The Crossing

          This story is very well known in Narrows, as it’s been told around these parts for at least 60 years. Passed along mostly by word of mouth, it has several variations, depending of course, on who the narrator might be. The way it’s told here is the most common of those.
           Some people say it actually happened, even going so far as to swear to it. Yet others shrug their shoulders with the familiar “I don’t know” attitude. Some will tell you this story in all sincerity….others punctuate it’s telling with much laughter and a sly winking of the eye.
           I merely write it down here, and since it’s a story with many contradictions, you, the reader, will have to decide for yourself. It is a story about a railroad and 2 elderly gents who happen to be among my favorites. Here’s hoping you like them too.
           Before getting into the actual story, permit me to tell you about the impact it’s made on a number of people living in and around Narrows over these many years.
           Perhaps you’ve noticed that the bridge now spanning New River in Narrows has few pedestrians after sunset. There’s a reason why this is true. It’s not so much the bridge itself, but rather a place that’s almost directly underneath that’s brought about this scarcity of folks who dare walk on that bridge after sunset.
Now please understand, it is not my intent to unleash a barrage of “scare tactics” here. Walking and jogging are very much in vogue today, and I fully realize many health enthusiasts would like to do their thing on that bridge. Take some sound advice--- do it before the sun sets and darkness creeps in to envelop that concrete span and the turbulent waters swirling far below. If you should happen along some night and see someone walking there, chances are good to excellent that it’s an “out of Towner”. Local folks who must walk from one side of that river to the other do so during the hours of daylight. Even when riding across at night, drivers tend to shower down on the accelerator. To make an exit from that span as quickly as possible. You see, at it’s northern end this bridge is almost directly over a spot where a railroad crossing was located in a long-ago time.
           Many times I must drive on that bridge at night, and I’ve seen a particular (and peculiar as well) sight there so often, I’ve grown rather accustomed to it. On many nights when approaching that concrete engineering marvel, I’ve seen many individuals making a hasty exit from it. As if they’re trying to put some distance between themselves and that span!
           Shirttails trail in the wind as furtive glances are cast over shoulders. Faces have taken on an ashen pallor--- their whole being is wracked in an uncontrollable trembling. Their agitated state is most obvious--- sheer terror has clouded their true facial features!
           Some situations need no words. The pedestrians look at me---I look at them. Nothing needs to be said. For you see, I know of the traumatic experience they’ve undergone that induced the disheveled look.
Not many people will admit to being a believer in ESP, physic phenomena, the supernatural, or anything falling into a category I call high strangeness. I don’t know what to believe. Only that strange things can, and do happen. Things which, despite this being the age of highly advanced technology and whirring computers, still defy all scientific and logical explanation. As that old sea-faring Captain Symmes uttered centuries ago, “strange things they be lad, on land and in the sea”.
           Here is the story. The way I heard it---and the exact way I pass it along to you.
           Uncle Bud and Uncle Matt Spicer were brothers, born in Narrows and spending their entire lives there. Though not actually my uncles, in the handing down and re-telling of these stories, they just don’t sound right unless referred to as such. Both passed away some years ago after having lived to a ripe old age. It’s still being said on the local scene ---the mold used to make that pair was thrown away.
           This story concerns this duo of elderly statesmen, the soaring heights they attained in reading ability, a railroad, and a particular railroad crossing. The ingredients are all there.
           Now it seems that back in their younger days neither Uncle Bud nor Uncle Matt were overly fond of school. This being back in the days before compulsory attendance laws, the brothers attended those institutes of higher learning neither too regularly, nor for too long.
           Since they were seldom in those reading and spelling classes, as they attempted to read a newspaper (or for that matter, anything else) they encountered a wee-bit more trouble than folks with “school larnin’” may have.
           Please understand, I’m not sayin’ Bud and Matt couldn’t read. Just that maybe their eyesight was somewhat failing. Or it might have been the optometrist had prescribed the wrong eyeglasses. Perhaps the lens, which are so much an integral part of eyeglasses, weren’t always properly cleaned. Musta’ been somethin’ like that.
           Well, these ole boys had to sorta’ pick and feel their way thru those long, drawn-out words. It’s a fact---they did.
           In later years many townspeople congratulated them on their reading ability, adding that their accomplishment was amazing when one considered they had spent but very little time in school. The two gents always thanked the well-wishers, saying they were from the school of self-taught. According to their rendition, they had passed thru that school with flying colors. Hmm! Well and good enough but to this very day many people are wondering just who those teachers were that did the grading!
Up until 1960---when it lost it’s identity to the N&W system--- the Virginian Railroad ran thru Narrows. It’s tracks were laid at the where the eastbound lanes of route 460 are now located. In those days the old steel bridge that spanned New River stood about 100 yards upstream from the present one. That is, on the south side. The road which led to it can still be seen at the N&W station there.
           However, the present day bridge was constructed at an angle which---if the old structure were standing today---carries it to a point where not more than a few feet would separate them on the north side. The approach to that old bridge can yet be seen on the north side also. It’s almost grown-over and hidden by trees now, but if one looks carefully he can see where it intersects with modern-day route 460. The exact spot where, long-ago, a railroad crossing was located.
           In both directions leading to that crossing, those long ribbons of steel that was the Virginian Railroad were laid out in long, sweeping curves. They were not blind curves, but nonetheless visibility was definitely limited for the motorist. Especially an eastbound train could come barreling down on you in a hurry.
And the electric locomotives that powered those Virginian trains were awesome to behold. By comparison, the diesels of today are as Lionel toys. The Virginian Railroad was electrified between Muellens,W.VA. and Roanoke. This was the most mountainous part of their rail system, so their most powerful equipment was detailed for duty along this 140 mile stretch. This terrain called for hosses---Virginian ponies worked from Roanoke eastward thru flat Tidewater.
           Those old thundering three-unit electric locomotives, known officially in railroad circles as DL-28’s, were as powerful as any machine ever built for moving trains. Many times I watched as they moved a 150 car coal train from a standing position to reach full speed in what seemed not more than half a mile. As has already been stated ---they were studs. Those locomotives came equipped with side-rods, and I’m not sure what the advantages were for having them built that way. But one thing I am certain of, those side-rods caused one helluva’ racket. Man!---one could hear the approach of those Virginian trains while they were yet miles distant!
           Towering 20 feet high, the combined length of the combined three units was perhaps 200 feet. The perfect image of raw, unrestrained power. To the motorist, they were scary and menacing looking as they approached that crossing.
           The potential for danger was ever-present at that place where automobiles and trains converged many times daily. Celanese had not yet located in the area, and route 460 didn’t even exist. All traffic between Roanoke and Bluefield had to travel Main Street thru downtown Narrows. Narrows was, even way back then, a much more bustling and thriving town than it is today. Being by-passed by highways can kill a town. What our friends in Pearisburg only recently experienced (having the main flow of traffic diverted away from downtown), Narrows was subjected to back in the murky dark ages of time, 1941. Yeah, I can remember when Narz was a bee-hive of activity.
           Each and every automobile, where ever it might be headed, had to cross the Virginian Railroad tracks at that crossing. This resulted in it’s being one of the most heavily used in the entire system. Thus, the railroad folks had long since decided the safety measures installed there had to be the very best.
The primary safety system in place there consisted of two electrical devices, one each placed about a half-mile down the tracks in opposite directions from the crossing. As approaching trains tripped them, two ringing bells were set in motion at that place where cars and trains converged, one on each side the tracks. These bells were red and swung in an overhead arc. Like two giant upside-down pendulums they swung, with blinking red lights. As they reached the extreme ends of that arc, a clanging warning was their message.
It was a good safety system but, being mechanical in nature, it was, as is all other gadgetry, subject to “conking out” and failure.
           The railroad big-wigs thought a secondary system was needed to back up the primary. What they settled on wasn’t nearly as “attention getting” as those ringing bells.
They erected two signs---one on each side of that crossing. These signs simply conveyed a warning to motorists---BE ON LOOKOUT FOR LOCOMOTIVE. Word for word that was their message. Translation--- be very, very careful. Extreme danger lurks at this place!
           One day as they stood looking at those signs is where Uncle Bud and Uncle Matt enter this story. The pair had been meandering around town for several hours, and their hiking had led to this spot.
The brothers would first read (or rather look at) the sign on one side the track, then mosey over to take a gander at the other. For maybe a half-dozen times the scene was repeated.
Damned if’n the writin’on those signs didn’t appear to be the same! For several moments the “old fellers” stood in silence, each hoping the other would decode the written messages on those signs. Both were making lotsa’ throat-clearing sounds.
           Finally, Bud’s over-riding curiosity broke the stalemate: “Brother, what does that thar sign hyonder say?” Of the pair, it was generally conceded that Matt was maybe a wee-bit better at scrutinizing words. But only a teensy-weensy bit (some readers might think a high number of “typos” appear in this essay. However Bud and Matt had a unique idiom and lingo style. I’m telling this story exactly as the brothers spoke it.)
Matt had known all along it would be up to him to do the deciphering, and he’d been concentrating long and hard in deep study. Matt felt proud of his reading ability. Shucks, this one was so easy even a third-grader would have no trouble with it!
           He turned and said: “Brother, that thar sign hyonder says to be on the LOOKOUT FER A TRAINLOAD OF MONKEYS!”
           Wow! And Holy Hannah too! Goodness gracious alive! This was too good to be true. The “old- timers” could hardly believe it. Excitement and anticipation made them jump with glee.
After a few moments they settled down somewhat and Bud looked at Matt to say: “Brother, if’n I could read like that I wouldn’t stay here or no place else”. Pausing a moment he added: “I’d go places whar they ain’t never been nobody”.
           "Whar is that thar place?”, Uncle Matt wanted to know.
           “Well, since thar ain’t never nobody been thar before, I don’t rightly know”, Bud replied. “But if’n them monkeys is comin’ thru hyar, I don’t think I’m wantin’ to go. Not right now anyways.
           The brothers, already ancient in their days on earth, couldn’t get over this news. A momentous event was about to unfold in Narrows---surely it wasn’t every day that a “feller” in such a small town could see a whole trainload of honest-to-goodness live monkeys!!
           The circus came to town every summer, but they usually had only 3 or 4 of those creatures belonging to the family of primates. But a whole trainload!! Damn and tarnation! The great White Hunters must have captured every last monkey on the Dark Continent of Africa! Most probably they were just minutes away down the track, headed hell-bent for leather to this very spot. There were two residents of Narrows who would not miss this show.
           So they sat down to wait for that trainload of monkeys to come roaring by. Sure enough, in just a short while those bells came to life. Somewhere just around one of those sweeping curves---within less than half a mile---a three-unit electric locomotive was approaching. Bud looked at Matt and shouted in an excited tone: “Hyar comes them monkeys!” Both old fellas sprang to their feet in unison. As that monstrous piece of machinery came into view, however, they could see it was only an eastbound coal drag. One more load of West Virginia headed for the coal-loading piers “way off down hyonder in Norfik”
           Nothing to do but sit back down and wait. The next train would more’n likely be the one they were so anxious to lay an eyeball on.
           During all the time Bud and Matt waited for that train they were telling each and every motorist who happened along about the big event that would be occurring any minute now. But their blockbuster announcement seemed to fall on deaf ears. The elderly gentlemen thought it strange indeed that not the first among them showed the slightest interest. Certainly they didn’t take kindly to those snide remarks tossed in their direction. A unanimous opinion was formed between the brothers: “Some people ain’t got as much sense as a monkey”.
           Imagine! The greatest show on earth was about to make its debut on their doorstep, and some folks didn’t have enough gumption to know it. Damn!---what was the matter with these dumbbells anyway? Consarn it---couldn’t the idiots read!?
           The bells were again doing the job for which they were designed. Matt and Bud leaped to their feet, spry as a duo of teen-agers. Eyes strained as they focused in both directions. They wanted to see this from the moment it came into view, till she was “plumb outta sight” This one was also eastbound, but only closed boxcars of a time-freight. The train they wanted so badly to see would more’n likely be made up of cattle-cars. Yeah the ventilated type---that’s what those monkeys would be ridin’.
           Bud and Matt had nothing else on their agenda today, so they sat back down. Lack of patience was certainly not one of their shortcomings. The ancient ones were gifted with oodles of the stuff. Besides, this perfect day was ideal for train watchin’.
           A device was tripped down along the rails, and bells were ringing anew. Turned out this one was rollin’ west, a full train of empty coal-hoppers being returned to the coal-fields. One of the pair remarked: “Boys, hits a wonder thars anything left of West Virginia. Hits bound to be nothin’but a big hole left out thar. They’re diggin’ hit all up and shippin’ hit down to Norfik on these hyar coal trains”. It’s uncertain which one made that enlightening observation. More’n likely Bud uttered those words. But it really doesn’t make a lotta’ difference.
           By this time it was getting along toward dusk. The brothers had spent a considerable number of hours here, and train watchin’ whetted and honed the ole appetite. Time to get some vittles in the innards. Talkin’ it over, they just knew the very minute they left this spot was exactly when that trainload of monkeys would come rollin’ down the tracks. No if’s ,and’s , or but’s about it, their luck had always been that way. The already invested time would be lost---best not to run that risk.
           These old boys were determined to see this spectacle; they were iron-willed and stubborn. Not daring to leave this vantage point now, a motorist was flagged down and a request made of him: “Why sure”, the kindly driver said. “I’ll be more’n glad to fetch you boys some food”. Bud and Matt fumbled thru their pockets, and after a time-lapse of only four minutes, came up with 60 cents twixt the two of them.
That motorist was back in 10 minutes with half a dozen hotdogs. Frankfurters on a bun and a liberal helping of chili are always the preferred vittles fer “train- watchin’”. Settling back to enjoy the delicacies from Mr. Emmett Charlton’s restaurant, they talked about how they themselves might as well gone for them. Not nary a single dad-burned train had passed while that good fella’ had did his good deed.
           This railroad was as busy thru the night as it was during daylight hours. Bud and Matt knew that to be a fact, because they’d spent the entire night at the crossing. Highway traffic had practically come to a halt, but not so the railroad. All night long, trains. One right after the other. Time- freights, going in both directions. Empty coal hoppers---westbound. Loaded coal hoppers---eastbound. Some of that coal had to be comin’ outta Kentucky! Hellsfire fella’, ain’t no way there could be that much of the consarned stuff in West Virginia!
The break of dawn meant one thing---coffee time. The old fellas were so famous and well-known in Narrows it was no trouble at all in stopping a Good Samaritan to run that small errand. Uncle Bud and Uncle Matt liked their java black and strong, and the good neighbor soon returned with a gallon of the stuff. At a nickel per cup, Mr. Carl Gilliam had brewed the best pot in town.
           The two “men-about-town” waited at the crossing all day and thru another night. It was to no avail. A sneaking suspicion began creeping thru their minds that this train had perhaps gotten side-tracked somewhere down along the line. Worse still, it was even possible that a wrong switch had been thrown, and those monkeys had been shuttled off onto an entirely different railroad.
           Heaven forbid! Talking it over, the grizzled old fella’s decided to wait a mite longer. Since this was their third day away from home, quite naturally their families had become more than a little concerned as to their whereabouts. Some questions were asked--- a search begun. The kinfolks found Bud and Matt at the crossing, but all attempts to coax them into coming home fell on deaf ears. Instead, the relatives were told to “git yerselves on home where you belong. We’ll be on a little later” They had too much time invested here, and it would not go for naught.
           I sometimes stroll the bridge that now spans New River. At times during emergencies, walk it thru the night.---at the late hour. Often, when nearing the place that is directly above where that old crossing was situated, I tend to slow up a bit. Sometimes to stop. And peer over the railing into the inky darkness below.
Not at the faceless automobiles whizzing by beneath, racing off to who knows where. What has stopped me are two faint arcs of red light, outlined like upside-down pendulums in the blackness below. Swinging to and fro---blinking off and on. From a point that seems far more distant than it really is, an ominous clanging and warning. Bells are ringing! Standing perfectly still, one is mesmerized by the absurdity of what seems to be happening.

           Could it be that another three-unit electric locomotive is approaching this place? To rendezvous one final time with a crossing which supposedly is no more? One wonders how, but as I look into the distant darkness some of that doubt begins to fade. For there, dimly at first but coming at a fast pace and growing stronger---is a light!
          Eight-wheel drivers are churning, propelling this monstrous black apparition toward a crossing at which it is absolute master. That blinding beam of light is stabbing the darkness ahead of a giant, three-unit electric locomotive, searching for the twin ribbons of steel it once operated on.
An ear-piercing blast of an unearthly whistle splits the night, and it once more asserts its authority at this place. This train and its crew are running way behind schedule. Iron wheels that have been in contact with steel rails far, far too long glow a fiery red.
           And when it is close enough, the crossing is bathed in an eerie combination of yellow from the running light, and the red of ringing bells! For one fleeting instant the shimmering figures of two old men are seen standing there. Red-rimmed and watery eyes strain to focus on this thing behind the light.
As the lead-unit draws abreast of the crossing it screams as a thousand banshees in the night. Luminous figures from inside the phantom locomotive wave to the shimmering ones standing there, and the “all clear ahead” is exchanged between them.
           No other trains are on this track. The voltage is revved up even higher, and it rolls faster still. There is lost time to be made up.
           One fervently hopes at last this is the train hauling the cargo they’ve waited for so long to see. Then they can go home…

M.L.Wilkinson

April, 1980