Chapter Six: Good Mornin' America, How Are You?
That next morning I awoke with a renewed zeal.
But my body was tired. Last night, when my father got home, after I told him the news, he was so excited that he couldn't speak for an entire hour. I almost called the doctor. But he eventually found his wind, as his 'storm' broke loose and we stayed up until 5 a.m. as he recounted the entire history of the Hammond Hurricanes. As I found out, they had only recently become the Rookie team for Tampa Bay- only 24 years ago. Before then, they were set up in Jacksonville, Florida as the Jumping Frogs. But a hurricane came late one season-- in the middle of a game-- and ripped the field apart. Everyone, including the 500-something fans, barricaded themselves inside the two dugouts for six hours as the storm passed. Dad said it was a modern day miracle of the loaves. No one was hurt, but the damage to the field was extensive.
That same year, Southeastern Louisiana University in Hammond had built an elaborate stadium, trying to jumpstart their collegiate team. But they overspent, and the president, realizing this, had to bail them out. So they placed a bid for the Jacksonville Frogs-- and won, on the condition that they be named the Hurricanes, in commemoration of that miraculous day.
* * * * *
Dad was already up. He had made a his special bacon & egg grits surprise (which wasn't really that special, but it was always a surprise). We ate without a word; no words were needed. The day was absolutely brand new, something neither of us had experienced in such a long time. It was a day that carried with it the feeling of wonder and amazement, and we weren't about to dirty it with our everyday chit-chat. We just let it sink in.
When we had finished eating, dad got up and put on his hat and gloves. He smiled at me. I nodded back at him and grabbed my bags. We left at 8 o'clock-- he had to be back at work at 10-- and drove from our home in Oxford to the train station in Jackson. Again, we were quiet the whole way there, but both of us were beaming.
Once we arrived, he helped me with my bags as we entered the station and walked up to the ticket booth.
"Uh.. *Harumph*.. How, uh, what-- hmmm."
"Yes? Can I help you?"
"Yes, yes. Can I get a-- *hmph*-- a ticket to Hammond?"
"Sure. The City of New Orleans arrives at 6 p.m. Would you like deluxe, standard, or coach?"
He looked back at me and then squinted.
"Well.. hmph.. deluxe, of course. It's for my son-- he's a professional ball player!"
"How about that! Alright, then, deluxe it is! That will be seventy-five dollars."
Dad didn't even flinch, even though he only made 40 dollars a week.
"Seventy-five it is!"
He got the ticket and then walked over to me.
"Dad, that's too--"
"Hush! Never look a gift horse in the mouth, even if he has gold teeth. Look, son-- my boy-- there is nothing I'd rather spend this on than you. Can you see that? Can you see that there is nothing better for me to buy than this for you? Ok? You send me a letter, now, and tell me all about it. You tell me everything."
He was serious. He hugged me, which he hadn't done that since Mom died. And then he giggled, and left. It was only 9 o'clock, and the train wasn't due for another 9 hours. So I sat down on a bench and tried to sleep.
* * * * *
When I woke up, there was a black man standing next to me.
"Tired, boy?"
"Uh... sorry. Pardon me-- uh, yes sir. Yes sir, I guess I am."
"Don't sleep too much now, or you might miss you train."
"What time is it?"
"Oh... s'about evenin' time."
I sprang up, still trying to shake my slumber.
"Oh no...."
"Hold up, son. You ok, you ok. Settle down. Ain't no train come by here for a cup' hours."
"I'm supposed to be on the 'City of New Orleans' at six."
"Ah! Well, you ok. She be in about fi' teen minutes. You ok."
I breathed a sigh of relief, rubbed my eyes and sat back down, still trying to wake up. The man sat down next me. He was old and lanky, and he took his time sitting down; he seemed to have that look of experience and hard-fought wisdom about him. He pulled out a gold pocket watch, glanced at it, and stared off at the tracks.
After sitting there for ten minutes, he turned to me.
"You got somin' big."
"Um. I'm sorry.. uh, I'm not sure--"
"No, nobody sleep for eight hour at a station less they got somin' big goin' on. I seen 'em all. They are those who cain't sleep, and they worried. They worried 'bout they family, or they job, or what they done. And then, they are those who nip-nap here and there. They ain't sure what they want. They cain't commit they selves to nothin'. But then, they are those who put they head down and sleep like a baby. They in the motion of changin'. That's you-- you sleepin' to change."
Just then, a train roared in to the station.
"What's you name, son?"
"Jones, sir, Hank Jones."
"Jones? Well I be dog-gone. Then... that's got to be you train."
I got up and grabbed my bags. When I looked up, I saw the most majestic piece of man-made beauty I had ever laid eyes on.
"That's right, she's somin' else. The 'Panama Limited' ain't nothin' next to her. White folk tend to stick to the Panama, but the Nawlin's is the God-ordained best train that man could ever hope to rest his feet on."
I looked over to him.
"Well, thank you--"
"Call me Sim."
"Thank you, Mr. Sim. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Heh heh... You know, I'm thinkin' you might. I'm thinkin' you might very well."
He smiled and I smiled back. I boarded the train and then spent the best three hours of my life on that train, the grand and glorious
City of New Orleans.