THE TRAIN CONDUCTOR
“End of the line,” called out the conductor, roaming car to car
Rail-thin and rangy, dignified in the spotless black uniform,
his timepiece gleamed at the end of a long gold chain.
Will was a good conductor, one of the best on the line.
He knew precisely the timeline, all destinations
His resonant voice calmed riders during bumps, holdups
and especially during inclement weather
He had a way with children; could recognize kids on their first ride,
fear and fascination dancing in their eyes
Will treated all workers with the same respect.
Never saw the color of their skin, only the quality of their service.
The last of a dying breed in the 1950s, both Will and the Rock Island Line,
as autos took to the highways and trains fell by the wayside,
rusting gravestones, remnants of the past.
He kept to himself, rarely shared stories about family.
Seemed troubled, standing off in a corner by himself on breaks.
But when tapped on the shoulder, came down to earth, immediately engaged.
The porters worried about Will, and the maids
saw his uneasiness; they prayed for him in church.
No one was surprised when, one foggy night
the man who knew the clockwork of each train, the routes of every line
was felled on the tracks and died.
“Accident,” read the report, thus ensuring widow’s benefits
for the wife he never talked about.
But she knew in her heart that for Will,
it was simply the end of the long, sad, lonely line.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Magpie Tales asked for poems about our ancestors. My great-great grandfather was a train conductor, amateur astronomer, introverted, extremely depressed man who help out my mother’s family during the Midwest Depression of the 1930s. I figured out the puzzle of his death, which the rest of the family never discussed.
Sharp Little Pencil 
vivinfrance
This is such a sad poem – all too common, I fear. But what a wonderful tribute to your ancestor.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks, Viv. The irony is not lost on me…
Debbie
What a moving piece about your great, great grandfather. Amy, are you thinking of doing another book sometime, or are you submitting work as you go along? You have so many, many great pieces. Just curious!
Sharp Little Pencil
I’m writing a “momoir,” including all the stories my mom told me over the years as she struggled with alcoholism. I was an old soul early because I was the only one who would listen to her. So perhaps stories and poetry interspersed, or else a chapbook of just family things. Not sure yet! Thanks for asking! AMy
kaykuala
A moving tribute Amy! Someone dedicated to the job, for the love of it more than anything else. A rare find these days!
Hank
Sharp Little Pencil
Hank, it’s too ironic to me that he knew all the schedules and was felled by one of his own trains, but yes, his dedicated, his fairness, his integrity are well-documented. Thanks, Amy
Pat Hatt
Ended up slain by that which he loved, very nice train of thought, glad I boarded the train today, he should have watched out for the train and not kept crossing it..haha
Sharp Little Pencil
I think his very intention was to end it all, to be right where he needed to be. Knowing Wilmot, he probably stuck out his pocket watch at arm’s length so someone else could have it! Amy
Kim Nelson
You broke my heart…
Sharp Little Pencil
Oh, Kim. I have a picture of my great-grandpa in his full conductor’s suit standing next to my mother, who came up to his knee – I think she was four. She loved him dearly, but admitted the irony of his death. “It’s like a tee-totaler getting hit by a beer truck – he really had to want it.” Very dark sense of humor in my family, but it keeps us going.
Love, Amy
margo roby
Magpie Tales?
You know a lot of his story. He must have felt there was a rightness to the way he ended, with his beloved trains. Love the line: ‘trains fell by the wayside,
rusting gravestones’ and he fell by the wayside too. Balance.
margo
Sharp Little Pencil
His whole profession was on the brink of dying, and I think he couldn’t take the idea of retirement. He and his wife didn’t get along at all…
Yes, I do believe he wanted to be like Bing Crosby dying on the golf course, you know? Thanks so much, Margo! amy
ladynimue
Oh to lose a family member thus …
But one thing you said right .. it was a dying breed …
people who respected others for quality of work !!
A good one .. thanks for sharing Amy ..
And much aplogies that I have not been able to read much of your work .. Soon I hope I will set it right .. do write to em sometimes .. I love that 🙂
Sharp Little Pencil
Every time you visit me, I visit back, and when I get caught up on responses to my poems, I troll the prompts and look for the names of “mi familia”! Hope all is well with you.
Our family, being rife with mental illness… it’s amazing there weren’t more suicides. My theory is we are all too bull-headed and egotistical to believe the world could survive without us to off ourselves!! Hey, it works for me, LOL.
And yes, respecting the work of others needs to come back. I am always careful to thank the folks who bus tables, waiters/waitresses, the folks at the band… the “rank and file” in society, who need to be appreciated the most. Hope it catches on! It’s like paying forward a blessing. Love, Amy
booguloo
Very sad. With the education of the newer generations less and less of this will happen. This is my hope anyway.
Sharp Little Pencil
MIke, that’s true – but there is also the epidemic of hopelessness as more and more jobs that used to fill a family’s table and sustain a lifetime disappear – just as Will saw his train gig coming to a close. He knew it was only a matter of time – and doubled the death benefit for his wife by making it appear an accident…
mish
The conductor sounded like a reserved , upright , proud and dignified man … back in the day , they quite often just went about the day-to-day living … got on with it and accepted their lot in life … he probably left this earth the way he would have wanted to …
http://writer-in-transit.co.za/glow/
Sharp Little Pencil
Mish, you nailed it. I likened it before to Bing Crosby dying on the golf course. Also, I think he had his wife in mind – accidental death would have paid double indemnity.
We all go on with day-to-day living. At least there were jobs for the unskilled back then… now, it’s hard for kids to think of anything besides the military, and that’s one shitty option… Peace, Amy
Renee Espriu
Such a beatiful tribute to, it seems to me, a man with a big and kind heart. Families often don’t like to discuss certain things but, really, there is no shame here but just a great sadness of a bygone era.
Sharp Little Pencil
Renee, this is a sensitive comment, and I appreciate it. We all know he committed suicide, but I would like to think he tried to make it look like an accident so his widow’s benefit would double. He was kind, depressed, good at his work, and unhappy with life in general. Like so many on my mom’s side of the family… I come by it honestly but have no such future plans!! Rest assured of that. I have access to care none of my elders ever did. Thanks so much, Amy
georgefloreswrite
So sad, yet so interesting that he mostly only shared his outward duty with others. We see people every day and we have no idea what they are going through. Thank you for this glimpse of him.
Sharp Little Pencil
That’s a tremendous insight, George, very true. We do pass folks all the time and have no clue. I try to stay open to people’s vibes… I can tell when someone is having a hard time, and if I have a few minutes, ask if I can sit with them and talk. It almost always turns out for the good (and with me buying them coffee!).
Thanks, George, for your thoughtful comment. Amy
Inside the Mind of Isadora
I wish I could have experienced a train ride with a condutor. The only train ride I’ve ever had are in dirty New York subways with derelicts, rushing to work wall streeters and rats.
Ugh … your poem is better.
Izzy
Sharp Little Pencil
My first train trip, I was four years old. Mom and I went to the Midwest from New York State. Our car had a Pullman, beds that pull down, a porter (the first realllllly black man I ever saw, and I remember thinking if I kissed his cheek, I’ll bet he would taste like sweet licorice!), and a dining car. Those were the days. Even Amtrak is disgusting now. Did a cross-country trip last year, and NEVER AGAIN! Thanks, Izzy. Amer
dreamingthruthetwilight
May his soul rest in eternal peace.
Sharp Little Pencil
Thank you, Nadira. I am sure he is. I don’t believe suicide creates an impenetrable wall between a soul and Creation – some folks simply cannot handle life, and in Grandpa Dunn’s case, lived in a time where they simply “locked you up in the looney bin” to get you out of the way. He chose to die on his own terms, at his own time, after a lifetime of service. I respect his decision. Love, Amy
Teri
“…they prayed for him in church…” The silence of carrying burdens alone- the silence of of not intruding on another’s pain. The pain covered, held and buried. And while we honor a noble man — I am at odds with this way of being. The stoicism prevalent in that generation I think had a way of leaking down into the next. I see my own stoicism in this piece– bottled and bubbling…But like you I am blessed with many more outlets, and am surrounded by people unafraid to hold my hand. Who will not let me slide into silence. Thank you for the thought provoking and lovely poem. xo teri
Sharp Little Pencil
Teri, we are lucky to live in a different time, where depression, loss, and other traumas are able to be discussed. I myself used to be quite stoic… until the day the floodgates opened. Generations past living in those tightly corked bottles. We’re the fortunate ones. Thanks for a thoughtful comment! AMy
Mike Patrick
You have immortalized him, Amy, in clear and attractive language. I don’t know if you have ever written an elegy before, but I believe that this qualifies as a wonderful example.
I’ve written only one, but it was one of those strange things that took off on its own with me mostly being an observer. If you can find the time, it’s at http://thepoetsquill.wordpress.com/2011/01/14/mickey-on-the-slab/
Sharp Little Pencil
Mike, this comment touched me deeply. Ironically, my latest post is on the same subject because Marie and Walt had a prompt on Poetic Bloomings that matched details of this poem. Uncanny timing. So I wrote about him from another perspective.