From Dusk 'til Dawn

A scream. A piercing shriek of agony lopped off as suddenly as an axe biting into the neck of a hapless turkey the day before Thanksgiving. That’s what jolted him awake.

It took a moment for Jake to realize that the sounds he now heard were that of a train. He was on a train. He shook his head in confusion. He’d never even been on a train, but he’d seen a few motion pictures at the movie theatre the few times he’d been to Kansas City that had been set on trains.

He looked down and discovered he was wearing a suit. He didn’t own a suit. Back home on the farm he wore overalls, a work shirt, a straw hat, and boots from the Faith Bible Church’s charity box. He reached up and pulled a fedora off his head. He moved it in circles, while marveling at the texture and rich brown color. He patted his pocket and discovered a wallet and a small notebook with his handwriting in it. He checked the wallet first and it contained over fifty dollars. Jake gawked. Even before the Great Depression, his family had never had this much money at one time.

He looked out the window and saw flat land as far as the eye could see. They were moving so fast. Where were they? It resembled Kansas. How did he get here? Coming down the aisle was a man in a uniform who must be the conductor. Jake frantically searched his pockets again and began to panic. He didn’t have a ticket. How could he explain being here?

He faced the window and hoped the conductor would pass him by. After a moment the man discretely coughed. Jake reluctantly turned and faced him.

“Pardon me, Mr. Geller. I don’t mean to disturb you, but I wonder if you wouldn’t mind autographing your column for my wife. She’s a big fan. I swear she’s as grumpy as a fox who can’t get into the hen house if that darn paper boy is late throwing The Denver Post.”

The conductor shoved a folded newspaper and a pen in front of Jake and he gaped at the column which featured a photograph of him and the title Jake’s Take.

He took the paper and the pen and shakily said, “Sure, Mr.?”

“Walker’s the name, walking’s my game.” The man chuckled at his joke.

Jake gave a half-hearted laugh and said, “Who should I make it out to?”

“Betty. The missus is going to be thrilled.”

He scribbled for a moment and handed the paper and pen back to Walker who read what he wrote.

Betty, thanks for being a fan. Yours, Jake.

“Hot damn, pardon my French! You just made me a hero in my own house, Mr. Geller.”

“It was my pleasure, Mr. Walker and you can call me Jake.”

“Jake, I’ll tell you what, you’re the nicest celebrity I’ve ever met. Please call me Henry.”

Jake squirmed in his seat. He has the same first name as Pa, but that’s definitely the only resemblance to the old man. And how on earth can I be a celebrity? The last thing I remember is getting into another fight with my father.

“So, what do you think of the Zephyr? Ain’t she a beaut?”

I’m on the Zephyr?

“She sure is.”

“Oh, shoot. All the excitement of the day almost made me forget why I came to find you. Mr. Budd has asked all the reporters to come on up to the observation car for a demonstration. You’re the last one and you won’t want to miss this. Just follow me.”

Walker led Jake down the aisle where passengers were chatting, reading and gazing out the window. “In case you didn’t know, The Pioneer Zephyr is the first diesel powered train and built by Mr. Budd’s company for the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad, better known as CB&Q. Stainless steel cars. One baggage, Railway Post Office, buffet and coach car. One power and storage car. And here we are at the coach observation car,” he said with a flourish.

“I need to get back to work, but if you need anything, just look me up and I’ll take care of you faster than Jesse Owens sprinting toward the ’36 Olympics.”

“Thanks, Henry. You’ve been very helpful.

“My pleasure, sir.”

Sir. Nobody has ever called me sir. Or had they? I must be the man Henry thinks I am because that was definitely my photo in that newspaper. I need to figure out how I got on this train and why I only remember life in Kansas, but not in Denver. There must be a logical explanation, but I do remember that as a youngster I always thought that being a reporter must be a top-notch career.

“Henry!” he called to the retreating conductor.

“Yes, sir?”

“May I use your Jesse Owens comment for my column?”

Henry beamed like a proud father of four girls the day his wife finally gave birth to a son.

“You betcha! Betty’s not going to believe this.”

“Thanks, Henry. I’ll talk to you later if I need any more information.”

Jake turned back to the observation car and saw a man he assumed to be Mr. Budd standing behind a small table with a basin on top. He waved the straight razor in his hand as if conducting a symphony orchestra.

“Pay close attention ladies and gents. I’m about to prove that the Zephyr is the smoothest darn ride in the entire world!”

He lathered his face, turned toward a steward holding a hand mirror and proceeded to shave. Once finished, the steward handed him a damp white towel. He wiped the remaining soap off and held up the towel for everyone to see. “No nicks, no blood. What did I say? She’s the smoothest, and that’s traveling at 105 mph!”

Everyone applauded and Jake took the opportunity to go back to his seat. Once there, he pulled the notebook out of his jacket pocket and began to read what appeared to be the beginning of a column.

Dawn-to-Dusk

On May 26 the phrase from dawn ‘til dusk has a new meaning for this Kansas farm boy. My father pulled me out of school at the age of 12 to help out on our small sorghum farm. This meant a lot of swinging a scythe during harvest the moment the sun inched above the land until it crept below the horizon. There were countless other chores and the only time I saw daylight was on Sundays. My mother insisted we attend church.

This gave me the opportunity to visit with my fifth grade teacher, Miss Porter. She knew I loved to read and each Sunday would lend me a book and give me a week-old newspaper.

As my readers know, I eventually ended up here at The Denver Post writing this column. And now I’ve embarked on the most exciting adventure of my life.

I was invited to join the Dawn-to-Dusk Dash from Denver to Chicago on the diesel-powered Zephyr. This train has all the amenities, including a burro named Zeph. I asked the president of CB&Q how he felt having a burro as the mascot of his very modern train. He said, "Why not? One more jackass on this trip won't make a difference.” That got a big laugh from all the reporters.

We left Denver at 7:04 am and barring any misfortune, we should arrive in Chicago about 10 pm and head directly to the grand opening of The Century of Progress. I’m particularly excited to see Admiral Byrd’s polar expedition ship the City of New York. If I have time, I might just check out the performance of the famous fan dancer, Sally Rand. (Oh, I know I’m not fooling any of you readers, after all I’m a 22-year old red-blooded American male. Of course I’ll check out Miss Rand’s show.)

This makes no sense. I read about both the Zephyr’s dash to Chicago and the Century of Progress in the newspaper. I remember thinking that I’d give just about anything to ride on this train and see all those futuristic exhibits. There is no way to explain this. I was on the farm in Kansas this morning. I wake up on this train living a completely different life, one I’d longed for and now I’m wondering which is real. I’ve read about amnesia. Perhaps I bumped my head once I boarded the train? But my head doesn’t hurt. This is making me crazy. Maybe I’ll gain some perspective if I get some more shuteye.

Jake saw Henry approaching and motioned him over. “I need a bit more sleep. I guess I stayed up too late. If you’re not busy, would you mind waking me right before we get to Chicago?”

“It will be my pleasure. I think you’ll find the end to be a real doozy.”

“Thank you. You’ve made this trip quite special, Henry.”

“So have you, sir. Sweet dreams.”

Jake felt a gentle shaking and opened his eyes. The conductor stood over him and said, “We’re right outside of Chicago.”

“What time is it?”

Henry grinned. “It’s almost 8 pm. We beat our expected time of arrival by about two hours! Check out Chi-Town’s skyline.”

Jake looked out the window and gasped. So many skyscrapers.

Henry leaned over and pointed to one of the towers. “That there is the Tribune Tower, home of the Chicago Tribune. I thought you being a columnist would be interested.”

Jake could only stare in awe. Henry chuckled, patted him on the back and continued down the aisle.

In a few moments, a commotion in the direction of the observation car got Jake up and moving in that direction. He arrived just in time to see the Zephyr cross the tape of a finish line. Everyone whooped, hollered, shook hands and exchanged hugs.

Jake began to frown and stepped back from the celebration.

Something’s wrong. We should be slowing down, but we’re not. I think we’re speeding up. I might be wrong, but this seems very dangerous. Why isn’t anyone else notic...

A scream. A Banshee wail in the dark of night. That’s what jolted him awake.

***

Hank leaned against the wall, lowered his aching head and tried to control the nausea. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands and the scraped knuckles rubbed painfully against the worn denim pockets of his overalls. Moments before, Sheriff Norton had walked away after giving him the devastating news and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

His mind conjured last night’s image of blood gushing from Jake’s nose and Flora’s reproachful look. That boy had been nothin’ but trouble since the day he’d been born. Flora coddled their son and sometimes needed remindin’ that a good whuppin’ never hurt nobody. One of those old biddies from the church could tell his wife. One thing for sure, if she gave him lip, he wouldn’t stand for it. No, sir.

He wondered if he could get a jug from Howie Perkins in exchange for choppin’ some firewood. Not his fault he liked corn whiskey. A man ought to be able to take a drink when he wanted. Not his fault he couldn’t make a go of the farm. Hell, half the country was on the dole. Not his fault Jake took off and tried to hop a train. That damn clumsy kid. Not his fault.