GO PLAY ON THE TRACKS

POSTED ON JULY 1, 2012 - ANDREW

GO PLAY ON THE TRACKS

POSTS

Go Play on the Tracks

a.g.

I’m not much of a train or railroad enthusiast, but until I moved to the sprawling banality otherwise known as Toms River, NJ, train tracks and train noises were an ever-present feature in my life, as far back as I can remember.

I grew up on East Hunter Ave in Maywood, NJ. This in itself is meaningless, but from a train standpoint it was everything. The Susquehanna Railroad (a freight hauler still in operation) ran right behind my back yard. This was great for a little kid in the early 1970’s. (Todays parents would probably buy a house next to a nuclear reactor before living with a train running through their back yard 3 times a day.)

Well let me start again. The power, noise and earth shaking vibration of these passing monsters literally made me shit my pants the first few times I was exposed to it alone. No kidding, I defy any adult to stand within 30 feet of a passing freight train and not endure a feeling of ominous bowel loosening fear. Thankfully that passed not long after the age of 5, which was fortunate for me, because I lived there until I was 18.

The golden years were truly from 5 to 14. The Tracks were our playground. They were the place where we built our forts, had mock wars, cut from yard to yard, looked at and looked at and looked at a happily, if infrequently, acquired Playboy or Hustler magazine. We put pennies and nickels on the tracks for the rumbling trains to squish for us. We were involved in the constant procurement of discarded railroad spikes or the elusive green glass telegraph line insulators, which by that time hadn’t served their function for at least half a century. Nobody wanted them, but for us they had some strange mystical value.

I am still chilled by the stupidity we all displayed, defying universal warnings not to jump on the moving trains. Thinking back it served no purpose other than a short ride down to the corner and out of the railroads right of way, but boys will be boys, an yes if your friends jumped off of the George Washington Bridge, you would have too!

The playground years ended for the most part when High School started. It was at this time that The Tracks became our highway. They provided a direct walk to school with no hills. The odd spacing of walking the ties could make it a bit awkward but if the mood struck you and your book load was light enough you could hop up on a rail and balance yourself along for the mile or so it took to get to 8:15 Homeroom. (or was it 7:45?)

By the time beer, weed and our parent’s liquor cabinets were discovered the tracks went through their final transformation. They became something of a freedom zone, a place to hang out and catch a buzz, but never a place to linger. I didn’t experience The Tracks much after that, other than the inconvenience of being stuck behind a crossing gate or even taking a transit train as I got older and started having kids of my own. Then for many years The Tracks never even crossed my mind.

Now I find myself being a typically overprotective, hyper involved Generation X parent of a bunch of boys who are never out of text, phone or sight contact.  Now I sometimes take a moment to think back to The Tracks.  I smile as I remember my last beer standing on a rail and I remember riding my Big Wheel to the bottom of the rail cut. I remember those rain soaked Playboys and all the walks on the rails and on the ties. I remember that they  could be scary and I remember that we had our own lives as children, and our parents really weren’t all that concerned about our time on The Tracks.