All day the fire-steed flies over the country, stopping only that his master may rest, and I am awakened by his tramp and defiant snort at midnight, when in some remote glen in the woods he fronts the elements encased in ice and snow; and he will reach his stall only with the morning star, to start once more on his travels without rest or slumber. Or perchance, at evening, I hear him in his stable blowing off the superfluous energy of the day that he may calm his nerves and cool his liver and brain for a few hours of iron slumber . . .
I am refreshed and expanded when the freight train rattles past me, and I smell the stores which go dispensing their odors all the way from Long Wharf to Lake Champlain, reminding me of foreign parts, of coral reefs, and Indian oceans, and tropical climes, and the extent of the globe. I feel more like a citizen of the world.
— Henry David Thoreau, Walden
The fine Indiana writer, James Alexander Thom, said that his best writing advice is to write to the readers’ senses. That’s what Thoreau does when he describes the “iron horse,” so named by the Indians. He makes us imagine “foreign parts, coral reefs, Indian oceans, and tropical climes.” Thoreau had a knack of tapping into people’s common experiences as citizens of the world.
There’s something about trains that fires the imagination:
“When that evenin’ train goes by I hear that lonesome whistle blow . . .” — Hank Williams
I grew up in Knightstown, half a block from the Big Four Railroad. Late at night the steam engine slowed down, bell dinging, as it chugged and rattled through town. Sometimes the train would stop, and I’d hear the hiss of released steam before it went on again. There was something lonely and melancholy about that nighttime train’s long, drawn-out toot as it died away.
The Pennsylvania Railroad also ran through Knightstown. It was a big deal when they stopped the train to pick us up when our class went on its Senior trip to Washington and New York, and about half the town turned out to see us leave.
En route to Vicki’s and Tom’s home on Lake Shaffer, north of Lafayette the road runs through flat prairie past grain elevators and alongside railroad tracks. We saw a sign for Monon and The Whistle Stop Restaurant and Museum. I said to Bill, “Wasn’t there a Monon railroad in the old days?” Bingo!
We had dinner there, and decided to invite our friends, Jack and Mary Jane, to have lunch there and visit the adjacent railroad museum. Jack is a train buff and has fascinating model trains. His and Mary Jane’s fathers were both railroaders. Not being interested in dolls, I was envious of Sarah’s model train when we were girls.
In its heyday the Monon carried both passengers and freight with lines to Chicago and Louisville and spurs to Indiana towns and several colleges. Some of its rolling stock was painted in the colleges’ colors. Folks took the train from Lafayette to go shopping in Chicago.
The Monon was very important. Hundreds turned out for various ceremonies. There was even a “Monon Queen.” Eventually, with the coming of the big semis, the Monon dwindled. In Indianapolis the only memory of it is the Monon bicycle trail.
Various tracks converged at the town of Monon. The privately owned museum is surprisingly large and has every kind of railroad artifact, including an entire room of china used on various trains — some of which is exquisite. Visiting the museum is a trip down memory lane and will fascinate those who like trains. To reach it take Interstate 65 and get off on Indiana 43 which becomes Road 421. The restaurant and museum are a couple of miles outside the town, about an hour and a half from Indy. wclarke@comcast.net