Mr. Jones

I could swear that I have written about Mr. Jones before, but I am getting old. Anyway, Mr. Jones was a patient of my dad's and worked in Jackson, TN for the Illinois Central railroad as an engineer (he drove trains). I must have been about four years old when my dad came home from work one day and took me to the IC station. Mr. Jones had asked him if he thought that I would like to ride in the engine with him when The Seminole (a famous train of the day that came through every other day on the way from Chicago to New Orleans (I think)). The engine had to go to the yard to get more coal and water in Jackson, and it was that trip that I made more than once sitting in Mr. Jones ' lap.

Oh My!! Was that a treat or what? It was a combination of several things, excitement, fear, and a treat too. The steam engines of the day were hot, noisy, hissing, and lots of other things that awed a four year old. We sat on the left of the boiler with a firebox underneath. The fireman, who in those days was as far as a black made in the rail business, was constantly shoveling coal from the coal car into the hellish firebox to keep the steam up. There were a variety of valves, wheels, etc. that had to be manipulated too. Then there was the whistle! It seemed about to blow me out of the cab, but Mr. Jones would let me pull the lever. We made the trip to the yard and back as often as my dad could take me, and I have never forgotten the smell of that burning coal.

One day close to the time that Mr. Jones was to retire, he came through town on The City of Miami which had become diesel powered. He pushed me up into the cab. It was clean and cool. The horn sounded like a horn and not a whistle. I didn't know that I was seeing the end of an era. Had it not ended, I wonder if I would not have been an engineer like Mr. Jones.

A Light Extinguished

A light became evermore dim and finally died out this week. "B" was a force in so many lives that she will be remembered by many from all walks of life. She died after several years with a form of cancer that spares 96% of people who have it. Ironic as that seems, she never did act as most ill persons. Her past history of illness ran from the rare to the unusual, and I often told her that if I were her physician, I would run out the back door when I saw her enter my office.

Her life began in Norway but ended after 40+ years in Switzerland. She and her husband, "A" produced three children that I often called "Stepford" children. They in turn, had grandchidren that are superlative. These gave her great grandchildren before she died. I have no idea how any step children there are to count. Numerous kids from Switzerland, the Balkans, and elsewhere lived for varying periods in her home. To this day, they all remember her. I am certain that more will turn up at her memorial service.

Then, there are the "step adults" who were fortunate enough to become her charges while vacationing in Switzerland. These people and their activities would fill a sizable book, and they all remembered the lady with a smile who could seemingly make things gone wrong OK again. The stories that she could tell about American tourists were many and always showed the fun she had with them. One of her cures for a kranky American was to invite that person to sit and have some Congnac. A lot of fussy folks have left her house feeling much better than they entered. She and "A" always planned a weekend excursion with the Americans in a car, so they go places that were not always reached eaisily by public transport. These along with frequent dinners helped make her a favorite with all her guests and resulted in many repeat visits. These Americans reciprocated when she traveled to the USA. People actually got mad when she and "A" were not able to visit just them. Everyone always considered them "their" friends. They certainly had more friends in the USA than I did.