Chapter 74: Eastbound

June 17, 1981

Angie and I looked at the roll of EEG paper that Dr. Reynolds had presented to me.

“It’s down to just some small residual differences. No one would bother with them except that we know you had a concussion. If we’d done an EEG without the knowledge of a concussion, they wouldn’t be noteworthy. So, Steve, you’re officially recovered.”

“Hurrah!” Mom smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Reynolds.”

“Steve did all the work. You don’t need any further visits. However, second concussions are always a risk. Much lower now that you’re recovered, but we never like to see them. Even if it doesn’t seem to be a concussion, you should report any significant blow to the head to my office or another neurologist, along with Steve’s history. That’s true if it’s next week or thirty years from now. It’s better to be cautious than miss a serious reinjury.”

“Thanks, Dr. Reynolds. I’ll be careful. We always wear helmets, too. And headgear in Karate.”

“Take care, and I hope I don’t see you again!”

June 19, 1981

“Happy Father’s Day!” Angie and I chimed out together. This time we hadn’t banished Mom, but we had taken over. We knew Dad’s weaknesses. Mom’s was elegant, or at least faux-elegant. Dad’s was dad food. We’d made cheeseburgers, gotten slaw and potato salad, and I decided to stretch a bit and worked with Angie to hand-cut French fries — a first for either go-round.

Now, June 19^th was not, in fact, Father’s Day. That’s because we had to leave early tomorrow for the train, which meant we would have the real Father’s Day while traveling. However, I was certain that Amtrak would not let us use their kitchen, and that we wouldn’t want to.

We hadn’t told Dad, of course. His jaw dropped when we came out with the food. “But...”

Mom grinned. “No buts, Sam. The kids wanted to cook, and you scheduled this trip so they couldn’t.”

“We really wanted to, Dad.” “We love you, Dad!”

“I don’t know what to say!”

“Say thank you and then the blessing, Sam.”

“Thank you!”

I jumped in. “Wait!” I reached over and took Angie’s hand, she took Mom’s, Mom took Dad’s, and then I took Dad’s. “OK!”

“Good family, good times, good food. Let’s eat!”

We dropped hands and dug in.

“Hey, these are good! Almost as good as yours, Helen!”

“You know very well these are better than mine, Samuel Marshall! And they should be, with the work those two put in!”

As we were eating dessert, Angie asked about the trip. “You and Mom have been tight-lipped about some of the trip details. Too tight-lipped. You are planning something. We want to know!”

“Nope. Not telling. You’ll find out as we go.”

“But ... I might want to contact some of my old friends!”

“Do you?”

“Well, no. But I might!”

Everyone laughed, and Dad grinned. “Nope. Sorry. But nothing you won’t like. All I can tell you is that we’ll be back on the sixth as planned.”

“The sixth! I thought it was the fifth!”

“Nope.”

Mom grinned. “You’ll like it. We promise.”

June 20, 1981

We loaded the bags — of which we had too many, no question, but that’s how it goes sometimes — into the car, locked up the house, and hit the road to the train station. Dad dropped us off out front while he went to put the car into long-term parking.

By the time he got back, Amtrak had delivered bad news and good news. Put together, they amounted to good news.

“Sam! Sam, they don’t have two roomettes!”

“Now wait a...”

“No, it’s OK. They gave us a full room instead. So it’s one room, one roomette.”

Angie giggled. “We already called the roomette. We’re shorter and smaller so we’ll fit better.”

“Well, that’s OK then.”

Mom smiled. “They were very apologetic. I guess one of the roomettes is broken. They say that, as of right now, there are two open rooms on the northbound train, so unless they both sell at last-minute prices, we get the same configuration on that train.”

“Hey, that’s nice, especially with the cost difference!”

We got the checked bags checked in and let the porters help us with the carry-ons and show us to our rooms. Roomettes are, by definition, around the corner from rooms. Same car, but you had to jog over, because roomettes are half a train car (less the aisle) wide, where rooms are the full width (again, less the aisle). Angie and I tucked her bags in, closed the door, and headed to Mom and Dad’s room.

“Hey, this is nice! Why did we take the little room again?”

“Because we’re little, big brother.”

“Oh, yeah.”

If you wanted to go from Houston to Chicago on Amtrak in 1981, well, you couldn’t. Not directly. There were two choices: west to San Antonio, then north and east, or east to New Orleans, then north. We’d opted to go east. It’s pretty scenic, plus you see at least a tiny bit of New Orleans, and, overall, it’s shorter. Driving to Austin and catching the northbound there would be shorter still, but a lot less fun.

We got settled, then Ang and I took off for the observation car. Houston was just a stop, not an endpoint, so the train was full, but there were some open seats on the upper deck. We claimed a couple and settled in. Mom and Dad had given us free run of the train, with the restrictions of ‘no going in other people’s rooms’, ‘no bothering the other passengers’, and ‘no getting off the train!’. Easy enough to follow. Pretty much we watched the scenery and chatted. If you haven’t traveled this route, important note: the scenery does not start out, well, scenic. Backs of businesses in run-down neighborhoods gave way to iffy houses, gave way to petrochemical plants. Lots of petrochemical plants.

Finally, we got out enough to be in farm country. Sometimes marshy farm country. With the occasional petrochemical plant.

Angie had a deck of cards, so we played for a while. Gin. After a while, a couple of kids came up. Boy and girl; I was guessing maybe thirteen and eleven. Or so. “Whatcha doin’?” the boy said.

“Playing cards,” Angie replied. “How about you?”

“Looking around the train,” the girl replied. “I’m Annie, he’s Bill.”

“Hi Annie, hi Bill. I’m Angie.” “And I’m Steve.”

“Cool! Can we play?”

“Sure! What do you know?”

“We know spades...” “and hearts...” “and gin...” “and a little poker.” “But we’re not very good at that.”

“How about hearts?” “Cool!”

We scooted over and made room at the table.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“Atlanta,” Annie replied. “We’ve got cousins there. And aunts and uncles, of course.”

“Cool!” Angie smiled. “We’re visiting aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.”

“Where are you going?” Bill asked.

“Chicago. And then Wisconsin. Some of them live up there.”

“Never been there,” Annie said. “We live in Anaheim. That’s near L.A.”

I nodded. “A friend of mine is moving to Orange County soon. I’m not sure which city.”

“That’s where we live! Cool! Is she your age?”

“Yeah.”

“Too bad. We won’t meet her, probably.”

We chatted for a couple of hours and played cards. They were right. They were good hearts and spades players, and weak at poker. But then, I’m weak at poker, too.

After a while a couple came up, a bit younger than Mom and Dad. “Annie, Bill, you’re not bothering these kids, are y’all?” the woman asked.

“Nuh uh, Momma. We’ve been playing cards. They’re from Houston and going to Chicago. To visit family, like us!” Bill announced.

I stood, turned. “Hi. I’m Steve Marshall...” “And I’m Angie, his sister...” “ ... and we’ve been having fun with Annie and Bill. I hope that’s OK, Ma’am.”

She smiled. “Well, well. It’s nice to meet you, Steve and Angie.”

The guy with her extended his hand. “Jerry Kemp. I’m their dad; this is their mom, Callie. Nice to meet such a polite young man and young woman.”

“If you need to take them, we’ll understand, of course. But they’re fun. No bother at all,” Angie said with a smile.

“No, we were just wondering where these little hellions were off to,” laughed Callie. “Never expected to find them politely playing cards!”

“By the way, Ma’am,” I said, “I like your name. I have a friend named Callie at school.”

“Well, her parents certainly had good taste,” Callie grinned and winked.

I looked at my watch. “You know, we should go find Mom and Dad and see if they want lunch. I know Dad’ll want to eat in the dining car and on this leg he’ll want us there. Maybe we’ll let them eat by themselves on the long leg.”

Angie grinned. “They’ll like that.”

“Y’all are sweet, thinking of your parents that way. Maybe we’ll meet them!”

“Annie, Bill, we’ll be back up here this afternoon if you want to play some more.”

“Can we, mom, dad?” Annie asked.

“I don’t see why not. It’s hard to get in too much trouble on a train if you’re not bothering people. And for once, you’re not!” Jerry laughed.

Angie and I headed down, looking around, after a bit getting to Mom and Dad’s room. They were sitting, watching the scenery go by. “Hey, what have you two been up to?”

“Playing cards, Mom.”

“We met some younger kids, a couple years younger, and played and watched the scenery.”

“That’s sweet, honey. I’m glad you’re having fun!”

“We thought you might want to have lunch. Especially you, Dad. I know you’ll want a chance at the dining car.”

“You’re right, Son! I’d never pass that up. Shall we, Helen?”

“I’m pretty hungry!”

For an Amtrak lunch in the 1980’s, it was pretty good. I had some very ... interesting ... meals on family train trips the first go-round. We laughed, talked, and had a good time. About halfway through, Annie and Bill and Jerry and Callie came though and we introduced them. Dad and Jerry fell deep into a train-lovers conversation, while Mom and Callie tried to one-up each other on complimenting each other’s kids.

It was a lot of fun.

We spent the afternoon back in the observation car, holding hands, listening to our Walkmen, and watching as the scenery got wilder and swampier. The path went through a great deal of Louisiana swampland, which is pretty scenic.

Late in the afternoon we pulled into New Orleans, a town I’d previously been to — this go-round — only while changing trains. Not since 2006 the first go-round. Angie hadn’t even had that experience, and glued herself to the window, fascinated by how low-lying the city was, the architecture, the bridges.

We got our first big surprise just after arriving at the train station. Dad led us, and our carry-ons, not to where I expected — the soon-to-depart City Of New Orleans — but out to a taxi stand.

“We’re not catching the train, Dad?”

“Nope, we are not, Son.”

“Um, what are we... ?”

Mom grinned. “We’re staying a night here!”

I blinked and looked at Angie. She looked back, the question in her eyes. I shook my head.

“Cool!” Angie said. “What are we doing?”

Dad took that one. “We booked a hotel in the Garden District. We’ll do a little sightseeing. Yes, including Bourbon Street. But no bourbon!”

“That is so cool! Wow, Dad! I’ve always wanted to see New Orleans! There’s so much art and culture here!” Angie was thrilled. I had no idea she’d wanted to come here.