Dad finished off his bachelor’s degree and headed off to seminary in New Jersey. We loaded up the U-Haul truck and left for a land of new adventures. The parsonage in Tranquility, NJ had been left a bug-ridden mess. Thank you, Rev. Predecessor. The fermenting disposable diapers left on the back deck were a real treat.

We lived on a knoll next to the church and stone wall enclosed cemetery. Fathers and sons gathered every other week to mow the cemetery lawn. The ice and soda filled igloo coolers were a real treat. The guys had a money maker setting up circus sized tents for a fee. It was great fun to crawl underneath the heavy canvas to thread the center poles. Guys could be guys, boys could learn by example, and it was good to just be gathered as the masculine members of the church family.

Railroad tracks. The evidence of prior trains was spiked to tie and held by ballast, two polished rails from there, to here, and beyond. Christ had come.

Two railroads went through town. The mainline Erie Lackawanna ran on top of the cutoff from Newark to Scranton. It was only accessible by climbing a steep, tall bank. Double tracks left little room on top, trains were frequent, thrilling, and fast; hauling the nation’s freight right through our town. Cool.

Memories of New Jersey were drawn from behind closed eyes as I mindlessly worked the exercise contraption at the Jewish Community Center, or the J, as the locals call it. The pool was closed for maintenance. Grrr. Burning 100 calories in 30 minutes was better than nothing, I suppose. I wanted water, breath, laps, a half mile of pulling, kicking, and throwing myself down the pool lane. I didn’t get what I wanted. Dang. I am a selfish man. Forgive me, Lord.

I remembered what time had largely forgotten about the other railroad in that New Jersey town.

The Lehigh and Hudson River Railroad was old and tired by the early 1970s. It traveled from nowhere to somewhere. It delved under the Erie cutoff through a cement casing tunnel crossing the township just below our house. The engines were old Alcos, unwashed and covered in soot, smoking worse than a fully engulfed house fire.

Trains came by twice a day, usually eastbound in the morning and westbound at dusk. A solitary red, yellow, green block signal protected the west. A small factory had its own switch just to the right of the road crossing below us. A curve to the east swallowed from sight the shiny, ancient rails.

Each night the signal would illuminate green, indicating a train had entered the block. I knew it was coming closer, hearing his horn two townships away, warning cars of the danger of its approach.

Some nights the train would stop well east of our road crossing, showing only its incandescent headlight reflecting off the rails, lurking behind the curve. I knew the count, the timing, the sound of the rumbling Alcos.

As the cut of cars was isolated from the rest of the train, engine throttles opened, and superchargers began to scream. Engines billowing black, sooty smoke pulling obedient boxcars appeared with a brakeman riding the front end. He pulled the decoupler, separating the puller from the pulled. A second brakeman threw the switch as the engines cleared. The cars coasted into the factory’s siding, decelerating gently as the brakeman cinched down the brake wheel, brakes and wheels squealing the cars to a stop. Engines reversed, coupled to the remainder of the cars, and the new, shortened train continued its way west to parts unknown.

Danger and excitement mixed, creating a well-rehearsed, choreographed iron and horsepower ballet. I’ve been told switching on the fly is now outlawed by some well-meaning regulatory agency. Afterwards, I often took a look around. I never found a severed limb.

Most free evenings I rode my bike down to the tracks, jumped in the ditch between cow pasture and rails, hidden by the tall grass and reeds, and waited for the first hint of a faraway train. My heart fluttered, anticipating the arrival of the evening’s freight.

Then, there it was. Or not? Did I hear something, or was it my imagination? Could I create the sound of a train simply by sheer willpower? Perhaps if I turned my ears a bit. Then, suspicion: confirmed! Two or three whistles later, each louder than its predecessor, the green signal lamp would illuminate, clearing westbound freights.

Not all nights received a flying switch. Other nights, with no cars to be set off, the westbound LHRR would slow from lightning speed of 35 to about 20 to ease through the curve. 

Anticipation. Waiting for Godot. Waiting for Christmas. Waiting for retirement. Waiting for an anticipated train. Waiting never felt so good.

Ever so slowly, I could begin to hear the low frequency oscillating growl of the signature Alcos, pulling their commerce. A flicker from the railhead broke the dusk, signifying the imminence of high horsepower awesome sauce. Light broke like the dawn as the train rounded the bend headed straight toward me. Insects quieted, birds retreated, even pasturing cows took notice, raising their heads and swinging their tail.

I lay low in the embankment, fingernails digging into the dirt, daring not to be seen. Sound and fury grew to apocryphal levels. Grass bowed in reverence of the power and might of the speeding train. All three chimes of the Leslie horn sounded as the engines crossed the road crossing and bore down upon my hidden position.

The ground shook, Christ, no longer anticipated, had come, leading car after cars rushing past, a woosh followed by vacuum, offering only a glimpse of flashing crossing signals and flickering shadows from the other side of the tracks. Rails lifted and plunged with each passing car.

As fast as it came, the freight was gone. The caboose cleared the block signal, green turned to red, then a half moment later the silent sentinel returned to darkness. Grade crossing blasts were swallowed by the recovering silence. Grass and reeds returned to standing. Cicadas resumed whatever cicadas do at night, buzzing and mating, I suppose. Crickets cricked and bullfrogs croaked once again. Leaving behind, only the rails and the promise of another tomorrow, a new day, a new advent.

Christ will come again.