It was the spring of the year I was in the fourth grade. 1966.
There were 36 kids and one, first year teaching, teacher packed into the car of the train that was carrying us to the big city of Indianapolis. It was hot and there was no air-conditioning.
Until I asked a question on Facebook this week, I did not realize that every school in Noblesville had their students on that train. Everyone had their own memory. While details were a bit foggy, we all agreed on one fact…we never arrived to our destination.
Funny thing is that I don’t remember where we were going. Some said the State Fair Grounds. One said it was a Sesquicentennial event. It didn’t matter. We never got there.
The train stopped abruptly. Someone said it was about 42nd Street in Indy. I only know it was hot. We were hungry. We were stuck.
Now remember this was back in the day when there were no cell phones.
We waited. A kid threw up. Then another one did the same thing and others followed. Poor Mrs. Jacobi. She sure had her hands full.
My mom and Kathy Kreag’s mom had ridden along. Mom and Mrs. Kreag did not like Kathy and I being so far away without them. (We were “only” kids)
We waited for hours. Hot and sweaty. Tired and hungry. I spoke with Marianne Jacobi and she said our 3-hour excursion became much longer expedition. She said it was particularly difficult on the kindergarten kids. We were not allowed off the train.
We got back to Noblesville about 6:30. Mr. Morris, our principal, and his secretary, Mrs. Parks had called all of the parents. Mrs. Jacobi said that parents were lined up the tracks downtown to find their kids.
I tell this story because after hearing news that the train tracks will be made into a walking, biking trail, I am sad.
My grandkids won’t have the opportunity to ride the train. They won’t hear the whistle as it rolls through downtown Noblesville. Polar Express. Fair Train. No more.
I’ve seen the numbers and the reasons for the demise of the train. I’ve always believed that if you want something bad enough…you find the money.
I’m sad that my grandkids and future generations will no longer pay to maintain history but will be paying to maintain asphalt.