Growing up in Louisa –
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
A couple of months back I wrote an article that dealt with the evolution of rail service in our little town. I described the heavy, acrid smoke, the steam, the spinning of the drivers (main propulsion wheels), and the rising of diesel power. From a passenger’s or observer’s viewpoint I have to say that both were romantic in their own way. People of one era will remember and reminisce about what they knew in their generation, or some, like me, will remember both. The hardships of the former steam engines are easily forgiven and put aside when we hear the whistle and feel the vibration as we recall them thundering by.
For me and many of us, we crossed through one type of carrier to the other. Just after I graduated from LHS, a streamliner took me to Detroit where I joined up for military service. Then another took me from Detroit to San Antonio, a three-day trip. I recall that it was named, ‘The Sportsman.’ It traveled through Ohio down to Cincinnati, then on to St. Louis, and across the oil fields of Oklahoma into Texas. Later, after my basic training, I would board the train and come back through Cincinnati and finally to stop and vacation for ten days in Louisa. Then I would move on to Hampton Roads, Virginia, where I have made my life.
While writing that article I have to tell you that I was haunted by a song written and performed by Johnny Cash. The song, Folsom Prison, sent and continues to send a message to me. To me, the message isn’t so much about Folsom or any other prison, but about the sound and memories expressed relating to that lonesome whistle that he heard over and over during his travels. Many of us also heard it as the smoke laden engine wound its way up and down the Big Sandy River. We identified with the words and remember an empty feeling that followed the loss of that sound.
“I hear the train a comin’. It’s rollin’ ‘round the bend . . .” wrote the master of Country music. Yes, it would be a painful reminder for one incarcerated, but still we identify. For him, and for us, the train and the rumbling of the ‘Iron Horse,’ was a big part of our everyday life. Even if we weren’t in jail, we would sit quietly and know the train was passing through. In a way it reflected the state of humanity. We’d burst into life, travel a short ways, and disappear. Also, it would give us pause when we thought of some people traveling on, and the rest of us left behind.
For the people of the valley the train was transportation to school, work, or to visit friends or other places. Few could afford big trips to the Grand Canyon, or Yellowstone, but many like Francis Jonres and Alberta Copley climbed aboard every day. What with the roads the way there were, a simple trip from Potters was an ordeal except for rail service. Freight, US Mail, and even the daily newspapers came roaring into the station every morning. It was a lifeline to the outside world, and employment to many. Some worked ‘on the railroad,’ and others were able to work ‘because’ of the railroad. I was reminded once by Bernard Nelson that two telegraph operators, John Hinkle and George Smith worked at the depot. Bernard was paid to deliver telegrams. Some were bad news from the warfront, and others would advise families someone was about to visit. We all depended on the arrival and departure of passenger trains. Even Pee Wee was there to check his watch. He would wave at the engineer and once the train pulled out he’d petal away certain to be back when the next train was due. I miss the little station when I visit, but the building was similar to many the C&O built in the day. Several much like that one are close to where I live today. Still, it was so important to so many.
Readers of this column have written me more than once about the sound of the whistle. “When I hear that whistle blowin’ I hang my head and cry. I bet there’s rich folks eatin’ in a fancy dining car . . .” So was Johnny Cash a philosopher? Maybe, but better yet he wrote music that had meaning. He was very much as observer of life, whether writing about the ‘Ring of Fire,’ or the promise to “Walk the Line,” he found a way to love, to share, write and sing about Americana.
When I was growing up I heard him on juke boxes, radios, and on television, but he was never more appreciated than now. He had a rough life and it was written in the creases of his face, but when performing that sad, hard look turned into joy. We identified with him even if we had not awoken in our prisons. He had his troubles, yes, but had a happy life spent with those he loved. He was a master of words, of expression, and was musically talented. He was a great performer and worked with the best, sharing the stage with nearly all of the era’s most famous. He understood not only the rough and hard times of ‘honkey tonk,’ living, but also the joy of entertaining America. Yes, being locked up added a deeper dimension, but lonely, is still lonely. He came to enjoy family life as his health drained his energy. He lost the one he loved, June Carter Cash, and all too soon he joined her. Somewhere they are signing together, perhaps one of their favorite hymns. They both loved music. His music reflects he also understood trains. “I’d let that lonesome whistle, Blow my blues away.” That’s good advice no matter what your situation. Thank you, Johnny Cash.
Listen to the whole song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8J7VQaWt1uQ .
