Excerpts from a book I am never going to write.

[oneighty]

The name of the book I am not going to write might be 'Walking the Railroad Tracks'. Or 'The Railroad'. Something like that.

The first story I think I might put in the book is.

'The Man That Could Not Shave'

He was a black man. I say that because that is true. He came up from Florida with a company that bought green tomatoes from our local farmers. The black man worked for the people from Florida. So did I.

We worked in an abandoned RR Freight terminal setting next to the New York Central RR Tracks. The building of wood construction was long and narrow.

The black man slept at night on an old mattress in a room which was once an office I suppose. His face was terribly scarred from the pox he one time suffered. There were valleys and mountains covering the poor man's tormented face. To make matters worse (I am guessing) his whiskers grew heavy and tough.

I watched him one day applying a cream which some how melted his whiskers away. There were tears in his eyes from the pain. I guess.

The white fellow working with me was attending college to become a Doctor. We would unload a truck of its hampers of green tomatoes. Then we stood around talking and smoking. We were talking about smoking and cancer (Yes that long ago). The Doctor allowed that one day there would be a cure for the cancer we might develop some day.

I was about thirteen then I think.

And then I might put this in the book I will not be writing.

'The Train'

The train left the big city along about nightfall. It traveled west following the setting sun. In full darkness the train passed through my village and roared past the building where the man could not shave.It passed through the forest lands where we used to play. From the darkness of the woods I could imagine my little playmates waving good byes. Bye Eddie bye they would be saying. There was Carl and Janie and Earl. Ronnie was not there he had already gone down the tracks and across the Pacific to Korea.

The train clickity clacked past the ravine where the hobo camp was. The train air horns screamed us through the night and in the bright morning light of the next day we off loaded at The US Navy Great Lakes Training Center.

We were not children anymore.

From the book I am not going to write.

180

[ZenLefty]

1. Geez, I wish you'd write that book.

My local train station when I was young was run by the Sicilian Mafia. Some really interesting things happen at places the trains come in.

[oneighty]

2. Hey ZenLefty

How are you doing?

Many things happened along those RR tracks. The memories of which keep chugging through my mind.

180

[oneighty]

3. Or I might tell you about the Pregnant Snake

The ditch full of water stretches a thousand yards or so parallel to the RR Tracks. In the clear water are orange black spotted salamanders and green frogs and snakes. Cottontails grow there too. Mysterious plants wave in the gentle winds and currents. Dragonflies with their four wings dart about in great numbers doing their dragonfly chores. We kids called the Dragonflies 'darning needles' and it is said that they sew up the mouths of curious children if they want to.

Ronnie caught a snake there in the ditch. The snake is fat around as though maybe full of little snakes. Ronnie with his knife cut the snake open to see. And sure enough she was full of wiggly tiny new snakes. Ronnie put the now dead snake lengthwise on the RR track for further punishment and we all wait for the next train and after it passes us by nothing is left.

Except this memory.

180

[JitterbugPerfume]

4. Do it Ed

write that book

you are so
gifted

[oneighty]

5. Cottontails

do not grow there too. I meant to say 'cattails'. Cottontails grow on bunnies and there were plenty of them along the rail road. Except for those that Ronnie shot.

180

[freesqueeze]

6. Nice

My great-grandfather was run over by a train. He and his dog at the same time. We knew grandfather drank heavily but we never will understand how the dog got hit.

[oneighty]

7. That is terrible

((((((((((hug))))))))))))

We are near an Indian Reservation. Sometimes Indians walk the tracks after drinking in the whiteman's village. I know of two that died on the tracks. It is so sad.

180

[Adelante]

8. This is a wonderful idea for a book

Never say never. Even if you wait another ten, twenty years, you will still have this book in you and it could come out. I hope it does. :)

[oneighty]

9. Thank you.

I must hurry hurry hurry! Time is not on my side.

One day I climbed aboard a slow moving freight train just like the Hobos do. Soon I was on my way to west. As the train gained speed I had to leap off and I rolled in the rocks and soot for a little distance. Got up dusted my self off checked for broken bones. My head came within a foot or so of being squashed.

And I never ever hopped a train again.

180

[Adelante]

10. Okay then

I guess tomorrow's the day. Grab the time you have and do it. You are meant to write this book.

[MaryBear]

11. Do it, 180.

Call it "The book I wasn't going to write."

[oneighty]

12. Thank you Ms. MaryBear

I do intend to write it. Yes a good title.

One of these days.

[MaryBear]

13. 180, Jack's job ended,

and he's writing, too. Fiction. It's good! Good as in well written and as in good for him. Do you know I am former G______Bear?

[oneighty]

14. Ah. You have "Elgardo's" book? One of ten I think. Rare edition.

I have those stories and more in a self published book. 'Voyages of the Vicky Mary.'

Good luck to Jack. Does he intend to publish?

I do not. My stories have limited interest-BUT it sure is FUN!

I would surely starve as a writer.

180

[MaryBear]

15. Indeed, I do have "Elgardo's" book.

He does intend to publish. We have much to learn on that score. You too could publish, I think.

:hi:

-MBear, the former GBear