERYONE" CLASS SYSTEM ON THE PLAYING FIELD. NOW WE FIND THIS "WINNERS ONLY" ATTITUDE IN THE CLASSROOM !!! AMAZING! ABSOLUTELY AMAZING !!!!!!!!


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

RIGHT FRONT TOOTH

SHE SLAPPED HIM HARD, "YOU AIN'T GOT NO COUTH!"
"MAYBE SO HONEY BUT I GOT MY RIGHT FRONT TOOTH"


SHE HAULED OFF AND HIT HIM SO HARD HE SLIDE OUT OF THE BOOTH
HE GOT UP AND POINTED TO HIS RIGHT FRONT TOOTH


"I'M SO GLAD BABY I'M STILL IN MY YOUTH
AND SWEETIE I STILL GOT MY RIGHT FRONT TOOTH"


SHE CRIED AND SAID "THAT AIN'T NO UNTRUTH"
I SAID "I'D LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU HAD A RIGHT FRONT TOOTH!"


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

Letter to Indy Star editor

This may or may not see ink in the Indy Star. But it is here for all of the many readers of this Blog:

"While Oklahoma now holds my heart, Indiana holds my high school report cards. With the eyes of the nation, maybe the world, focused on the upcoming Indiana Republican Presidential Primary, all candidates should remember that basketball in the Hoosier state is beyond a religion. Calling a basketball hoop a “ring” is heresy of the worst sort. “That’s your fifth foul Mr. Cruz; have a seat!”

It is probably a sound pre-election prediction that Mr. Trump will carry the “Hickory” precinct." 

GLENN <><

JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY  

SOME THINGS IN INDIANA ARE "HOLY"

NOTICE TO ALL CANDIDATES:


SOME THINGS YOU JUST DON'T MESS UP IN INDIANA. SEE FOLLOWING URL:


http://www.newsmax.com/Politics/palin-mocks-cruz-hoosiers/2016/04/27/id/726134/


I AM NOT A PROPHET OR THE SON OF A PROPHET; HOWEVER, I KNOW YOU HAD BETTER USE THE RIGHT LINGO WHEN REFERRING TO BASKETBALL IN THE HOOSIER STATE.


"THAT'S YOUR FIFTH FOUL, MR. CRUZ!"


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

Ain't No Reason To Go Home No more

'BOUT ALL MY KINFOLKS ARE DEAD
HOME PLACE TO BE SOLD PAPER SAID


RECKON MY MEMORIES AIN'T FOR SALE
TOOK TOO LONG TO MAKE TO NOW FAIL


THE OLD PORCH IS NOW FALLING DOWN
WAS MY BED FOR STARS TO GO ROUND


LIVING ROOM VOID OF ALL MY KIN
YET MY MEMORIES ARE ALIVE AGAIN


OVER THERE I CRIED WHEN PAPA DIED
IT WAS BACK HERE WHERE MOM CRIED 


EARLIER MY KIDS LAUGHED WITH JOY
TO OPEN A SMALL BOX WITH NEW TOY


CAN'T STAND TO WATCH GOING & GONE
MY MEMORIES OF LOVE EVER LIVE ON 


I NOW DRIVE BY VERY, VERY SLOW
BET THEY DON'T HAVE WHAT I KNOW


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY   

10 WAL-MART OBSERVATIONS

I SHOP AT OUR LOCAL WAL-MART ABOUT 3 TIMES PER WEEK. WHEN WE TRAVEL WE USUALLY TAKE OUR REST STOPS AT A WAL-MART. MR. SAM HAS CHANGED AMERICA IN WAYS THAT RANK WITH HENRY FORD, THOMAS EDISON, AND RONALD MCDONALD. HERE ARE TEN OBSERVATIONS ABOUT AMERICA THAT YOU MIGHT SEE IN ANY WAL-MART:


1. All Wal-Mart shoppers have attended at least one "Come As You Are" party


2. Some Wal-Mart shoppers start "dressing down" and when they reach the 'don't care' stage they head for the Wal-Mart Smiley Face.


3. Some Wal-Mart shoppers probably think  some of the good folks at Bentonville must smoke "left handers."


4. Male Wal-Mart shoppers tell their female companion "shop as long as you want" I 'll be over in the Sporting Goods.


5. Female Wal-Mart shoppers will stick closer to their male companion shopper than a shadow and watch them like a hawk and shake their head every time he picks something up.


6. Small children will select the biggest ball and older children will pick up the smallest ball in the Toys area.


7. Several Wal-Mart cart getters are saving their money to get the latest video game.


8. A great new Horror Movie might be "Freddy Cougar meets the Wal-Mart cake designer."


9. A female driver will circle the Wal-Mart parking lot 15 times to find a parking space two spots closer.


10. The "Auto Ready" Announcer in the Wal-Mart auto center practices mumbling and mispronounces every name over three letters long.


Glenn <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

SOME SAY IT HAD TO HAPPEN !!!!

I COMMEND TO READERS OF THIS BLOG A NEW BLOG WRITTEN BY MY GOOD FRIEND WALLY MARTIN.
www.wallymartinreports.blogspot.com




THERE ARE TONS (MAYBE THATS A BIT OF OVERSTATEMENT) OF WAL-MART WEBSITES ON THE INTERNET. WALLY'S SITE IS DIFFERENT FROM ALL OF THE REST.


WALLY AND I GO WAY BACK AND HIS TONGUE IN CHEEK, HYPERBOLIC HUMOR REFLECTS HIS GOOD NATURE AND DESIRE TO MAKE EVERYDAY EVENTS A TAD MORE INTERESTING.


IF YOU RUN INTO WALLY AT YOUR WAL-MART, PLEASE GIVE HIM MY BEST REGARDS. HE TOLD ME HE INTENDS TO TRAVEL TO SEVERAL WAL-MART STORES TO COLLECT FRESH AND INTERESTING REPORTS.


CHECK IT OUT.
www.wallymartinreports.blogspot.com


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

JENNINGS COUNTY, IN "POOR FARM"

THIS POST WILL REVEAL A FEW THINGS THAT MOST JENNINGS CO., IN, READERS HAVE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK !!! WERE MY KINFOLKS POOR??


The very first time I heard about the "Poor Farm"  was when the Jennings County Fair was moved from the North Vernon City Park to its current location on what some folks called the "Poor Farm."


Accidental discoveries are often the best kind. While researching an article, I stumbled across the following URL:
http://www.ingenweb.org/injennings/pages/library/poorfarm.html


Now the part I think will have you returning to this site again, and again.


The concluding portion of this URL has the 1880 Census with names of many of the ancestors of many readers of this Blog.


The occupations are really something! Political Correctness had not been invented then.


TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT HIS URL. IT WILL AMAZE THEM AND YOU !


GLENN <><
JUST WEST OF YESTERDAY

"Now listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar" REPOST

THIS  IS A LONG POST THAT COVERS MANY YEARS OF MY EARLY LIFE. IT IS ABOUT TRAINS. TRAINS WERE STILL VERY IMPORTANT WHILE WE WERE IN PCHS.

                     “Now listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar”

                     (from Roy Acuff’s signature song: “Wabash Cannon Ball”)  

                           Early Recollections Of Railroads ---By Glenn C. Peck   

 My first awareness of long distance traveling was riding on a train. I can still recall my infatuation with the water coolers and the white, cone-shaped paper cups. For years, even in high school, we had a water bucket with water from a hand-pumped well and a common use dipper. My father never owned an automobile until I was six years old. My mother never learned to drive. Further, it was 1965 before my parents had plumbing and bathroom facilities installed in their house. I had lots of fun telling my Air Force friends, “Got a letter from home today. Mom said they had a fire in the bathroom but thank goodness it never spread to the house!”

My mother’s parents lived several years in a small, rural Lincoln County, Kentucky house that was less than 100 yards from a major railroad track. When the passenger trains, first steam engines and later the diesel powered engines, would rumble by at window rattling speed I would often wonder where did the lucky travelers come from and where are they going? The passenger trains were so frequent and reliable the locals used them as an unofficial time standard.

 No matter how many nights I slept there I would always be awakened in terror when coal-carrying freight trains from Eastern Kentucky mines would violently announce their presence and would fly by with Doppler producing efficiency.

On very rare occasions, my cousins and I would venture out and walk the ties that supported the rails that were always eye lid- narrowing bright. Yes, we tried the penny on the tracks routine. We never could find our penny after the train passed. Not a speck of green was to be found on the constantly maintained road bed. The road bed gravel was of the same size and never seemed to attract dirt or lubricants from the trains that daily traveled on their solid foundation. Over fifty plus years later, I can still smell the unmistakable odor of the creosote-soaked ties and hear the moan of the engines and the shrill whistle of coal trains crossing the South Fork trestle.

Freight trains carried more than just coal. Some freight trains were seemingly a random mixture of box cars, flat cars, tank cars, grain cars, mail cars, work gang cars that were a depressing light grey color, and an occasional Pullman Sleeper. On other freight trains there would be a single product on look-a-like cars that seemed to stretch for a mile and pulled, and sometimes pushed, by several engines.  I recall the endless parade of flat cars carrying newly minted tanks, jeeps, and heavy artillery pieces. Other freight trains looked like a segmented snake of nothing but tank cars carrying unknown liquid products. Freight trains pulled the freight cars and the mandatory caboose. The caboose had a separate, stand alone heating stove and a Christmas tree mosaic of brightly colored lights. I cannot recall the name of the rail line that had green colored tail enders rather than the traditional bright red. I thought to myself, this is not right.

Empty freight train cars carried those restless souls that belonged to a rare bred of men known as “Kings of the Road.” I never saw the cartoon depiction of a hobo carrying his meager belongings wrapped in a red handkerchief and tied to a stick resting on his shoulder. I did see old suitcases, feed sacks, and paper boxes that safely stored the precious few earthly goods needed to sustain life for one more day and night. Most hobos travelled in groups. Sometimes a couple of men could be spotted leaning on either side of an open box car door and smoking a cigarette. I once saw a quartet of “mobile gentlemen” sitting on the floor of an open box car door and swinging their legs like carefree school kids. Most hobos wore rumpled and dirty hats. I never saw a hobo with a beard, but most showed they had been AWOL from many shaves.

My most poignant memory of these Knights of the open road was a lone boy, about twelve, clutching a rope tied to the neck of his frightened collie; both were standing on a fast moving flat car. I wondered if his parents knew where he was and whether he had any idea where he was going. Where would he sleep tonight? Was he hungry? Would the police pick him up? I counted myself very lucky to have a safe and loving home.

It seems fitting that one of the tenant farms my family lived on in Southern Indiana, after we moved from Kentucky, was bordered by a railroad about two hundred yards from our house. In comparison, the trains were infrequent and few. The busiest time of the year was on the first Saturday in May, Derby Day in Louisville, KY. Many additional special passenger trains were added to transport horse racing fans to see the Run for the Roses. The road bed was so elevated, and the gravel road crossing was so steep, it was impossible to see oncoming cars or trucks. Fortunately, no head on crashes happened during our stay. Long after we moved, the owners moved back to their house and small farm. Their teenage son reported to me he saw a car get hit by a train at that crossing, killing the elderly couple. With a morbid curiosity, I asked if he heard any screams. He replied no, but there was a large amount of dust and debris resulting from the impact.

Although we moved several times while I was in school, we never moved outside of Jennings County, Indiana. North Vernon was the largest town in the county and once had five different rail lines that transited the town. North Vernon was appropriately called “The City of Railroads.” When my parents went “to town” I would often go to the train depot and watch the trains. I loved the sound and smell of these laser-focused transportation power houses.  I never saw a freight train stop at the depot but I did see many of the passenger trains either off load mail/passengers or load mail/passengers. The high wheeled station carts were just at the right height to receive or load mail, luggage and occasional steel clad milk cans.

Sitting at rest, the steam engines spewed steam and a modest amount of nearly white smoke that was produced by coal that most likely had been mined in the hills and mountains in Kentucky or West Virginia. The steam engines always gave me the impression of a long distance race horse that only stopped because they were ordered to do so. However, this man-made, living creature was anxious to get going. Their legs seemed to be moving even when no progress was noted. The constant hissing sound gave ample testimony of the steam engines’ impatience and desire to get rolling. When the train started to leave the station, the color of the smoke almost instantly changed to black as the fireman added more coal to produce the inertia busting power needed to set this huge metal body in motion.

Diesel engines, when stopped at the North Vernon Station, seemed to possess a hypnotic, low frequency, humming sound. Occasionally, the pitch of the humming would change for a while and then switch back to the original pitch and tone. The cab crew seldom left the comfort of their clean, mobile office. On those rare on the ground sightings many of the cab crew wore work pants that would get you into any church and a short sleeve shirt, with a collar. I sometimes thought that diesel cab crews had life too easy!

 Inside the depot there was an official staleness of the air. There was too much smoke and very little evidence of cleaning. The waiting room contained a couple of long, high-backed-wooden benches that had been worn slick and shiny by years of use. There was a single narrow ticket window that housed a lone occupant who was usually dressed in a white shirt, sometimes with a bow tie. The white shirt  seemed to always need to be washed and ironed. As a youngster, I wondered why a passenger needed a string of tickets that appeared to be as long as your arm. Adjacent to this magical portal into places unknown there was a large blackboard with arrival/departure times written in chalk.

All of the passengers had on their “Sunday-go-to meeting” best clothes. A majority of the men and many of the women wore hats. Some of the men wore their, usually grey, felt hats at a rakish angle which seemed to say “don’t mess with me.”  The ladies hats were a mixture of small head covering hats that looked like small hub caps and other hats were so large they could provide shade for several people. The conductors had uniforms that seemed perfectly matched to signal their no none sense attitude. I recall they looked at their pocket watches often. I thought to myself how long do you have to practice to confidently and authoritatively shout “ALL ABOARD!” A wave of a lantern, even in the daytime, put the mass of tempered metal, and equally tough train crew, in motion as the train started slowly to exit the North Vernon Station.

But it was the engineers and firemen of the steam engines who seemed like soldiers dress for combat. The black striped grey overalls with a matching billed cap that seemed to rest several inches above the wearer’s head, work shoes that never saw polish on a Saturday night, and a mandatory red handkerchief that was either worn as a loose fitting bandana or positioned in the wearer’s back pocket with the major portion hanging free. When the cab crew disembarked from their magic carpet they carried oil cans with two-foot narrow spouts and they would walk around the engine, oiling vital parts, and they never said much to each other or anybody watching. A knowing nod of the head transmitted a cryptic message that seemed to always be understood by the other cab member. 

A young fellow’s mind can make simple, sometimes wishful, often incorrect deductions. I thought anyone can drive a car, drive a truck, or drive a tractor but a steam engine cab crew was at the pinnacle of the occupational food chain. At least three of my relatives achieved this Everest-like dream job. Interestingly, one was a female.

The epicenter and Mother Church of my train memories is the Union Station at Cincinnati, OH. Although, not yet in school, I can remember the high domed ceiling and the many murals (I called them pictures then) which seemed to be everywhere. (Later in life I learned the dome is 106 feet high and measures 180 feet in diameter. The overall concourse is 450 feet long and the station could accommodate up to 216 passenger trains per day! In addition, the Union Station today is home to several Cincinnati museums.)

My memories of the station include seeing a number of shoe shine stands being operated by African-American men—mostly grey-haired men who could produce a load pop when they snapped the shoe shine cloth; a news and magazine store with the ubitquous assortment of tobacco products; a barber shop; and hoard of “newsies” hawking the latest edition of a newspaper that contained the latest war news. Maybe I’ve seen too many black and white movies, but I have a vague recollection of young women walking about selling cigarettes and cigars. My overall memory is of a crowded station with many people walking very fast or running and the nearly continuous public address announcements of arriving and departing trains.

If those art deco walls could talk they might tell of new draftees giving their sobbing wives or girl friends a passionate kiss. Mothers, aunts and girl siblings merited a hug and peck on the cheek; Fathers, uncles, and boy siblings were limited to receiving a firm two-handed handshake before going to boot camp and then on to Europe or the Pacific Theaters of Operation. Children of the newest member of “The Greatest Generation” would huddle around Dad and hear for the umpteenth time the “mind your mother and I’ll be fine” speech. A fast walk, a final look back before boarding, a weak wave, a very deep breath and a hard swallow as this ordinary guy, and millions like him, would soon be called upon to do extraordinary things, he now steps into an unknown future and onto the already slowly departing train.


Glenn <><
Just West of Yesterday

Dr. James Eaves dead at 90

I recently learned that Dr. James Eaves, long time professor of Church Growth Evangelism at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, Fort Worth, TX, has died at age 90.


Dr. Eaves and Dr. Roy Fish, Personal Evangelism, were the main reasons I felt God directed me to attend Southwestern.


The following story never grows old:


While serving as pastor in Albuquerque, NM he led his church in weekly reciting:


"They will not seek, they must be sought
  They will not come, they must be brought
  They will not learn, they must be taught"


In my opinion, this is a great statement of the Mission and Methods of the local church.


Dr. Eaves told us that a "Lady of the Evening" was won to Christ, was baptized and sat on the very front row in his church. Some of the older women in the church started gossiping and thought the new believer was flaunting her past.


He reminded those "Holier than Thou" women that it could well be that the new believer had more of the Spirit of Jesus than they did! The gossiping stopped.


Dr. James Eaves,  R.I.P.


Glenn <><
Just West of Yesterday