How the Love Affair with Train Travel Began

When I was a youngster back in the late 40’s and early 50’s, our family would take an annual train trip from our home in Connecticut to either St. Louis or Florida, where grandparents would be waiting. Back then, believe it or not, the train was the only practical way to travel over a distance of more than 100 miles or so.

Our rail journeys began at the Hartford railroad station. We would be catching a New Haven Railroad train either south to New York, where we would change to one of the Florida trains, or north to Springfield, Massachusetts, to catch a train coming out of Boston and heading for St. Louis.

For an 8 or 9-year-old boy, those train rides were great adventures. I would impatiently crane my neck for the first glimpse of the train. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but finally, a rasping monotone would blare out over the public address system: “Your attention, please. Now arriving on Track Two . . .”

The platform came alive with that announcement: baggage carts rattling past, last-minute passengers running up the stairs from the waiting room, mothers anxiously corralling their kids.

Then, there it was! A black steam locomotive bearing down on us, even appearing to accelerate as it loomed larger and larger. It was always so much bigger than I had remembered. And noisier, although the locomotive’s bell, clang-clanging slightly out of rhythm, was somehow clearly heard above the din as the train rumbled past and came to a stop.

A train ride is still a great adventure for me and it’s still the very best way to see this great country and to meet interesting people. Even after all these years, I’m always anxious to board, always sorry to get off. My next rail “fix” is coming up in mid-October. I’ll be in Los Angeles for a meeting of the National Association of Railroad Passengers and, when the meeting conclude, I’ll again be taking Amtrak’s Coast Starlight overnight to Seattle. Reports to follow here, of course.