By: Keith Kappes
Columnist
Carter County Times
(Reprinted from April 2022 by request)
The news of a railroad diorama being created at the Olive Hill branch of the Carter County Public Library reminded me of the time a few years ago when I stood on the platform of an abandoned railroad passenger station watching a slow-moving freight train hauling hopper cars of potash.
The train made familiar squeaking noises as the track began to curve and the sides of the wheels rubbed against the rusting edges of the rails. Suddenly, nearly 600 miles away from my childhood home, I was having flashbacks of my carefree days playing along the railroad tracks in Hitchins.
I felt very much at home sitting there on the platform recalling my pride at being called a “railroad kid” because my father worked for the railroad and the fact that I was fascinated by trains.
My late brother and I had heard the scary tales of folks being seriously injured or even killed when they climbed onto or jumped from moving trains. As I recall, that didn’t discourage us particularly, but we tried to make sure Dad didn’t find out about our railroad escapades.
My only experience in train hazards happened when I was hit in the face when a pebble shattered under a passing train wheel. We were flattening coins on the tracks, and I was curious about what would happen to a rock under that much pressure.
Luckily, the fragment missed my eye, but it didn’t really scare me away from the tracks. That happened months later when a railroad policeman threatened to tell Dad about our activities.
I have no idea how many times I yelled to a caboose conductor to blow his whistle as a freight train rumbled through town. They were happy to oblige.
My grandmother recruited us often to help her pick “greens” growing wild beside the tracks. They smelled strange so I never had the nerve to taste them.
Seeing and hearing that train made me recall my mostly happy days as a mischievous kid growing up in a railroad town. Local trains are long gone but those sights, smells and noises are forever etched in my memory.
(Contact Keith at keithkappes@gmail.com)
