My Romance with Trains
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I’m angry. It’s selfish of me, but I
worked myself up into a right little snit when I heard Amtrak is cutting
service in Havre. Please, no, not an unmanned station.
Selfish, I admit. In my personal
phone and address book, yes, I have one of those old-fashioned black books,
under “A” for Amtrak is the number for ticketing at the Havre station. I can
phone that number from anywhere, talk to a real person, one with a welcoming
voice, make my travel arrangements and know that I’ll get where I’m going with
no glitches.
About fifteen years ago, when
calling the 800 number for ticketing, I was told that there is no Empire
Builder running from Seattle to Havre. Another time, at the ticketing counter
in the King Street Station in Seattle, the agent told me that the Empire Builder
doesn’t stop in Havre. Given that kind of don’t-care misinformation, today, I
might learn there is no Havre. Try to get around those derailments, if you
will.
My very first train ride was on the
Empire Builder in the summer of ’59. Grandma took me and my sister to visit
family in Indiana. What an eye-opening experience. I loved the train. In
Chicago we caught a cab, another “first” for me, from Union Station to Dearborn
Station where we boarded the Monon to Louisville, Kentucky.
The Empire Builder was a fine train,
to my eyes, but the Monon was plush, with maroon velvet mohair-covered seats
and lace antimacassars. I remember the Monon as being a little more old-fashioned,
almost antique in comparison to the Empire Builder.
So Havre will be an “unmanned”
station. I’ve had grim experiences with those, too. One year I took the train
from Havre to Sandpoint, Idaho, another unmanned station. The train arrives around
Midnight.
The Sandpoint Station, an
architecturally lovely building, sits in the middle of nowhere. None of the
town is within walking distance in the dark. No taxi sits, motor running,
driver eager for a fare. It was nearly sunrise before I was able to find a way
to my destination and I don’t care for a repeat trip.
In China, a friend and I rode a
train from Suzhou to Hangzhou to see the tea plantation museum and a silk farm.
We were told that when the train stopped, for us to push and shove and get on
quickly. The train waited for nobody. In reality, the passengers around us were
friendly and helpful and assisted us to board.
In the back of the car was a square
cast-iron stove with a huge kettle, simmering water for tea. A woman passed
among us with teapot in one hand, about ten teacups in the other. We bought tea
for the equivalent of a couple pennies. The seats, however, were hard wooden
benches, the floor un-carpeted metal, the open windows let ash from the engine
enter the compartment. Fortunately, it
was a short trip.
I don’t want to lose passenger rail
travel. I’m not asking for the return of the cow catcher and the caboose
(though that would be nice). I just want to be able to go from Seattle to Havre
to Wolf Point and on to Chicago in comfort, with no fuss.
Come September I’ll be riding the
train from Seattle to Havre, that is, if the train still runs, if the ticket
master can find the route, if the train still stops in Havre.
I wrote this
following tribute to our train about 20 years ago:
The Empire Builder
I grew up
with that train
rumbling
across the Valley,
parallel to
the Milk River.
While out in
the fields, I’d hear
a whistle,
the Eastbound or the Westbound,
would wonder
why when the train ran late,
worry when I
heard news that the Empire Builder
had derailed
in heavy snows in Glacier
or that a
freight had jumped tracks
near Shelby
and crews worked ‘round the clock.
When Dad
sold the farm and moved to town,
he built his
house across the road from the tracks.
Freights
roared through my bedroom
when I
visited, though I slept, comforted.
Everything
seemed good when the trains
ran on time
(but I know an entire country
was
hoodwinked by that sentiment). Now I ride
that train
every year, through the mountains,
across the
plains, to home. Pinching pennies
has always
been my necessity but this year
I lived high
on the hog. I rode the luxurious
sleeper in
comfort, blanketed, fed and waited on,
my wishes
granted before they’d formed.
I was Queen
of the Road.
Sondra Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
May 10, 2018
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