Railroad Man (13 page)

The next year, Flo went to driving school and learned how to wreck a car. I rode shotgun whenever I could to protect my investment and my wife. When Flo was behind the wheel, her lead foot led the way. Backing out of the garage to the street was an impossible task for Flo.

“Easy does it. E-a-s-y,” I said, guiding Flo up the driveway.

“You don’t need to do that. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been to sch…”

Flo had stopped watching the mirror, but her foot stayed engaged. The sound of the car scraping down the side of Ackerman’s picket fence made my skin crawl. I jumped out of the car in time to see Katleen Ackerman, a big busty woman who reminded me of a sumo wrestler, pound down her back doorstep.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she yelled in a gruff, manly voice.

“Oh, Katleen, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the repair,” I stammered.

Katleen pointed to Flo climbing out of the lopsided car. “Damn right you will. And you need to keep her away from the wheel.”

The old Flo I hadn’t seen in years flew back at her. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you just get your lousy ass back inside?”

“
My lousy ass? I’ll come over there and string yours up, missy.”

Katleen looked at the fence that separated her and Flo. She bounded up the side of the fence to reach the front end. Jim’s teenage boy, who took after his mother in size, stepped out on the front porch.

“
Hey Ma, take it easy!” he yelled.

Katleen’s head jerked when she heard her son’s voice. She gave Flo another hard look and went inside with her son.

“
Whew! I’m glad he came out and called her back. I don’t know how I would’ve pulled the two of you apart.”

Flo snarled, “What do I care? She’s just a fat old bitch.”

I slid past Flo and climbed into the driver’s seat. “She may be a fat old bitch, but she lives ten feet away from us. You need to get along.”

Flo flopped her hand at me and walked off.

***

The city widened the street that year and paved over the streetcar rail. The wider street enabled Flo to park on the street instead of tackling the driveway and garage. When Flo started driving, all the parking tickets and stop sign citations in Atlanta couldn’t keep her off the streets. She spent her days shopping or at the beauty parlor. She took up smoking and hung around the Five and Dime lunch counter thumbing through magazines. Flo’s interest in fashion, movie stars, and her own beauty bored me.

Flo was usually sitting on the emerald green sofa dressed to go out when I came home from my weekly run. She would say, “Mick, let’s go dancing at that new nightclub in Buckhead.” Or “Mick, there’s a brand-new restaurant I’ve been just dying to try.” And “Mick, don’t you just love this new suit? It’s the latest from Tops downtown.”

A meaningful word hadn’t passed between us since our daughter’s death. Flo had lost interest in keeping me satisfied. We bickered or ignored each other. She started sleeping in the bedroom with the frosted oak furniture and rosebud wallpaper.

In the late ’40s, the railroad industry issued a mandate to eliminate the use of steam engines. They said the old steam engines were too expensive to operate and maintain. The switch from steam to the diesel-electric locomotive threatened jobs and the security we had all become accustomed to as railroad men. The new engine did away with short lines and the men that ran them. The introduction of the diesel engine cut out the blacksmith, fireman, brakeman, and boilermaker. Whistle stops and maintenance shops began to shutdown.

The federal government took over the operation of the railroad. Our new boss overrode the union before I had the opportunity to attend my first meeting. Angry men who feared for their jobs were forbidden to strike. All we could do was wait and see where the chips fell. I was fortunate that fate fell in the right direction for me.

I was assigned to run the Georgia-Alabama Line. My engine could pull large amounts of freight that would be broken off later at smaller stations. Two men instead of five could handle the run. Jim Ackerman and I were assigned to the same engine. We left for training in Chattanooga in January, 1948.

Chapter IX

Georgia-Alabama Line

1948

We sat in a class of forty men listening to a General Motors representative explain the workings of an electric generator that could provide enough electrical current to generate 64,000 pounds of thrust. The inner workings of electric generator and traction motors fascinated me. The new diesel engine would make my job easier and more interesting. Less noise and no soot in my ears sounded like a good trade-off to me. I paid close attention to instructions on how to use the new throttles and manage the modern control panel. Sitting in that class, I felt prouder than ever to be a railroad man. Stepping into the new railroad age excited me and was the best thing that ever happened in my career. I felt sorry for the men who didn’t have the same opportunity that I did.

The railroad put us up in a group of cabins near the station. Assigned to the same cabin and the same line, it looked like Ackerman and I would become joined at the hip. We’d work our line, eat, and bunk down together. He was a good sort and had seen me through some bad times. I had nothing against sharing a room with the old guy. But our day ended at four o’clock, and I could see that the winter nights were going to be long.

“
Say, old buddy, I’ve got some relatives down around Huntsville. I haven’t seen them in awhile. I’d like to hop the passenger train down and stay with them instead of bunking in the cabin.”

Ackerman’s right cheek bulged out as he chewed his burger. “You mean you’re going to leave me stranded with nobody to play cards with?”

“
Well, you know we’re going to be here for a while. That cabin is pretty nice. Maybe you’ll meet a sweet dish.”

Ackerman wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Uh-uh, not me. I stay true to my Katleen.”

“
Suit yourself, old buddy,” I said, as I swung around to the pay phone on the wall next to the booth.

I dialed O for the operator. “Riverside… Kilmer…That’s it.”

Her voice floated through the line. My heart skipped a beat. “Marianne, it’s Mickey. I’m in Chattanooga for a few weeks, training and all. Can you meet me at the Huntsville station at five?”

“
Yeah, right. Okay, I’ll see you then.”

I placed the handset on the telephone back in its pocket. I sat back down to finish my lunch. I knew that Ackerman was hanging on every word, but I ignored him. I didn’t care about anything in those days but learning my new job and finding a glimmer of joy in life. The only joy I’d ever known was a freckle-faced redhead with green eyes that could look into my soul.

Ackerman shook his head. “Looks like you’re looking for trouble, Mick.”

I took a swig from my Tru-Ade bottle. “Jim, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

***

The passenger train stopped at the Huntsville station ten minutes before five. She waited for me, leaning against a dark green Ford truck waiting beside the station. Her lean body looked like a teenager’s in Wrangler blue jeans, a plaid western-style shirt, and boots. A bright red scarf tied snugly around her neck set the thick red hair on her shoulders afire. I thought of all the times I’d stood outside that building, remembering the last time I saw her, wondering if I’d ever see her again.

An hour later, I sat at Marianne’s kitchen table eating a bowl of collard greens and a block of cornbread. She lived four miles off the main road in a plain A-frame farmhouse with a wide front porch. Her kitchen appliances dated back to the days when I used to visit her parents’ home. I felt the old resentment toward Uncle Johnny Mack rise in me when I saw how she lived and thought about all I could have given her. While Flo sat in a comfortable home with modern conveniences, Marianne had to make do in a cold, old farmhouse.

Marianne came in the back door. She warmed her hands over the woodstove and poured a cup of coffee. She sat across from me, refilled my cup, and pulled a thick wrap around her shoulders. The wrap was blue and yellow; the zigzagged pattern reminded me of something Indians would wear in the cowboy movies.

“
Ooo, it’s cold out there. The dogs are fed and settled in their pen for the night. I pen them up because a bobcat prowls around here at night.”

“
Yeah, you’re pretty far from the main road. Don’t you get scared out here?”

She shrugged. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

I looked at the steam rise from the warm cup and form a vapor as it hit the cold air. “I thought your husband had money.”

Marianne half-smiled. “No. He had land.”

“
How do you live?”

Marianne jumped up and opened a cabinet. “Hey, can I get you anything else? I have some oatmeal cookies I baked yesterday.”

I nodded. “Sure, I’ll take one. But, Marianne, how do you live?”

Marianne scrunched her forehead and said, “Mickey, why do you care about how I live? You call me up out of the blue and ask me to meet you. Well, you’re here. It ain’t Atlanta, but I’m happy to share what I have.”

I waved my hand gently. “Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”

Marianne returned to the table and plopped a jar the color of Georgia clay between us. “I have two tenants who rent the land. They grow tobacco and corn. It’s enough to pay the taxes and make ends meet. I don’t need a lot to live. I grow my own food and live on the land that was left to me.”

She pulled a cookie from the jar, and I did, too. I inspected the handles that stuck out like ears on each side. Oval eyes, a pug nose, and a mouth outlined on the front laughed at me. I twirled the jar around to find a curly tail springing up in the back.

I chuckled. “Did you make this?”

She blushed and flashed her perfect teeth. “Yep. That was what I call an experiment.”

I looked closer. “A monkey, right?”

Marianne laughed out loud this time. “I’m glad you can, at least, tell what it is. I’ve made better pieces.”

We looked at each other, ate cookies, and drank our coffee in silence. I reached over and wound one of her red curls around my finger. It fell loose on the wrap. She looked at the table, embarrassed. I pulled my hand away.

“
That’s an interesting wrap. It reminds me of something you’d see in a cowboy movie. I like cowboy movies.”

Marianne smiled. “Me, too.”

She pulled the wrap tighter. “I made it. I have a loom. Clyde built it for me. Come on. I’ll show you the rug I made for the sitting room.”

Across the drafty hallway, Marianne opened the door to a sitting room and an adjoining bedroom heated by an oil stove. The bright colors of the warm room drew me in. A diamond-patterned rug covered the floor. It was set in alternating colors of blue and rust on a gold background. I reached down to touch the fabric and felt the weight of it.

“
Marianne, this is beautiful. I can’t believe you made this, that anyone could make something like this. How long did it take you to make it?”

Marianne looked at the rug as if searching for the answer. “I worked on it about three months in my spare time.”

I looked up at the pieces of pottery in different shapes and sizes scattered around the room. She painted vases with linking vines and intricate floral designs. The pots displayed bold splashes of color.

I smiled, feeling as proud as I would have if they had been my own work. “This must be your work.”

Marianne bit her bottom lip the way I remembered her doing so many years before. She nodded.

I touched a raised flower, a pink dogwood bloom on a sapphire pot. I turned to see a wall covered in watercolor prints of Tern Lake carefully protected under glass frames. I shook my head, trying to find words to describe the beautiful artwork that filled the room.

“
It’s just, just lovely. You are so talented. Mother said you’d find a way to be happy here. I see that she was right.”

Marianne nodded. “Thank you. I have found happiness here.”

I slept in a cold room that night at Marianne’s, but her warm presence in the house made the old farmhouse feel like home. Every evening that week, she waited for me at the Huntsville station. The next two nights, we stopped at a roadside café to get a bite to eat. We drank coffee and got to know each other again until the owner put the closed sign in the front window. The last night, we saw a cowboy movie and laughed all the way home.