The Loneliness of Depots

You've seen "It's A Wonderful Life", yes?  The Christmas-themed 1946 Frank Capra movie starring Jimmy Stewart?  Everyone has seen it a million times, unless you are so young you only remember it from the "one showing per year" schedule it has now.

I am reminded of an exchange between Stewart's George Bailey and his loopy Uncle Billy.

George:  You know what the three most exciting sounds in the world are?

Uncle Billy:  Uh-huh.  Breakfast is served, lunch is served, dinner...

George:  No, no, no, no!  Anchor chains, plane engines and train whistles.

George Bailey dreams of seeing the world, but circumstances intervene, and he remain in Bedford Falls while others get to leave for far-flung places.

Old Galesburg Train Depot around 1968

While in Northlandia I accompanied Mark and Holly in taking his lovely daughter, Ashley, to the newer G-Burg train depot for her ride back to Kansas City.  I get the same feeling everytime I am in one of those places.  It started when I was a grad student and used the train to get back and forth from Denver to Galesburg.  

One time in particular stands out in my mind.  Herb took me to the old depot in the Burg which was a huge, dark, dank place with about 80 year's worth of human stink, desperation, anxiety, fear and joy dripping on the old faded walls.   I had been home about a month from school and it was time to head back to the studies.  Ticket purchased we then walked over to a pew-like bench along the side in a cavernous cold room.  There may or may not have been a lot of people ready to board with me but how could you tell in this giant place?  

There was a long silence and I don't know who started crying first.  We both just kind of sat there, alone and silent in our thoughts, quietly weeping: Herb, maybe a reflection of lots of things. Me: I didn't want to go back.  It would be a long time till I returned.  

I thought about that moment as I stood in the new Galesburg depot, a small cookie cutter type place without much character, past or present.  I thought about it also when I looked at the people,  sitting in their seats waiting for a ride that would take them to whatever emotion that drove them to buy a ticket in the first place.  Would it be a new and and exciting adventure, a new job, a new location?  Would it be to see an old friend or maybe family member off for their final journey?  Leaving home to live with a child?  I looked at the people - none looked particularly happy, and thought about the many reasons to buy a plane, bus or train ticket and how it either takes you away from loved ones, or brings you home.   

I know of which I speak.  Besides those nighttime treks to Denver a long time ago, I also went by bus to Fredericksburg, Virginia in 2005 to pick up little Michael so Brendan and Lindsay could enjoy leave together.  There were about 10 transfers in total along the way and each in its own kind of sickly depot.  Dim lighting, and that same stink, desperation, anxiety and fear blanketed the walls and chairs and floor.  Imagine taking a three year old on such a journey.  No diapers, no good knowledge of our terrain; he foolishly counting on me.  Turned out we missed a transfer but it was closer to home so it all worked out.  But I saw a lot of angst on that trip.  I still have the tickets to that adventure.      

Tonight the sad clanging of the train, for Ashley anyway, takes her away from loved ones but takes her home as well.  Perhaps that's the best we can ask for when we take that leap and embrace the melancholy sounds of travel. 

Those old darkly lit depots.  Places where you are truly alone in a crowd.   You hear coughs, shoes scraping against a tile floor, children fretting,  and maybe a mother's scolding.  But essentially everyone here is alone with the only voices heard are within us:  questioning whatever is about to transpire at the end of wherever we are going.   It can be the loneliest of feelings - dark outside, maybe old snow on the ground.  A forlorn environment that tonight matches your barren mindscape.  And aside from the big picture that scene creates we have smaller concerns:  where will I find a seat, where are the bathrooms, how will I know when to get off?   

I have mentioned before the professor who told us students to never miss a chance to travel.  I can imagine him as easily saying, do your traveling when young, then find your comfort at home, amidst the safety and security of familiar surroundings.  

George Bailey thought those were the most exciting sounds in the world.  I wonder.  I wonder.