Train Whistles
#1

Train Whistles

 

When did you last hear the doleful wail of a steam train's whistle? I'm talking about the steam whistle of an old-fashioned steam locomotive, the kind the engineer sounded to send his message to all within earshot. It was the punctuation he added to the sound of incessant hissing, chugging and huffing and puffing. To the pervasive smell of coal smoke and cinders He had scores of stirring compositions. Their meaning, only he and perhaps the brakeman knew.

 

As a young boy, I was captivated by those sounds. I never tired of hearing them. They told me that my small town was part of a much larger world which I longed to see. There are few sounds on earth that will bring forth visions of adventure in romantic, faraway places, like the insistent call of a steam locomotive's whistle. It tugged at me like the Pied Piper's flute. It brought visions of snow covered mountains, of barns and silos, of castles and minarets, of camels and deserts, of canals, windmills and shimmering rivers, of narrow cobble'stoned streets and houses with steep, gabled, red tile roofs.

 

And when I grew older, I saw all these things along with enough adventure to last me a lifetime. I saw camels and deserts while crossing the Sahara in "40 & 8's". I saw Mt. Vesuvius and the ancient ruins of Pompei on my to the Anzio Beachhead. I saw the Coliseum silhouetted against the first pink streaks of dawn while leading one of the first patrols into Rome. And I saw the sandy beaches of Southern France from the ramp of my LCVP. I was welcomed by cheering French crowds and the continuous ringing of Church Bells in the Rhone Valley. I trudged through the snow covered Vosges mountains on Christmas Day and saw the Austrian Alps from Hitler's Berghof on the last day of the War. The shimmering rivers were the Moselle, the Rhine, and the Danube all of which I crossed under enemy fire. The cobble stoned streets and window boxes bursting with red geraniums were in those small German towns that had not been bombed into oblivion. Barns gave us shelter and a place to sleep. I saw the famous cities of Casablanca, Oran, Rome, Paris and Salzburg, all mostly untoughed. And Nurnberg and Munich in ruins. To be sure, it wasn't all pleasant. In fact, it was mostly hell! But it's nice to remember the "good stuff" and to having "been there."

 

But when the War was over I still heardd the melancholy call of the steam train's whistle. The tug was even stronger now, but the whistle was sending a different message. The faraway place, which it now extolled, was the one I had left 3 years earlier. That wonderful place called home! The whistles were calling me home.

 

But now in my retirement years, the whistle no longer calls. I listen, but I hear no plaintive wail. The engineer is gone, as is his whistle and locomotive. They are dinosaurs out of the past and perhaps I am too. But I haven't forgotten the romantic songs that the whistle used to play, nor the dreams and visions which it inspired. Nor the adventures and the faraway places that the whistle implored me to see.

 

And yet I know that the day will come when I will hear the wail of the whistle one last time. Its tone will be soft and serene but it will not be denied. It's call will be insistent and its message will be clear. The time has come to make that final journey, the one to join my buddies, my friends and loved ones who were given less time than I. The engineer will be there, as will his train and whistle. They assure me that I will be welcomed with smiles to a place of peace, love and harmony. A place where we will all be together again. A place from which there will no longer be any need to journey afar.

 

Russ Cloer 10/11/02

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#2

Great sound and how did that coal soot or ashes get through the closed windows,

funny thing happened on the way to Camp Stoneman, California from New Jersey on troop train. As you go through little towns, the people wave and get close to the train, holding thier arm up in the air. We were going very, very slow. One G. I. reached out the window and took two hands of this young lady and lifted her off the ground, he put her back on the ground, but you should have seen her eye's they almost came out of her head.

 

cadetat6

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#3

Where did you live in N.J.?

 

I was born there, grew up in Roselle Park, went to college in New Brunswick, swam at Ocean Beach.

 

With regard to transport, I remember reporting for duty at Ft. Benning OCS, in civilian clothes, after spending a day and night in a dirty railroad day coach where there were no vacant seats. I spent the entire trip sitting on the floor at the end of the car.

 

My next experience was crossing the Sahara desert in a 40 & 8 boxcar full of replacements, 3 days and nights, one blanket, cold C rations and a 5 gallon water can, bitter cold at night with wind whistling up through the cracks in the wooden floor, sleeping in shifts on the floor because of limited space. There were no sanitary facilities aboard. If you had to go, you waited until the train made it's next unannounced stop, got out, did it, and hoped the train didn't start up before you were finished.

 

When I was finally eligible to come home, we were trucked to a freight yard full of 40 and 8's. It was snowing and the temperature was below freezing. But by now, I was an experienced infantryman who took no XXXX from anybody. My buddy and I walked up to the Pullman car at the head of our train which was where the Transportation Corps crew responsible for the shipment rode. We climbed past the "Off Limits" sign and strode up to a Transportation captain in Class A uniform at a desk in the front half of the car which was carpeted, warm and had the seats removed. We wore our combat jackets with 3rd Inf Division insignia, steel camouflaged helmets, wore our combat Infantry Badges, and carried holstered .45

caliber pistols and hadn't had a bath in a week.

 

We walked up to the desk, the REB looked up and said, what can I do for you gentlemen. "I'll tell you what you can do!" "You can find room for us both up here in this nice warm car! We've been freezing our ass for 2 Fxxxxing years, and by God, we have had enough!!! Alright, he said, find a seat in the rear half of the car and when we get all the troops aboard I will whow where we eat and sleep. We did, and when he came back, he showed us how to lower the overhead Pullman beds, showed us the rest room, and said we would get hot meals in the second Pullman which had a GI cook, a kitchen, and a dining area. We played cards with him, told stories and spent the 48 hour trip, with hot meals, our own beds, and convenient sanitary facilities.

 

We felt bad about the hundreds of other GIs in the rear of the train. But we rationalized that there wasn't anything we could do for them and besides, they weren't our men. We arrived in Le Havre and waited there until our smelly little freighter, boarding 2,000 returning vets, started the stormy, seasick trip home to N.Y. harbor. When we docked, 11 days of garbage were brought up on deck and was loaded aboard trucks lined up on the dock.

 

Our turn finally came and we were marched to a railroad siding where we were loaded aboard day coaches to travel to the separation center for 3 days of outprocessing.

 

3_7_I_Recon - Russ Cloer

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#4

I did not live in New Jersey it was a army camp some place around there. We were going to Europe and as usual they changed thier minds and sent us to Philippines

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#5

Russ; You sure have a way with words. Beautiful, I may add. After readind your accounts, I wouldn't dare try to compete

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#6

Yes Russ: Remember well those damn forty and eight's also. Saw some great and not great sights from them and many towns and cities when they slowly moved. Just wonder if you ever rode in the Blue Comet on the Centeral Railroad from 1929 to 1941.

It made 2 trips weekdays from NYC to Atlantic City NJ. Now that was a fancy and plush

train.

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