Thousands Of Good Looking Readers
PICTURE
AT A RAILROAD STATION
(2017 update.)
Jack Blanchard & Misty Morgan
Here Today Gone Tomorrow
Jack Blanchard & Misty Morgan
Here Today Gone Tomorrow
The
cavernous old railroad station was dimly lit,
or seems that way in my memory.
My parents, my sisters, and I headed toward the big doors
that led to the platform where the trains chugged and waited.
It was the end of an era.
One of us wasn't coming back... ever.
or seems that way in my memory.
My parents, my sisters, and I headed toward the big doors
that led to the platform where the trains chugged and waited.
It was the end of an era.
One of us wasn't coming back... ever.
We had
never been your average family.
My
mother had been an artist and a model.
My
father was a flamboyant jack-of-all-trades:
A stock
broker at times, head of an oil company,
owner
of a gambling ship that never sailed, a mortgage broker,
an
aviator, and author of a course on aeronautics.
He was
a party thrower and the life of every one,
and
made every holiday a festival.
He was
rich one year and broke the next.
As a
young man he was a boxer and a daredevil.
During
World War Two he was drafted
to be
General Manager of the Bell Aircraft plant,
at the
same time there were rumors
of his
involvement with the black market.
I came
home from school one afternoon
and
couldn't get the front door open.
It was
stuck against silver fox furs.
The
whole house was knee deep in them.
I don't
know where he got them, but I wasn't too surprised.
We all
knew him and were ready for anything.
There
was a distinguished couple in the living room,
browsing
through the pelts,
a New
York State Supreme Court justice and his wife.
He was
brilliant in an off-beat way,
and an
adventure as a father.
Then he
got sick.
His
disease had symptoms similar to Alzheimer's,
and the
smart, witty man of the world became like a child.
He
couldn't work. He tried.
My
mother submitted a resume for him,
and got
him a job on his track record as a mechanical engineer.
She
dressed him in a suit and tie and took him to the job.
He
called a few hours later to be picked up.
He had
ordered his crew to put way too much pressure
on a
ship's drive shaft they were working on,
and
blew it through the factory roof.
The
family was broke and had to split up.
My
father was to live with his sister in Ohio,
"just
until things get better".
The
rest of us were to sell all the furniture and
belongings,
and
move in with my mother's parents in Florida.
Certain
memories stick in my mind like clear snapshots
and
never go away.
One of
those is the night at the railroad station
when we
kissed my father goodbye,
and
lied to each other that it was just temporary.
I
remember pushing through giant swinging doors
that
led to the train platform.
The
steam from the idling engine puffed out across my knees.
The
ceiling was dark and high with sooty light bulbs in it.
And
that's all I remember!
The
rest is gone.
I do
recall seeing him one more time several years later.
I was
hitchhiking from Florida or somewhere
and I
stopped in Miamisburg to see how he was.
He
opened the door, and after a minute he recognized me.
I
didn't think he would.
He
grabbed me in his strong arms and hugged tight.
One
moment in time again... like a photo...
and
everything after is blank.
I don't
have any memory of hearing of his deathor a funeral.
I have
a thing about funerals:
People
tell me I was there, but I have no memories of them.
All in
all, he was the tailor made father for me.
We had
so many good times,
it's
funny that this railroad station picture surfaces so
often.
After
he died
I kept
seeing men who looked like him for several years.
A car would be ahead of me in traffic
A car would be ahead of me in traffic
and I'd
see the back of the driver's head. It was him!
I'd
hurry to catch up and it was just a stranger.
Or was
it, I wondered?
Maybe
it was my dad for the minute before I caught up.
Jack
Blanchard
-- Jack Blanchard & Misty Morgan... Home Page: http://www.jackandmisty.net Awards: Grammy, Billboard, CMA, BMI, ASCAP. Mastering & restoration studio: 352-530-2068. Email: jackandmisty@gmail.com.© Jack Blanchard, 2017.
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