(rshsdepot) The day we took the train to Chicago

[jdent1_@_optonline.net]

From the Quad City Times (Davenport, IA)...

The day we took the train to Chicago
By Bill Wundrum | Thursday, December 06, 2007 | 

For the life of me, I can’t remember more excitement than when we took our kids on the train to Chicago at Christmas time. It always happened on the first Saturday in December. It was glorious.

“Can we get pancakes for breakfast on the train?” “Will we have to wear coats?” “Can we take some money and buy things?” All such talk by little kids.

It was not an ordinary train, but the Rock Island Lines Rocket. We would ride this shiny streamliner from the Rock Island depot for the Christmas wonders of Chicago.

Our son, Tim, could not sleep the night before. We could hear him in the dark, getting up over and over to look at the clock. He never trusted the alarm.

We had to be up ridiculously early, because the Rocket left the depot at 6:25 a.m. We rolled out of bed about 3:30 a.m. because Tim was always afraid of being late for the train. Our daughter, Becky, had her clothes all laid out the night before, a little plaid skirt and sweater. Our youngest, Peter, knew that he was going to Chicago to see the real Santa Claus.

We were the first to arrive at the depot, where a sleepy agent sold us round-trip tickets for — as I remember — about $20 or $25. A few shivering families were standing on the platform. Some had suitcases on the brick apron alongside the tracks.

Not a single person wanted to miss the arrival of that aluminum-clad wonder with the big red diesel locomotive. Tim could always imagine that the train was coming; more than once I would pull him back inside the depot because he wanted to put an ear to the rails to hear the Rocket approaching.

Finally it was here, a dramatic moment. We all shivered in excitement. At exactly 6:25, the conductor would yell, “All aboard. All aboar-d-d-d.” In a creak of rail cars and metal, we eased out of Rock Island.

We rocked through the weaving aisles, a giggle for our kids. It was as if we were aboard a ship, getting our sea legs, until finding our car and its seats. Our kids pressed noses to the windows, waving to imaginary people who were not there in small towns like Geneseo, listening to the ding-ding-ding of the railroad crossing bells.

The dining car was the momentous hour of the trip. Passengers walked from one car to another, a chilling cross-over with a burst of cool air while heaving open the door to the diner. There, we faced a wonderland of white linen tablecloth with china and silver. Polite waiters handed us little cards on which we circled our choice — scrambled or straight up eggs, ham, fruit and always Cream of Wheat. They stood, straight as soldiers, waiting for us to make our choices. It was a sight to see a waiter pouring coffee into the cup, from 4 feet up, without spilling a drop while the train jiggled around a bend at Bureau, Ill.

The clickety-click of the rails ended at LaSalle Street Station, with its dim rows of rails and trains, and inside to a lobby that looked like an Alfred Hitchcock movie set. It was a quick trip; we were in Chicago by 9:30 a.m. We were off to the magic of Marshall Field’s, to wander the aisles of the world’s greatest store and lunch in the Walnut Room around the tree that all of us thought was the biggest, the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Christmas tree in all the world.

All day we wandered Marshall Field’s, the magical store that is no longer Field’s, but Macy’s. We held hands with our kids, but somehow, Peter slipped away. Five-year-olds can do that. We were hysterical until a tuxedoed floor walker came up: “Do you claim this little one?”

Peter, always precocious and not a bit disturbed, said to the Field’s attendant:

“Daddy, this W.C. Field guy is good at finding lost kids.” That name jumble relieved our shaking tears.

Trains were magic, especially for trips to Chicago. At 5:30 we boarded a Rocket for home and were back in Rock Island by 9:30, bedtime.

We should have taken more such trips, summer, winter and fall.

Maybe some day we once again will clickety-click in and out of the Quad-Cities. Let’s hope they call any future trains the Rocket. When inaugurated, the rails were taut and roadbeds were strong; the Rock Island-Chicago run was a rocket-like 2 hours and 15 minutes.

Bill Wundram can be contacted at (563) 383-2249 or bwundram_@_qctimes.com. Comment on this column at qctimes.com.
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