ON THE EDGE OF THE PLATFORM

Train travel isn't what it used to be, and perhaps it never was. A train trip up the coast several years ago left me with an ache in my glutei maximi which lasted for two months; the constant jostling and the hard thin seat cushions combined played a number which had to be felt to be believed.

It was a lovely trip. But I was "relieved" to get home.

Next time, I'm bringing a comfy cushion. Or two.
In case someone is crazy enough to come along.

I've always liked train stations, though. There is an air of hopefulness and manifold possibility about those places. The horizon beyond the end of the narrowing track-lines represents both mystery and purpose, the people who traverse the platforms are going somewhere definite; but which stop along the way their destination is, is hard to envision.

[Sorry for the odd phrasing; I was in the German thinking.]


Europe, because it is much more densely populated than America, is held together more by trains. But America was brought together by them.
Were it not for the cross-continental railroads our hold on the far western pacific territories would have been doubtful, and in fact rather pointless till the advent of the car.
Automobiles lessened our reliance on trains for travel, the airplane virtually killed it. But in the latter part of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth trains represented our wanderlust and escapism, as well as our drive and sense of purpose, more than almost anything else. The train is, consequently, a fundament of our common culture.


WABASH CANNONBALL


[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yhvv234oaA.]

I knew this song as a child. I rather liked it then, but I did not pause over the words, just took it for granted as one of those things that my mother treasured from the years in America before we moved overseas. I must have heard it hundreds of times, though not in Roy Acuff's rendition.


Songs about trains have a plangency that is particular to the genre, and even a mere mention of trains sets the mind off on a journey into a left-field of the imagination. Johnny Cash, in Folsom Prison Blues, plays upon that, and the audience "gets it". Another train-song that Johnny Cash does is The Orange Blossom Special. And while that's a well-liked rendition, it speaks to me less than you might expect.

THE ORANGE BLOSSOM SPECIAL


[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4-uoUpN1c4.]

I don't know, it just sounds very tinkly-poo. Precious, just too darn.
It probably works better as a fiddle tune than as a vocal piece.
It's a rather silly song; choo choo choo made melodic.


Boxcar Willie, who predictably does train songs, could probably do something with it, though. As performers of this category of folk music go, he's the acknowledged champion. He's also done the Wabash Cannonball, which should not surprise you. But as a fine introduction to his music, listen to the song below.

WRECK OF THE OLD 97


[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsaFbnmmnhA.]


Somehow, neither Greyhound Buses nor the mass-transit system have that inviting quality. Distant locales that formerly beckoned now have the same Starbucks coffee that I will not touch in San Francisco, and elsewhere has far more McDonald restaurants than the city. The brandnames I refuse to consider are available worldwide, but I do not even have to leave the city to sneer at them; doing so in foreign climes is less appealing than you might think.
Universal suburban attitudes have tarnished the romance of journeying. There are no bellhops, porters, and dining cars now. Baggage drops, abondoned sidings, and hobo jungles have disappeared.

Can't even hop freight trains anymore.

Of course, I never did.

But I like the idea.



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