Although this is going to read like fiction it’s true. When I was about 8 years old my aunt and uncle put me on a train and sent me to visit my family in Moline, by myself! I am not sure that most parents or guardians would do this today but off I went from Pontiac to Moline. It sounds, now, like it was so casual, but I was thoroughly briefed for several weeks before. I suppose that there might have been many letters and phone calls before this was even planned between my Aunt and her sister, my Mother. I just was not in on that part of the planning.
So one morning I was taken to the train station in Pontiac, dressed in my Sunday best and with my little cardboard suit case with newly washed, carefully folded clothes for the trip. My Uncle, who was always a meticulous man, had gone over the details with me for several weeks. No lists for him, he made sure that I was rehearsed in all the fine points of the tickets, what I should do in Chicago at the point of changing trains, especially if my Father was not there to meet me, what I was to do on the train, all the details. And made sure that I could recite them back to him and not forget anything. Standing bravely on the station platform with my tickets in one hand and suitcase in the other, I looked back at my aunt and uncle who waved to me, showed the conductor my ticket and he said, “Right, young man, up the stairs and to your left?” I got on and found my seat and looked out the window as the train pulled away. I know I waved to my aunt and uncle and tried to look brave. Soon the conductor came and punched my ticket, pointed out the transfer tickets in Chicago and gave me back the rest of the ticket to continue to Moline. I remember a nice lady with her son across the aisle who was very surprised I was traveling by myself.
About an hour in to the trip, shortly after the train had made the stop at the Durand crossing, one of the stewards came through and announced that lunch was served in the dining car. Now I had been filled in on this business and my uncle had made sure that I had some money to have a bit of lunch and so I marched to the dining car and was seated immediately, but by myself. I very carefully went through the process of writing in my best penmanship my desires for lunch and the Seward took the paper looked at it and said, ” yes, sir, just so!” When I was finished with lunch I was slightly confused about what I should leave for the tip as in the famous painting by Norman Rockwell but again the various briefings of my uncle had figured this out too and I left a generous tip for the steward and made my way back to my seat.
Late in the afternoon, the conductor came through the car announcing that this was “Chicago, last stop, Chicago, this way out, do not forget your personal items.” The train slowly went into the dark shed at Dearborn Station, pulling to a stop at end of track. I joined the people getting off the station, the nice lady from across the aisle asked if I was going to be met by someone. I replied, “Yes, my Dad! And under my breath I said, “I hope!” This was the unknown, was his train from Moline on time, did he get off work to meet me! All unknown to me but I was prepared to continue if he was not there to meet me. As we approached the big black engine, puffing and panting after the trip that always was considered to be a scary big beast,but this time it was just an item of facination that I could look at and not be frighten by its bigness. As we approached the big sliding glass doors, I was looking for my father and there he was! I was never so glad to see anyone in my life. “Hi, son, have a good trip.” Oh yes, I sure did and then we went to get a jitney to La Salle Street Station, where we had to wait for the afternoon “Rocket”, so we had coffee and a donut at the snack bar. I don’t remember anything about the visit to Moline, what I did or even how I returned, just the adventure on the train.
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