Loco Motives

My earliest recollection of riding a train was in Kiddie Land, a part of the Amusement park, Idlewild, near Ligonier, Pennsylvania. Several child sized passenger cars followed an electric version of a red and silver diesel engine that ran in a circular track. Kids were placed single file in the open air passenger cars for the short trip. It was one of the many kid enticing rides of Kiddie Land.

My next memory was a tour in an actual excursion on board a real train. I believe it was a huge black B & O locomotive. I was in the first grade of elementary school and it was our field trip. We were bused to Connellsville to begin our journey. I can remember how massive the cars seemed. The porter was there to help us board. Eager faces of my classmates soon were pressed against windows and the hiss of the engine became louder and the whistle announced we were off. Views of the Youghiogheny River, trees, and hills sped past until we reached our destination in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. There was no tour of the falls. There were too many kids for the teacher to keep track of. Hustled into another school bus, we were shuttled back to school.

The next trip on a train was in Elkins West Virginia. A travel companion and I decided to escape for a mini-vacation. We stayed in a motel over night to limit the stress on our aging bodies. The tour was a six hour trip to Spruce West Virginia. Spruce is a ghost town. The buildings of this old lumber town were razed long ago, but placards explained the businesses locations. It was a pleasant train ride that had several interesting stops along the way to Spruce.

Recently I was able to eliminate an item from my bucket list. I took another train ride, but the difference was it was first class with meals and snacks served in the dining car. The Potomac Eagle left the town of Romney West Virginia. The route follows the South Branch of the Potomac River. Our tour director shared a wealth information of historic homes and sites along the trail. The engineer stopped to allow passengers to ride in a gondola car to view a stretch of the river where bald eagles nest. We weren’t disappointed and saw several.

The meals, snacks, and service were great. It was a truly memorable way to cross off another item from my bucket list.

Kiddie Land

Who can remember from their days of childhood going to Idlewild Park with their parents or friends, bouncing with excitement as they headed toward Kiddie Land? There at entrance were two stone clad pillars and two steps down into the enchanted area of rides for children. A large placard clown wearing white costume, ruffled neck collar, a red nose, holding a bass drum that welcomed kids to this section of the park reserved just for children. Child sized, scaled down amusement rides that were similar to adult versions awaited. Near the entrance was a sleek white and silver electric bus or trolley that ran in a circle on tracks. Close by was a smaller version of a Ferris wheel with caged cars that lifted riders up and over the top, moving much slower than the adult ride.

There was a glossy green turtle that rose up and down while traveling in a circle with several kids on its back. Another ride was miniature that cars circled on a wooden track, most painted red with bright yellow steering wheels. They spun, but didn’t direct the cars. A fake pony pulling a small cart only wide enough for two, maybe three kids; its leather reins to the kids as the ponies rose up and down.

A bevy of boats with room for two kids in the front and two in the back moved through a shallow circular pond. Steering wheels in the boats kept little hands busy and out of the water as “motor boats” hummed along.

Kids had to be fastened into the “”airplanes” hanging from chains. The children pilots again had steering wheels, but an added attraction was the machine guns attached to the fuselage for the front pilots. The breeze as the planes whirled “air born” in a circle actually made the kid feel like he was flying.

But my favorite ride of all was the kiddie car ride. These carts drove along on tracks through a shady twisting two rail track. Each cart had a cranking gear that attached to wheels beneath the cart. The faster a child turned the crank, the faster the cart went. Sometimes the carts would jump the track when a larger kid was showing his or her strength. They would also move up behind a slower moving cart and assist it into moving faster.

 When there was a clear stretch of track close to the attendant at the finish line, a kid could with several quick pumps build up speed. The cart would almost bowl over the attendant trying to stop the hurtling cart with a stiff leg and a foot.

Orderly?

We had an orderly at Frick Hospital that one time impressed and befriended a very wealthy man.  The man set up a a rather substantial endowment for the hospital and would be continued as long as the orderly worked at the hospital. Donny was the orderly’s name. He was old when I started to work at the hospital. Slowly he developed bad habits that management finally had to step in to correct.

I’m sure that one habit started innocently enough. He ate the unclaimed trays of patients who had been sent home before the kitchen could collect them. That progressed to eating untouched food from partially eaten trays. He’d collect untouched items and eat them in the soiled utility room.

Eventually, someone spoke with management and Donny could eat his midday meal in the cafeteria for free, if he stopped eating from patient trays.

Over the years Donny’s white uniforms became at best dirty, greasy gray. He’d wear them for several days before he would wash them. Other staff members made jokes about his clothes. “It’s easy for Donny to put on his uniform in the morning, yellow in the front and brown in the back.” Or he” just leans this clothes in the corner at night, until morning.” Sometimes, he would drink too much and would fall asleep on the hard, wooden benches in the men’s locker room. He would wake with a headache, but he wouldn’t have to change clothes. He was still wearing his “whites.”

Administration finally told him to stop and instead wear fresh operating room greens each day. They “promoted” him to locating missing wheelchairs and carts and returning them to their proper floors.

Each day before starting his rounds, he would laboriously copy the day’s menu on the back of an envelope and share it with staff on all the floors.

They had chili on the Thursday, the day they passed out pay checks. He’d call out as he rounded, “Chili and checks.” On lunches of chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy, he’d share, “Chicken hips and smashed potatoes.”

He called his beer “Polish pop” and his chewing tobacco “West Virginia coleslaw,” and he didn’t like women. He’d walk nearly five miles one way each day, rain or shine, only missing one week of work when he was hospitalized with pneumonia. People would offer him rides. Occasionally he would accept, but he would look in first and if it was a woman, he’d shake his head and walk on.

One day, one of nursing’s secretaries was driving home in a tremendous downpour. She saw Donny walking with his jacket zipped up, hunched over, trying to protect his face from the pounding rain. She stopped. Donny looked inside and shook his head. She leaned over rolled down the window a crack and said, “Donny, if you don’t get in this car right now, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Between the secretary’s threat and the rainstorm, Donny climbed inside her car and allowed her to drive him home.

A Land Without Consequences

How many of us can remember the vintage black and white television sets with rabbit ear antennas? Other than movies, the broadcasts were live and bloopers recorded forever. The programs shown on the television screen were often gray and grainy. Often the picture was wavy or would it would flop vertically or slide side to side. But never worry; those old sets had knobs that would allow the viewer to control those frustrating interruptions, sometimes.

Today interruptions are commercials. Too many, too frequent, and most make no sense at all. The amusing thing about old time advertisements was they were live and that made some amusing bloopers even in black and white.

I remember heroes of yesteryear: the Lone Ranger with his sidekick Tonto, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Cisco Kid and Pancho, and Wild Bill Hickock and Jingles. Who can forget John Wayne and yes, even Ronald Reagan. They were the righters of wrong, the good guys who followed, captured, and jailed the evil-doers. We would often worry when bank robbers, cattle rustlers, and claim jumpers would escape, ride away, then stop to brush out their tracks. But deep down we somehow knew the good guys would win, even when they had to trek across burning sands or over steep mountain trails.

We are now doing the same thing, sitting on the edge of our seats, watching and praying that the criminals of today will be prosecuted, brought to trial, and jailed for the crimes they’ve committed.

We see they’ve used all sorts of ways and devices to hide their trails. They set up organizations, erase emails, use smarmy lawyers, and buy votes. They’ve cavorted with pedophiles, worked with foreign governments, and hobnobbed with the “elite.” They’ve taken money from hardworking taxpayers to pay for their opulent lifestyles. They’ve bought mansions, jet planes, boats, and taken expensive junkets to foreign vacation resorts, all on the taxpayer’s dime.

Just as power-hungry potentates of the past, these politicians have bribed, had illicit love affairs, and yes even committed murders. Seemingly, they hold themselves to a different standard of justice than the average person. Has America become a land without consequences where the elected servants have become the masters? Have the citizens kowtowed to politicians’ incessant greed and hunger for power? Have we become followers, deceived into swallowing the snake oil that they sell?

We the Silent Majority can no longer remain silent. Slowly they’ve eroded our freedom and liberty. They’ve indoctrinated Americans from the cradle to the grave. Our forefathers would have executed them for their crimes or at the very least chased them out of Washington DC tarred and feathered. We must speak out.

Speak to Me

I just saw an article pondering the beginning of speech in human beings. It caused me to research farther. I Googled the phrase “Origins of Language” and of course a plethora of choices appeared before my eyes. Selecting one site, I wanted to see what it had to offer. I was mildly surprised at the theories posed by noted theorists and linguists. Each one of their suggestions shared a common conjecture with a very limited scope.

Each one of their proposals held the same premise; initially man was unable to speak. Like an infant, mankind had to learn how to speak, forming words through mocking animals in trial and error. They proposed that mankind was a dumb beast and language evolved.

The first proposal was called the Bow-Wow theory which is mimicking of animal sounds. It is the suggestion of an onomatopoeic process, where humans heard animals and copied their voices. But that fails on several counts. Who gave the animals their vocalizations? Wouldn’t they have started out with a blank slate as well? Or how does echoing animal sounds equate into actual words with meaning, speech, and language?

The second proposal was called Ding-Dong theory. Theorists propose man’s speech was in response to the essential qualities of objects in the environment, but again, there is no connection between a sound and any real meaning.

The third was called the La-La theory. It introduces the idea that language developed from sounds associated from love, play, and song. It too fails without a bridge between emotional and rational parts of mankind’s ability to speak.

There was also the Pooh-Pooh theory. It holds that speech began with interjections; a spontaneous vocalization to pain, surprise, and other emotions. No language has enough interjections to cover clicks, intakes of breath, and other noises with speaking and those noises would again have little relevance to paring of vowels and consonants.

Yo-He-Ho theory says speech began from grunts, groans, and snorts emitted during heavy labor. It may account for the rhythmic quality of speech, but does little to explain where words came from.

A much better explanation comes from the Bible. Mankind had language from the beginning. In Genesis, God speaks with Adam and Eve in Eden. They replied to His call, so they had speech from their Creation. When God asked Adam about his sin Adam answered God.

Adam was also instructed by God to name to each anima and until God divided mankind’s speech pattern at the Tower of Babel, people spoke one language. They were able to communicate with one another. God’s Word answers exactly how human speech occurred, how it happened, and why different languages are used today.

Really Rough Sledding

Winter isn’t my favorite season of the year. Even as a child, it was a time for doing things indoors. The lure of the sled was the major draw to get me to play outside in the snow. Flexible Flyer sleds were the most common brand and it was the brand I had.

Three shiny thin wooden slats were bordered by thicker pieces of wood; one on each side of the main body. Thick wooden braces supported the thin slats from underneath. They allowed kids to belly slam themselves onto the sled without breaking it. Another yoke-shaped piece of wood on the front allowed the sled to be steered. A short length of binder twine or rope looped through the its holes permitted the sled to be towed behind the owner.

Two painted red steel rails curved up at the front end and several upside down v-shaped braces supported the sled body and the body of the rider. The number of braces depended on the length of the sled. Similar metal pieces ran the length of the sled connecting at the front. It attached the steering piece to the runners.

When we got older, we rode our sleds on Coal Bank Hill Road. It was a less traveled, unpaved road with curves and steep slope. At the bottom was Route 711. The traffic was heavier. Because of high banks, riders couldn’t see oncoming traffic, so riders had to be extra skillful turning their sleds to run parallel to the highway on the berm or to roll off the sled stopping short of the traffic.

When rod crews spread antiskid ashes on the road to give vehicles traction, sometimes clunkers would grab a runner and bring the sled to a sudden stop. Many riders, including me, lost buttons from coats as we slid over the front of the sled doing a face plant in the snow.

Because of our adventurous nature, we helped the neighbor boys build an “Our Gang” type of snow contraption from spare pieces of wood and old car parts. Because of its weight and after several rides, it was abandoned. It took two kids to pull it and no one wanted to drag the heavy beast back to the hilltop for another ride.

Some other friends made a toboggan from a long piece of corrugated aluminum roofing. The sled was lightweight, able to fly over the snow without sinking in. It slid so fast and far on its maiden run. We were all scared as the toboggan jumped a deep ditch at the bottom of the hill. It came to rest halfway across a cow pasture.

Recession Depression Revisited

The panic from the Corona 19 virus whether from the virus itself or the promotion of its virulence, has caused a worldwide uproar. The shutdown of businesses, travel, and the quarantine of workers has caused an intense impact on families, here in the United States and in countries all around the planet. Its intrusion into everybody’s existence is nearly unbelievable.

Before the C19 collision with civilization, there were media reports on children going to bed hungry. Many organizations existence was solely based on reaching out to them and supplying their needs. Relief organizations gathered donations and sent food stuffs to curtail those starving in foreign lands. Their herald pierces many generous hearts and the donations have eased the suffering and diminished its torment.

Now, the shutdown and quarantine has ripped the bandage off this terrible wound. Hunger again will gain the upper hand. Starvation isn’t sudden exsanguinations, but rather the slow death drawn out over many weeks and months. The loss of products and finances in the homes of the United States will hasten a severe impact all over the world.

Forty percent of deaths from the Corona Virus in America occur in nursing homes. Old age homes are where Americans warehouse and stockpile the elderly who have “outlived their usefulness.” Would the incidence of death have been lessened if we cared for our elderly as do our Amish friends and neighbors? It is reported sunshine and fresh air has a major impact in defeating C19. The elderly are for the most part kept inside, often isolated in their rooms. Even with the “protective barriers” in place, the caretakers move from one client to another. Unless the caretaker, which is impossible, showers and has a complete change of clothing and shoes, viruses and germs will be transferred from one person to another.

I know that I am older, 71 years old to be exact, but I don’t fear death. I don’t relish the thought of ending my life tight now, but I do know that I’d rather pass into eternity in a quicker death than a long drawn out wasting away from starvation.

Politicians have changed our onetime masked cowboy hero’s television introduction of, “A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty Hi-Yo Silver! The Lone Ranger!” into “With a virus curse, a cloud of fear, and a home alone order, they take our jobs away and steal our silver.”

Horns

As I was returning from church Sunday morning after worship service, I passed a friend who was walking outside of his home. I tooted my horn. It’s often customary for neighbors from the “mountains” to say that you saw them and just wanted to say “hi.” It was the first time I’ve blown my horn since I bought a new car over a month ago. The horn sounded harsh to me, but then again most horns were to be created to be a warning and not as a friendly greeting.

Maybe it’s just me, but horns of yesterday sounded much different. If we go back to the time of the steam whistle, they seemed loud, but when a train or ship sounded in the distance, it was muted, sounding so nostalgic. In bed late at night a train would pass nearby. Its whistle would float through the open bedroom window softly saying goodnight. Even the newer diesel horns seemed to lose their sharpness in the night air. Steamboat captains whose sternwheelers and tugboats that plied the rivers around Pittsburgh were known by their whistles. If you recognized the whistle, you knew the captain. If he changed boats, the whistle and the cook moved too.

When automobiles were invented the first ones were steam driven and whistles remained. They were smaller and perhaps a bit more shrill, but they still sounded like a person or a bird whistling. When people invented vehicles and chugging gasoline motors, their first horns were bulbs which honked when squeezed, sounding very much like a distressed Canadian goose. Bulb horns were replaced by electrical ones that vibrated to make their sounds. The variety was nearly endless and depended on the size and shape of the trumpet. Their sounds ranged from a barely heard buzz or beep to the vintage “Aah-Ooo-Gah” of yesteryear.

Trucks had a need for larger and louder horns. Some were electronic, but many were equipped with air horns. A blast from the trucker warned others that they were coming, causing pedestrians and other drivers to scoot out of the way. Even those horns had a different, less harsh and threatening sound to them. Some of the air horns of truckers, even pickup drivers, actually played a series of notes, sounding out a recognizable tune. “Dixie” seemed to be one of the favorite refrains on their hit list.

What's Missing

More than me missing my parents, Edson Carl Beck, my mother Sybil Miner Beck, and my wife Cynthia Morrison Beck, there are several unsolved missing items that move to the front of my mind. I know where my parents and my wife are now, heaven. They are safe and I know they are in Heaven.

These two missing things have haunted me over many years. One mystery that has never been solved is just a small frivolous item; a tiny pouch with a thin pull string to close it. The bag originally contained bubble gum. The pink pieces of chewing gum were covered with a hardened gold colored coating of sugar. The gum was to look like prospector's gold nuggets.

Every once and awhile as a child I could convince my parents to buy the linen-hued sack with the bright red pull strings. The happiness of having the bubble gum didn’t end when the last bubble had burst and the gum was tossed into the trash.
The drawstring pouch became a storage place for plastic figures, ball bearings, marbles, lucky stones, or money. My family wasn’t a wealthy one, but when I could gather a penny, a nickel, a dime, and a rare quarter, it would find its way into the sack. The little bag became a repository for this young man’s treasury. My stash needed to be guarded and hidden. That was the rub. I'd hidden it so well I could never find it again.

The second missing mystery involves a handmade game that I shaped for my dad as a Christmas gift. It was fashioned after the old games of Parcheesi or Pollyanna. Some people might be old enough to recall gathering around the table, rolling the dice, and moving the pieces until they were safely home. The game board was about 25 inches square with a raised wooden border. The spaces around the board and into the home goal were laboriously drawn and hand painted. In each of the four corners contained a circle with a barn, shed, or pasture with fencing to reflect the theme of a farm design. I painted each circle to match animal figurines. Each animal about three quarter of an inch high: sheep, cows, pigs, horses; four each. They were also cut and painted. The board could be stored on the wall like an art piece with the animals and dice perched in display on the frame.

Somehow this potential heirloom disappeared and remains missing.

Who knew that Facebook "Community Standards" were accumulative. I made four posts since last year and have been put into their Facebook dungeon and not permitted to post for seven days. This site uses its Liberal bias to screen and muzzle voices with opposing views. I understand it's a private entity and FREEDOM of speech has little meaning to them. Keep up the good work, Facebook. Book burning and voicing dissenting voices is dead on your tyrannical site.

Post It Notes

Since I started my blog, I’ve shared 1,292 posts. With this post it will be 1,293. The blogs started by recalling my adventures in nursing, as a corpsman in the United States Navy, my years in college, and my history as a child. I also make note of stories passed down to me by my parents Edson Carl Beck and my mother Sybil Miner Beck. I share these tales from my heritage because I don’t want them to be lost. There are so many stories I know I have forgotten and that upsets me. I wish I’d have noted them much earlier while they were fresh and I wish I would have listened more carefully when Uncles, Aunts, Grandparents, and Parents were talking.

My children Amanda Yoder, Anna Prinkey, and Andrew Beck asked me to write a biography of my life. I thought my blog was what I was doing. At their insistence, I did a brief outline of the facts, but it was like an iceberg lettuce salad without dressing. It was bland. I wrote the biography listing where I was born, my home, and my school days. I shared first jobs, my enlistment in the United States Navy, my duty stations, and college. I shared the time after graduation with a BSN degree in nursing, the hospitals where I worked, and positions that I held.

Then came my retirement and the beginning of my writing career, where I felt the stories from my past were better served in a blog form than in a written journal. Blogging is in essence is electronic journaling and was more expedient for me. I’ve led a rather sedate life with some scattered incidents of excitement. Those are the things I try to include in my BlogSpot. They are the things I think might be interesting to others.

After I became a published author, I had to promote my books and became a little more outgoing. Couple that fact with my house being empty except for my cat Willow I enjoyed making excursions out of the house and meeting people. I was able to talk with someone, anyone.

As a nursing supervisor, I was able to talk with others on a daily basis, form friendships, and share small portions of their lives. Retirement curtailed that outlet and I needed the stimulation of talking with others. Sometimes it was with complete strangers.

I completed the task of the dry biography for my kids, but the really interesting and likable stuff was already written and saved in my blog. PS, I am just rambling because I haven’t any idea of what to share today.

Twist and Shout

In my lifetime I’ve ridden and driven along roads that twisted and turned as the highways climbed or descended hills. Some were local and others throughout other places in America. Riding the school bus through high school I travelled steep Route 711. It was also called the Springfield Pike. Wintertime was always a challenge when it was ice and snow covered. Sometimes the Pike was covered in a heavy fog. One foggy evening my dad Carl Beck said, “If it wasn’t for the soda cans tossed out, we wouldn’t be able to see to get home.” One night actually I had t stick my head out of the side window, shine a flashlight down, and tell my dad to steer left or right.

Ore Mine Hill is also near my home. It was so winding my dad said he believed they paved it following a snake. It almost seemed the road was tracked the path of a serpent.

Kreinbrook Hill Road is very near. When a college classmate friend of my daughter Anna Prinkey visited, I drove them into Mt. Pleasant. She was from the flatlands near York, Pennsylvania. The descent was more than she could handle and she felt ill. I had to drive more slowly.

An extremely twisted road was going from Tennessee to Virginia. We were attending the World’s Fair in Knoxville and driving to Virginia Beach. Many of the turns were horseshoe shaped. The most remarkable thing I saw was there were mobile homes all along the road. I still wonder how they got there. The curves made us ill by the time we reached the top. “Whew, we made it,” I thought, then my stomach lurched…we had to go down the other side too.

A friend and I drove to visit our friends in North Carolina we got off the beaten track in West Virginia. Of course the road twisted as we climbed through the mountains. It was late in the evening, raining, and the combination of darkness and wet highway made the trip more difficult.

My travelling companion and I have difficulty with heights. Her problem came from an auto accident with head injuries. My uneasiness developed after having two episodes of disequilibrium. I wasn’t dizzy, but felt unbalanced. We were again driving back from our friends in North Carolina. She was in the driver’s seat and because the Blue Ridge Parkway was close, she wanted to see a waterfall along the way. We started and the beautiful vistas that opened up were soon swallowed by the near panic feelings we had and had to take the nearest exit missing the visit to the falls.

Just for Kicks Politics

Not too long ago I heard people complain about the number of political advertisements, polls, and telephone calls. Candidates seemed to crawl out from the woodwork. I expected folks to complain about the potential onslaught of more ads as the general elections and presidential elections drew nearer. The anticipated distaste of hearing political promises and mudslinging was beginning to draw supporters from both parties into pre-election insults about the other party.

But then something unforeseen occurred, the Corona virus. The news releases swallowed every other aspect of the media’s reporting. Each agency grasped at the smallest tidbit and trumpeted it as truth, even if they had to twist facts to give a new outlook on an old falsehood or fact. Reporters continued to ask the very same biased questions hoping that they could wring out something new or catch someone in a controversial or contrariwise statement. Often they cut and patched official statements until they said something completely out of context.

What I wanted to highlight is now all of the ads are trying to soothe the impact of the virus, either the real devastation or panic that the virus has engendered. The general theme of each ad seems to be “We’re in this together” or “Although we’re alone, we’re together.” Is it just me or does it seem they are saying settle into the “New normal” and accept the herd mentality? Do they believe that all the good things America stands for has come to naught and American workers will never shake off the fear and dread that has allowed the government to compel many to stay huddles at home. So many conflicting reports only confuse and frustrate people while watching their families go hungry and their livees slip away.

It seems these sympathetic advertisements try to assuage and mitigate the loss of freedom and business, but to me it only enhances the fears introduced by less than honest reporting. It was easy for federal, state, and local politicians to have subtly wrested Constitutional freedoms away by scaring citizens into submission. It’s caused many to look to the same government which has stolen the liberty to solve all our problems. It seems to be setting the stage for accepting a one world government.

Proposals to inoculate and to mark either by chip or by data carrying permanent metal bracelets of each person are already circulating. If a person can’t prove that they’ve received the vaccination or the chip, they will not be permitted to travel, arrested, and sent to holding facilities until they comply.

All in all, political ads don’t seem so bad after all.