Unfortunately, I don’t recall much about my Great Grandfather, but I do remember one thing, he loved trains.
Whenever me and my family traveled to the small town Wooster, located in Northern Ohio, we’d always go visit my Great Grandparents. We would pull up to a vibrant green and grassy lawn that looked so elegant next to their simple white house. I will always remember the distinct loud crackling of the gravel beneath our tires, as we inched our way towards the garage (our driveways never sounded like that in California).
As our car alerted the guests in the house that we had arrived, the garage would slowly fold up to reveal an excessively wooden interior along with a pale yellow car. Either my Uncle Erik or Great Grandfather would come bursting through the door and tug on the white string of the bell.
Just near the house entrance is a little bell, no-bigger than a fist. It is tradition to ring the bell when you enter the house! Yet my poor Great Grandmothers’ ears, this bell was absurdly loud! However, I did find it funny how the bell was built into a shelter which was seemingly a bird house, sans bird food and birds.
After the obligatory bell ringing (by each family member of course) we’d make our way through the house. I’d quickly go say hello to my Great Grandmother who loved to sit out in the sunroom with all the ladies. Summers in Ohio are perpetually pleasant, and with the waft of her famous cookies baking in the oven, and the fresh dewy air, I could understand why the porch was her favorite spot.
Although I did enjoy her special corner of the room, there was another part of the house that transformed their basic home into wonderland.
The steps down to the basement were frightening. I guess to any young child, a slow decent into any dark room is scary. As my great grandfather would lead the way, my sisters, cousins and I, would use the thin wooden banister as our guidance into this dark and dingy abyss, known as the train room. As soon as we stepped onto the cold concrete floor, my grandfather switched on the lights, and the room became alive with noise and lights.
Model trains were circling the room in every which way! My grandfather stood at a podium-like switchboard covered with confusing buttons, red lights and silver switches. He stood there, always quiet and complacent, as he conducted the trains to run wild along the tracks. It was organized chaos — three trains going right, two going left, some went under tunnels in the landscapes he had built in the center of the room. It was a miniature world! A green hillside built with small douglas trees and tiny colonial style houses that lit up as locomotives tirelessly passed by. In fact, I wanted to shrink up (like in Honey I Shrunk the Kids) and take a ride in one of the speedy trains. As they whirled around the room, my great grandfather had built a larger kid-scale wooden train set. With a faded red caboose and green flat car, along with the rest of the locomotive, we collectively shouted “All Aboard” and continued to encircle the room, along with all the other trains.
A few years after the discovery of the train room my great grandfather passed away. At that time I was learning how to play the piano. My Grandpa Rod gave me a copy of a single sheet of music. He told me,
“You have to memorize this song on the piano, this was your great grandfather’s favorite piano song.” He sat down and played Bill Grogan’s Goat:
Bill Grogan’s goat,
was feeling fine.
Ate three red shirts,
right off the line.Bill took a stick,
gave him three whacks,
And tied him to,
the railroad tracks.The whistle blew,
the train grew nigh;
Bill Grogan’s goat,
was doomed to die.He gave three moans,
of mortal pain,
Barfed up those shirts,
and flagged that train.
Bill Grogan’s Goat — at first I thought it was morbid (this poor goat is going to die!) Yet, I soon realized it’s supposed to be a humorous song. That in itself describes my Great Grandpa Edwin. He never took himself too seriously, he was truly a child at heart. Oh, and he loved trains.
