Oh, Kentucky

Ah-most here. Ah-most.

Will the Bengals come to Georgetown as usual?

Smart Grid!

Revitalizing downtowns.

Dippin' Dots innovates.

Are southern Kentucky's crime statistics bad or good news?

Prayer, the police chief and fireworks.

From soldier to Civilian. Dad's version ...

My trip back east was much different than my trip west the year before. I rode a pullman car on my way out but going home, I was assigned a standard tilt back seat in a passenger car. That ride home would not be as enjoyable as was my first. Not only because of accommodations but mostly because I was not that same excited young man as when I first went to California. Another reason being; aftermath of my horrible war was evident throughout that troop train.

My seat was a window seat only because the right foot of a corporal sitting to my left was missing, he depended on crutches. An Army sergeant, in the seat directly in front, had a missing hand. Scattered throughout my car were a number of other such casualties. Seeing those dismembered was a sobering experience, it was then and there I realized how lucky I had been. As has been said before, war is truly hell.

Those fellows about were engrossed with their own problems and therefore we socialized very little. Each time I tried conversation, those men seemed not interested. It was evident they wanted only to be left alone. Our car porter, sensing I needed relief from misery about, moved near and whispered in my ear. He suggested if I cared to, I could walk a number of cars to the rear, and ride the outside platform of the train caboose. He stated he himself did so quite often. His suggestion proved to be great except that to get to that caboose, I walked through a windowless boxcar which contained caskets stacked one on the other. Those caskets contained bodies of men who didn't make it. Once again I caught faint whisps of that odor of death. Gosh, I wondered, will this thing never end?

When at the caboose, a flagman offered me a cup of hot coffee, and I exited through the rear door out into much needed fresh air. I sat myself on a fold-type wooden chair, raised my feet and rested them on the platform railing. I rode that platform well into darkness and most likely late into that night.

Under a full moon, riding that caboose platform hearing clickity clack of train rails, my mind drifted ... I had little interest to return home and to my family. I was visiting home only because I believed it something I had to do. Why my non-interest? ... Time and again, I told myself how nice it would be to see my family again--but to no avail. On the platform of that caboose, at that particular time, what I personally needed was a haven of peace and quiet ... time to quiet my own emotions and decide that which was best for me.

That first night of my train ride home I slept on a bench inside that caboose. In fact, other than to use a toilet or eat my boxed food, I would spend the rest of my trip either inside that caboose or riding its rear platform.

While riding that platform that second night out I wanted to somehow generate interest to see home again. I silently scolded myself, told myself how long it had been since seeing Mom and Dad, and how nice it would be to once again visit. Try as I did, nothing seemed to work. The thought crossed my mind that maybe if I forced myself to remember the old days, remember as far back as possible, then maybe such recollections would change my attitude. In solitude, I forced myself to remember far back as possible ... even to the only memory I had of my grandfather. Back to when I was 6 or 7 years old and living on Princeton Pike, to when I learned to milk a cow and draw water from our water well. I conjured up visions of Munn's School and Miss Mabel Feagan, hunting quail with Dad and that first time when Mom showed signs of illness. I visioned living on Princeton Pike, the little white house, raising chickens, going to see the 1937 flood with Dad, and when we moved in town to our new house on Sugg Street. I focused on when Mom, Charlene and I sang on the radio and at fairs. Of camping with my brother Billy and when Judith Ann was born. I remembered how hurt I was when we moved to Henderson ... then to Evansville ... then, without warning, the face of that dead Japanese ...

I leapt from that wooden fold chair, leaned over the rail of that caboose platform, and vomited all over the state of Colorado. I cried, dried my eyes, straightened myself, found strength and walked back inside that caboose. In control again, I promised myself not to remember anything for a while--to just relax and let things come as they may.