An Open Door — A Story
Two boys. A boxcar. One return-trip ticket.
It’s not easy to lasso a free spirit, even when you’re close to it! Not so difficult, though, when the lasso is an open boxcar door creeping past at walking speed.
Twins Of A Different Mother
August 1966: The twins of different mothers — Bo and his nephew Richard — crossed the 12th Street Bridge with empty pockets and nothing to do, and headed to Crist’s Restaurant to beg some money from their Mom/Grandma.
Was it going to be a Coke and a matinee, or…?
Born eight months before his nephew Richard, Bo was the youngest brother of Richard’s mother, who, at eighteen, was pregnant with Richard while, at the same time, Richard’s grandmother, thirty-six, was giving birth to Bo.
Although it may not be rare for a mother and daughter to be pregnant at the same time, this story takes place in Appalachia, so I feel compelled to add they were not pregnant by the same person. If they were, then this story would take on a very different tone and be found on a far more sordid shelf. Who’s yer daddy?
As the hurricane of youth quickly blew them into their teens, it failed to dissipate the boredom of their dank and dusty, dwindling railroad town, which to them had a population of only two.
The summer was raging with Beatlemania, the war in Vietnam hippie protests, the Beach Boys, and Star Trek, not to mention Dracula: Prince of Darkness, sucking blood all over the theaters.
Such was the world they inherited less than two decades after WWII. They lived in poverty; their fathers were drunks and abusers, which meant that their social circle was less than limited — it was nonexistent.
It was a new age, which to them meant only, “What should we do with the remainder of today — because today is all we have, and tomorrow is too far away to care about.”
All That We Need Is An Hour Of Your Wages
So then, no money, nowhere to go, and no one to see, the odd twins roamed across the Twelfth Street Bridge that led from the residential side of town.
12th Street Foot Bridge Altoona PA c1960’s
Crossing the PRR rail yards, the bridge dropped back to the street on the far side near the railroad station and the post office. Two blocks from the bridge, at 12th and 12th, they stopped at the restaurant where Bo’s Mom (Richard’s grandmother) was a waitress.
They took stools at the counter, and Mom/Grandma brought them each a Coke and asked:
“And where are you two off to?”
They both shrugged their shoulders, and Bo asked,
“Can you give us each a quarter so we can go to the Olympic?”
She knew that the theater matinee began at one o’clock and would keep them occupied until after dinner.
Reaching into her apron pocket, she extracted a fistful of coins. Sliding nearly a full hour’s wage across the counter to them, she gave them each a quarter and a dime — enough for a movie and a popcorn.
“I’ll be off at 11 o’clock tonight if you want to walk home with me,” she said.
The Olympic Theater, just around the corner from the restaurant, was a cheap-seat theater that offered a three-horror-movie matinee every Saturday for 25¢ — a habit Bo didn’t want to break.
As Mom/Grandma waited on a customer, the boys, without offering a thank-you or parting goodbye, finished their Coke and left the restaurant.
They left the restaurant and turned back toward the rail yard and train tracks. Suddenly, something flashed in Richard’s brain that ignited it like two tickets to Disney World.
“Come on, I got a better idea than a movie,” he said.
He slapped Bo on the shoulder and started off toward the bridge at a quick trot.
Bo called to him, “Hey man! Come on! It’s too hot to be running.”
But Richard only quickened his pace.
As they reached the bridge, they turned left onto Tenth Avenue. Still running for another two blocks, they stopped at a large group of bushes.
The bushes hid a high, chain-link fence with jagged wire on top — a fence that kept people from wandering onto the many sets of railroad tracks that passed through the city.
“Why are we here?” Bo asked, feeling even more sweaty than usual, and no less perturbed.
They had just run four blocks to a trash-laden group of eight-foot-high hedges. Across from the hedges was a vacant brick building, and behind the hedge was a chain-link fence with jagged wire at the top that guarded the railroad tracks on the other side.
It Ain’t A Movie, But It’s Something To Do
Richard stepped over to the fence and pointed to a freight train that was barely creeping along as it passed through the city.
“There, that boxcar right there,” he said.
Moving slowly toward them was a boxcar with its cargo exposed through the open door. Richard must have spotted it when they were in front of the restaurant, and it was moving slow enough that the boys were able to run well ahead of it.
Richard was a bit of a hellion and not afraid to try just about anything. Often in trouble in school and on the streets, pilfering, to him, was far better than any movie!
As the boxcar moved closer, Richard’s excitement flourished. For some reason, Richard thought it was a good idea to see what was in the box, while at the same time, Bo just wanted to sit in a cool, dark movie theater.
A few seconds later, Richard hit Bo’s arm and said, “Let’s go!”
Ducking into the hedges at a spot he had obviously visited before, Bo followed to find himself crawling through a hidden opening cut through the fence.
“Oh great! Now we’re gonna be Frank and Jesse James!” Bo murmured.
Both of them were caught previously in the rail yard for which they both had their butts whipped with a belt by Richard’s dad.
Altoona, PA Rail Station c1966
Bo’s flashbacks put a knot in his stomach as he once again followed his aberrant nephew onto this hallowed ground that was made holy by the railroad police and a sacrificial ass-whipping by Richard’s dad.
Crouching tightly against the fence, they waited until the boxcar was at a slight angle approaching them.
Richard whispered as if the hedge behind them was crowded with people; “Let’s go!”
Off they darted across two sets of open tracks that lay between them and the oncoming car — angling toward its open door as fast as they could run.
Bo’s heart was pounding and his brain was about to burst: “Oh my god, it’s broad daylight and we’re running toward a moving train with the Twelfth Street Bridge less than two blocks away! We are definitely going to jail!”
Richard was dauntless, never hearing, or if he did, never acknowledging Bo. Why, in anybody’s mind, would jumping into a moving freight car seem like a fun thing to do? What was there to gain by it?
Bo was perplexed, but followed nonetheless.
As he caught hold of the bar and tried to pull himself into the moving car, Bo shouted, “WHY CAN’T WE JUST GO SEE THE MOVIE!”
The Bag Behind The Pallets
The boxcar was hotter than the noonday sun and smelled like old grease subdued by an amalgam of several other unknown odors.
As they ducked between the pallets of cargo to avoid being seen, the dust mites that their entrance stirred floated heavily in the shaft of sunlight that barely lit the entrance of the open door. The remainder of the car appeared pitch-black and stifling hot.
The pallets, most more than six feet high, were covered in thick cardboard and strapped in multiple directions with heavy steel straps. It must be some type of equipment.
Regardless, there was no getting into them without a knife or toolbox, or maybe a cutting torch of some kind, and there surely wasn’t anything in them you could carry home to make use of.
Still, Richard decided to check all of them, hoping to find a vulnerability or a different type of cargo.
Climbing atop the nearest pallet to him, he began to leap from one to the other until he disappeared into the darkness at the leading end of the car.
As the train continued its slow rolling motion, from what he could tell, it appeared that all of the pallets were strapped and sealed in the same fashion, like some type of mechanical equipment.
Coming back to Bo at the door, he said, “I’m going to check the others!” Bo rolled his eyes as he sat in the shade of one of the pallets looking out the door.
Outside, Bo could see that, although they were moving very slowly, they were about to leave the city. If Richard took much longer, they would soon be in the Juniata shop yard, which was a mile or more from town, and the theater where the matinee had, most likely, already started.
Bo was becoming very anxious. “How about we just go see the movie? Eh?” he shouted.
But again, Richard, who had already moved away, ignoring him.
The partially closed door put the trailing-end of the sixty-foot car in deep shadow, but much less murky than the leading end. Richard stood there to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness.
Pausing on top of the last pallet in the middle row, he peered, straining, at the floor six feet or so below. On the floor, in between the pallets, Richard detected the shape of something but could not quite make it out.
It looked like a bundle or maybe a large sack leaning against the bulkhead. Suddenly, Bo shouted very loudly, “WE’RE STARTING TO SPEED UP!”
The sudden announcement startled Richard as he concentrated on the shadowy enigma below him. Then just as he was turning to return to the door, the bundle moved, looked up, and spoke to him in a gravelly voice.
“If you’re gonna get off this train, you’d better move your dumb ass or you’re on your way to Harrisburg!”
Richard nearly pissed in his pants, and leapt toward the door.
Sully Ends With A Speech
Standing at the door, Bo realized that if he jumped now, besides being shredded by the shale next to the rails, he would likely bash his head against the railroad ties and junk along the tracks.
The two stood, staring out the door as the train gained momentum when, from between the pallets, a ragged, weathered creature suddenly appeared behind them.
With the voice of a heavy smoker, and a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers, he said,
“What in hell are you two doing on my f*cking train? The door standin open shud’a told you there were somebody already in here.”
Looking at one another, then out the door, then back at him, they stood numb and speechless. To jump or not to jump, that was the question! Could they jump, roll, and survive unscathed like the cowboys on television? Not likely.
“Well you just as well settle down cuz yer gonna be here for good bit ba’for ya kin git off. I’m guessin ya live in Altoona! Is everyone who lives there as nuts as you two assholes?” the enigma said hoarsely.
Rather than responding, once again Richard showed his balls by taking a step toward the hobo and asking, “Can I bum a cigarette?”
A look of surprise crossed the hobo’s face. “What! I ain’t given you my smokes, boy! Do I look like I’m made of money?” He croaked a short laugh as smoke billowed from his mouth and nose.
Richard reached into his pocket, pulled out his thirty-five cents and held it out before him. “That’s more than the cost of a pack!” Richard said.
The hobo gave a rasping, phlegmy chuckle that emitted from his chest like an exhalation through bubbling tar.
“Thirty-five cents!” The man squinted at the coins in Richard’s hand like they might be counterfeit. “Hell, boy! That’ll buy a lungful and a half these days, with a little left over. Wha’d you two do, break open yer piggybanks? That’s definitely not travelin money, that’s — oh, that’s right — that’s ‘movie money’! I forgot! I’ll bet mommy gave ya’ll yer allowance!”
He plucked the change out of Richard’s hand with a delicate motion, as if trying not to touch his skin. Then, his nicotine-coated fingers dug into his dirty coat pocket and produced a crumpled pack of Lucky Strikes.
The hobo tapped out two cigarettes and said, “Yer two boys is too young to be smokin!”
Richard plucked one of the cigarettes while Bo, struck dumb by this utterly bizarre situation, stared at the two figures as if watching an episode of the Twilight Zone.
“This here ain’t a charity, boys. But fair’s fair. You want one too?” he said, pointing the other waiting cigarette toward Bo, who continued his slack-jawed stare.
Bo timidly reached for the smoke as if he was about to put his hand into a bear trap when the hobo suddenly jerked it away.
“That’s thirty-five cents, boy!” The hobo grimaced. “These ain’t cheap, ya know!”
“I only got a quarter,” Bo responded, pulling the coin from his pocket and handing it to the hobo in exchange for the crumpled filterless smoke.
There was a sudden click of a battered, monogrammed Zippo lighter that appeared as if by magic in front of the boys; its metal etched with initials no one had asked about in a long time: S.A.B. beneath a Marine Corps emblem.
As quickly as it appeared, the Zippo snapped shut and disappeared. The hobo watched with deep curiosity, judging whether the boys were really smokers, or just pretending.
While they both took a drag and inhaled without incident, he sized them up with the eyes of someone who’d seen the best and worst of people, and most often, both in the same day.
“Names don’t matter out here,” he said gruffly, sinking down to lean against a pallet as if folding himself into the shadows. “But if you need to call me somethin,’ call me Sully.”
He took a long drag of his stubby, unfiltered cigarette, held the draw like it was something precious and special, and when he spoke, the smoke again billowed from his mouth and nose.
“So, what is it? You boys running away, or just being stupid? I heard you say something about going to a movie.” His one eye squinted as the smoke rolled into it. “This ain’t no goddamned movie, is it?” He let out a loud rattling laugh.
Bo opened his mouth to answer, but Sully cut him off with a grunt; “Hell, it don’t matter one or the other! Can’t say as I mind having the company either. My guess is that you,” he pointed to Bo, “are the follower, and you,” turning his gaze to Richard, “ are an instigator. I know a troublemaker when I see one, and you, boy, you got some balls on ya. Didn’t act like you’z afraid of me at all.
That’s Why I’m Riding The Rails
The boys drew on their smokes as they turned to watch the scenery pass them by. Neither of them knew when or where this journey would end.
The train — their years of young life — carried them past trees, open fields, houses, heaps of old rusted cars, shambled homes and old men on rickety chairs passing a bottle, jungle fires and ragged men in dirty clothes staring into the flames, then more trees…more of the world as it is.
Cast in their silence, they watched like characters on the stage of a living theater.
The ethereal feeling Bo had expanded and chewed at his mind. The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks, the passing of time and scenery; he was beginning to understand why the hobo did this.
Being a part of this constantly moving world; part of these things seen from the rails; the breeze through the open door; an esoteric world that only the riders of the rails are privy to, fall in love with, and then marry themselves to it.
A sudden rush of calm, a complete escape washed over him. Not only from teachers, his mother, and his siblings, but the jerks in school, and from answering to others for his life, his thinking. Living life his way; coming and going as he pleased.
Sully’s voice suddenly broke through the noise of the moving boxcar,
“Yer a thinker, ain’t cha, boy?” the hobo asked, staring at Bo as if he instinctively knew what Bo was mulling over. “Believe me, you don’t want this life, boy! No way for a dog, let alone a man to live. I guarantee it. Still, I guess yer gonna do what yer gonna do, ain’t-cha?”
They rode on in silence for the next twenty or thirty minutes when, without a doubt, they sensed that the train was beginning to lose speed.
“Yep,” said Sully, “Best back away from the door, boys, we’re rollin into the Tyrone yards and we don’t want the bulls to see us. Fact, I should probably pull that door to, lest you boys are thinkin’ bout git’n off here — which I strongly advise!”
Sully looked between the two of them inquisitively and let out another bubbling chuckle.
Once more digging the pack from his coat pocket, he offered them each another cigarette, but they both refused. Instead, they stood together at the open door, leaning out, peering ahead to where they could see the slight beginnings of the city ahead.
The small urban city sat just beyond the approaching rail yards as their train rolled slowly along the farthest of the three tracks that passed them.
The train finally slowed to where they could easily step off. Bo and Richard looked at one another, then back to the approaching town.
“I’m jumpin off,” Bo said. “You ready?”
He looked at Richard questioningly, but without response, Richard stepped back and squatted next to a pallet near Sully and asked, “Can I have that cigarette?”
Sully handed him another smoke and let out a laugh! “Don’t tell me,” he said, and laughed raspily, “Son-of-a-’’, he stopped short of saying it. “Boy! What? Did I git it all wrong? Here I thought I could read anybody, but, YOU! I sure didn’t read you as the wanderin type. Or are you just escapin?”
Richard’s eyes were staring at the floor between his feet. His thinking was what it would be like to keep going, to see places like Harrisburg, Philadelphia, maybe even the coast, or New York City.
Looking up at Sully who appeared to be smirking; or maybe just grinning at him like he’d just discovered America all over again, Richard said, “What? It’s my life, ain’t it?”
Sully brought his smoky fingers to the bill of his cap in salute. “That’s how I got started,” Sully replied softly. “I’ll be damned,” his voice trailed off into silence.
Bo had already taken hold of the rail at the edge of the door and stepped out onto the ladder outside.
“Come on, man, let’s go, before it starts moving again,” Bo said, looking imploringly to Richard. There was no time to argue about it. Richard continued to look toward the fields, past Bo, as if he was no longer aware of Bo’s existence.
The train came to a narrow patch of grass leading to an open field. As Bo’s foot met the ground, he let go of the boxcar. Standing there, waiting, he thought there was no way that Richard would refuse to get off of that train.
The open door of the slow-rolling car faded into the distance when Richard and Sully leaned out, giving Bo a weak salute, and slid the door closed to hide their presence from the yard bulls.
Where Has My Brother Gone
It was nearly nightfall — Bo felt frozen inside and out, feeling a sudden panic, his mind swung wildly: could this be happening? He stood there watching the train creep past until it began once again to pick up speed.
As the boxcar he’d occupied disappeared in the distance, Bo looked at the last of the approaching cars and, for a moment, he thought he might try to get back on the train.
Then, he thought, “But what if I get on and Richard gets off and I didn’t know it. Or what if Richard is already off and I didn’t see him?”
Taking a deep breath, he watched as the remaining cars began to once again gather speed, and as the last car passed, he turned and walked across the field toward the city.
On the other side of the field he could see a street, and a quarter of a mile or so beyond was the train station.
Sitting on the bench in front of the station, Bo waited until the shadows of the day lengthened, hoping that Richard would come walking in from somewhere.
As the sun sank behind the trees, he finally went to the pay phone at the end of the building. Taking out the dime he’d withheld from Sully, he dropped it in the slot and dialed, “9–4–4–1–5–9–3,” and instantly the phone rang at the other end.
“Hello.” It was the voice of his older brother, Rob.
“It’s me, I need a ride, can you come get me, please?”
“Where are you?” Rob asked.
“I’m at the train station in Tyrone,” Bo said weakly.
“What the hell are you doing there!” Rob snapped back.
“I jumped on a boxcar and it started moving too fast and I couldn’t get off.”
“That was a dumbass move! Are you all right?”
“Cold and hungry,” Bo replied, and then asked, “Is Mom at work?”
“Yeah,” Rob replied, “I’ll be there in about an hour…you dumbass!”
Although he could have tried walking, he wouldn’t be there before morning, that is, if he could even walk that far.
Besides, the sun was setting and he would have to walk along “Sudden Death Highway — Route 22.” Not a good idea.
The phone clicked and Bo sat down again on the bench. Tyrone was at least thirty miles or more from home, so all he could do was sit and wait.
Forgive Me Mother For I Have Sinned
By the time Rob arrived, Bo was sitting directly under the dim light above the bench where he could be easily seen. Still no sign of Richard.
It wasn’t all that cold, but for some reason he was shivering, making him all the more grateful for his brother’s rescue.
It may have been midnight, for all Bo knew, by the time Rob arrived. His legs felt weak and worn as he raised them into the car and they pulled away from the station without speaking.
They were nearly halfway home before Rob said, “You know people have been killed pulling crap like that.”
“I know,” Bo responded. “It was a dumbass thing to do — I know. Sorry.”
Rob glanced at Bo. “I’m guessing that you’re pretty hungry. I’ll make us some supper.”
“Do you have any cigarettes?” Bo asked. Rob shook his head slightly in answer.
Feeling more sick than hungry, Bo wondered where Richard was by now, assuming that he was still with Sully — no money, clothes, or anything to take care of him except for Sully’s road wisdom.
The anxiety of his secret took its toll and Bo drifted into sleep as his mind reeled with the deep sense of loss and panic that settled into the deepest pit of his stomach.
When they arrived home, little was said about it. Bo embellished the story with no mention of Richard or Sully; nothing but that he just got crazy and tried it.
His mother had long gone to bed, and since they did not live together, nobody asked about Richard.
Although he felt responsible, he couldn’t bear to send everyone into a panic, and if Richard did keep going, Bo understood why. Nobody wanted to deal with his rotten father.
The next two days passed and still no sign of his return.
Everyone in Richard’s family thought he was staying with Bo, which he often did, and everyone there at Bo’s house assumed that Richard was at home.
No one was yet the wiser, and it was not unusual for nobody to ask. Richard always did as he pleased.
Attempting to justify his continued silence, Bo lay across his bed wondering what would happen when the absence was finally discovered.
“Should I tell? It’s not like he was kidnapped or anything, but they wouldn’t know that. So, then, who do I tell, and will they understand that Richard made the choice to run away?”
The following morning, he came to the dining room where his mother was having her morning coffee and cigarette.
“Mom, do you remember the other day when Richard and me stopped at the restaurant…”
His mother gave him her typical stoic look, and knowing him as she did, offered him a cigarette to indicate that there were no secrets she wasn’t aware of.
Instinctively, she knew there was about to be a confession.
If you would like to see more stories and posts:
Share This Story:
Leave A Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.
