People

Today, we’re bringing into the People room a man I never knew.  I saw him once for a few minutes as he appeared in my life, a few feet away on the bus.  He uttered one sentence, then disappeared.

I shall never forget that day, nor him.

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Bus Ride

“I don’t know about you folks, but I’m getting off this bus.”

Those were the only words we heard from that stranger.

When I was growing up, we lived inside the city limits, but it was too far to walk to town.  So, whenever my mother needed something from a store downtown, she would walk to the nearest bus stop and, for ten cents, ride the blue-and-white city bus to get there.  Small children riding with a parent rode free of charge. 

This story is about one day in 1948 when she took us for that bus ride.

My older sister was in school, so my mother took my little sister and me with her on the bus.  This was a highlight for me as we rode the bus nearly every week for a couple of years.  I knew every turn in the road, every stop, every tree, every house, and every dog that chased the bus.  I especially looked forward to the stop at the railroad tracks.  The driver would stop, turn on the yellow flashers, open the door, look both ways up and down, close the door and proceed across the bumpy tracks. 

Most of the passengers on the bus were regular riders, some of them our neighbors.   I think the bus would usually have a couple dozen riders when it reached the main stop in town.

On this particular day, at the last bus stop before the railroad crossing, a strange man boarded and sat down in the first seat by the door.  My mother told me she had never seen him before.

At the railroad crossing, the bus driver stopped a few feet short of the tracks, put the bus in neutral, and opened the doors to listen for a train.  He looked up and down the tracks, as he and I always did.  There were no flashing red lights or bells, and we did not see, or hear, any train coming.  So, the driver closed the doors, pulled the gear shift lever into first gear, ready to cross the tracks and start up the hill.  We moved forward a few feet, then suddenly stopped.  The driver moved the gear shift lever back and forth, pumping the clutch and the accelerator up and down, but the bus would not move.

The driver stood up and told us something was broken, and he was going to go call for help.  He said we should all remain seated on the bus until he returned.  The bus was stalled midway across the tracks, but he told us not to worry as there were no trains scheduled to pass that way for the next several hours. 

He stepped down out of the bus and pushed the doors closed behind him.  We all sat in our seats as instructed, very quiet at first.  Then, there was some talk among the passengers, and after a few minutes the talk became a little louder, more relaxed.

Suddenly, the stranger on the front seat stood up and said in a firm voice, “I don’t know about you folks, but I’m getting off this bus.”  He pulled the handle, opened the doors, and stepped down onto the ground.  Everyone stood up and followed him down the steps and through the doors.  In a minute we were all off the bus, milling about, some standing on the tracks, some walking around looking at the bus.  I don’t remember any sense of urgency, or panic among the people. 

No panic at all, until we heard the distant train whistle.

When that train whistle sounded it put all of us to flight.  Everyone went running away from that bus as fast as we could, my mother gripping the hands of her young ones.  Most of us went up the hill toward some trees lining the side of the road.  Mother said we might need some protection from flying objects, as it was certain that the train was going to hit the bus.

The whistle grew louder and louder as the red flashing lights came on and the crossing bell started clanging.  The screeching of the wheels on the tracks got louder as the brakes tried to slow the train.  I remember covering my ears tightly.  We would learn later that the train was moving eighty miles per hour when the engineer saw the bus on the tracks and started applying the brakes.  The train had slowed down to sixty miles hour just as it contacted the bus.

The force of the contact hitting the bus would have knocked it clear of the tracks, except for the pilon holding the flashing red lights.  That chunk of concrete post was planted into the ground, and it served to stop the bus abruptly and held it there while all of the one-hundred freight cars struck that bus as they went rolling by, each one creating its own loud collision.  In minutes, we watched as the one-time passenger vehicle was reduced to a small, crumpled pile of blue-and-white scrap metal. 

Even though there were no injuries that day, it was a traumatic experience for some, this six-year-old included.  And, it’s possible there might have been injuries, if the people had waited a little longer to get off of the bus.  The words, and action, of that stranger might have guided a very different outcome than what could have been. 

“I don’t know about you folks, but I’m getting off this bus” were the only words we heard from him before he disappeared out the door.  They might have been life-saving words. 

No one ever said who he was.  And we never knew where he went or what happened to him.

This much is certain:  It was an unforgettable day in my life.