Looking Back at Trains and Tracks

Looking Back at Trains and Tracks

LOOKING BACK AT TRAINS AND TRACKS

by Maureen Pranghofer

An unnamed terror, needless and debilitating

accompanied

Maureen Pranghofer from early childhood to middle

age. In the

story that follows Maureen tells of her struggle

to get on the

right track. Here is what she has to say:

My fascination with trains began on the north

side of the

living room and gradually spread south. For it

was on the north

side that the television was located just a

little to the right

of the front door. And it was just south of this

where I played

"train" with my great aunt Nora.

As it did with other young children in the early

1960's,

television was playing an increasingly important

role in my daily

life. There were certain TV programs which were

rallying points

for the entire family. Paramount among these were

the famous ones

which grabbed the rest of the U.S.--"The

Flintstones," "The

Jetsons," and the "Mickey Mouse

Club."

But the most central fixture on the tube which

came blasting

into the north side of the living room was the

program featuring

the train of Casey Jones. At noon channel 11, an

independent

station, delighted area children by presenting

"Lunch with

Casey."

As the sound of a chugging train was heard in the

distance a

booming voice would announce "Now arriving

on track 11..." Casey

Jones would get off the train, which had come to

a tooting

screeching halt, and run into the club house. He

would sit down

at his lunch table and remove the napkin from

atop his meal and

say something like "Well, well, what do we

have here? It looks

like a peach and cottage cheese and oh yes, a

chicken sandwich

and a big glass of milk. I'm ready for my lunch.

How about you?"

Then the cartoon-filled half hour would progress

along as

quickly as an Amtrak train speeding along to its

destination. I

liked hearing the sound of that train. I liked

watching Casey hop

off. And I was always interested in what he had

for lunch.

My concept of tracks, trains, and railroads would

have

probably just remained in a television realm had

it not been for

my younger brother's birthday gift. In a large

square box came a

present meant for my 2-year-old brother which I

immediately

claimed. It was a train set, complete with

plastic tracks,

switching mechanism, and little cars which hooked

together.

Truthfully I can never remember playing with the

cars much, but

the tracks and switching device were major

highlights in my

seven-year-old life.

At least three times a week I built and then tore

down my

railroad empire which was situated just south of

the TV and which

usually ran in an east-west direction. Building

was accomplished

by arranging the tracks in whatever way seemed to

fit my fancy at

the moment.

There were countless possibilities. One had only

to use

imagination and hook the tracks together. Hooking

the track

together meant simply that you would take each

piece of plastic

track and fit the end with the round notch

sticking out into an

accompanying piece of track which had the round

notch indented.

These track pieces were of various lengths,

shapes, and sizes.

When fit together they formed one continuous

track.

This in and of itself was not all that wonderful,

but the

switching mechanism was the hallmark and

centerpiece of the

entire toy.

This mechanism was plastic like the tracks and

was shaped

like a capital "T." There was a small

crank which when rotated

turned the track until it cut across the opposite

track and thus

made the train turn around.

Now, if you have been around trains you already

know how all

this works. But for me, a seven-year-old who had

only seen two

minutes of an engineer disembarking from a

television locomotive

it was a big deal.

In addition to my younger sisters and brother I

had an

occasional lunch time buddy who was equally

fascinated with

trains. That was my great aunt Nora. Now Nora was

the dream fairy

godmother of any child. When she came to visit

her purse was

stocked full of surprises like gum and Life

Savers.

If you wanted to read, color, play a game or

watch

television, your wish was her command. She would

read as long as

one was willing to listen, talk about important

childhood things

which were seen as being silly to any other

adult, and enter into

a child's world of play as though she, too, were

a kid.

Whether or not she was in actuality personally as

interested

in Casey's train as I was is something I'll never

know. But if I

was interested in trains then she, too, could be

captivated by

them as well in order to please me.

So I was not surprised when one noon hour while

we were

jointly watching the tube, she said, "Maybe

we'll take the train

somewhere. How would you like that?" I was

beside myself with

delight. Awaiting the day when we would actually

be real live

passengers aboard a for real train ride was

almost more than I

could stand. But finally the day arrived.

Nora, my mother, two younger sisters and younger

brother

drove into Minneapolis where we would catch the

train which would

take us across the river to St. Paul. There we

would eat dinner

at the depot and meet my father, who would drive

us home. The

entire time on the train was less than a half

hour but that

didn't matter to me.

With a stomach full of butterflies I walked into

the depot.

Tickets were purchased, and then a voice over the

loudspeaker

boomed, "Now arriving on track 29, train

bound for St. Paul."

"Just like TV," I thought as I walked

out of the main area

of the depot and over to the waiting train.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors out

into the

boarding area my excitement turned to fear. It

was an intangible

eery feeling, but one I was sadly familiar with

and was to

experience for years to come.

The first time I'd experienced this unnamed fear

was after

visiting a friend. My mother was carrying me out

to the car. It

was night and, though I was in her arms, I felt

totally panicked.

Later I again recognized this nightmarish feeling

when my aunt

Carla took me to a theater to see "West Side

Story." And again

this envelope of fright would surround me while

riding in the car

at night, alone in the back seat, while my mother

and grandmother

talked in the front seat.

It was a feeling I couldn't put into words--a

terror which

would leave me crying at times and unable to

explain to

questioning adults what was happening. It was a

fear which left

my palms sweaty and my heart pounding. And as I

grew older, it

did not diminish as do childish fears of the

monster under the

bed or the boogieman in the corner.

As a nine or ten-year-old, I was followed by it

when I

walked across the busy street by my grandmother's

home. It

accompanied me to restaurants and to new places.

It accompanied

me as I was walking at night.

Finally as a 40-year-old woman, I now understand

what caused

my joyful fascination of trains to turn to fear.

I now know why

going out to eat in a fancy restaurant was

nerve-racking and why

an evening walk in our quiet neighborhood was not

enjoyable.

It all had to do with blindness. As an individual

born with

partial sight I did not live in the world of

blind people. I used

my vision and was not considered to be blind as

far as my family

was concerned. Yes they knew I had "problems

seeing" but they

were never talked about openly.

Like a train on the right track I did fine as

long as I

could use my vision. But, put me into a situation

where this

wasn't possible, and I immediately became

derailed.

It took an accident in the summer of 1993 which

left me

totally blind to get me truly on the right track.

Not having any

sight was at first terrifying, confusing, and

depressing. But

through the help of the National Federation of

the Blind, I have

learned at long last that blindness does not have

to be a scary

thing. I have learned that independence is

possible and that

travel, in even in unfamiliar environments, does

not have to be

equated with terror.

I think of all the times when I couldn't enjoy

evening

walks, couldn't enjoy dimly lit restaurants and

of the special

time with Nora and the "real live

train" that I could not enjoy

because I couldn't see where I was going in the

unfamiliar poorly

lit boarding area. How many others are uneasy

about doing these

same things and too ashamed to talk about it?

Today I travel confidently thanks to the National

Federation

of the Blind. I know where I'm going, and I'm

glad I'm on the

right track.