"The railroad tracks run right along the side of my house. If I had me a fishin' pole, I could reach out and touch the trains with it, that's how close I am. So, I've been sitting on my glider swing on the front porch for the past fifty years, watching those trains go by, and I never get tired of looking at them. Just like the raccoon washing the cracker. I like to look at them at night the best. My favorite thing was the dining car. Now, they just have a snack bar where people sit and drink their beer and smoke their cigarettes, but back before they took the good trains off, the seven-forty Silver Crescent from New York, on its way to New Orleans, would pass by right at suppertime, and, oh, you should have seen it, with the colored waiters dressed up in their starched white jackets and black leather bow ties, with the finest flatware and silver coffeepots, and a fresh rose with baby's breath on each table. And each table had its own little lamp with a little shade on it.

"Of course, those were the days when the women would dress in their finest, with hats and furs, and the men looked so handsome in their blue suits. The Silver Crescent even had little tiny Venetian blinds for each window. There you could sit, just like you were in a restaurant, rolling through the night. I used to tell Cleo, eating and getting somewhere at the same time appealed to me.

"Idgie always said, 'Ninny, I think you ride that train just to eat'. . . and she was right, too. I loved that porterhouse steak they used to serve, and you've never had a better plate of ham and eggs than what you could get on the train. Whenever the train stopped in those small towns along the way, people would sell the cooks fresh eggs and ham and fresh trout. Everything was fresh back then.

"I don't cook that much anymore . . . oh, I'll heat up a can of Campbell's tomato soup, now and then. Not that I don't enjoy a good meal. I do. But it's hard to find one nowadays. One time, Mrs. Otis signed us up for this Meals on Wheels program they got down at the church, but they were so terrible that I just stopped them from coming. They may have been on wheels, but they weren't anything like the meals you could get on the trains.

"Of course, living so close to the tracks had its bad side. My dishes got all cracked, even that green set I won when we all went to the picture show over in Birmingham during the Depression. I can tell you what was playin': it was Hello Everybody, with Kate Smith." She looked at Evelyn. "Now, you probably don't remember her, but she was known as the Songbird of the South. A big fat girl with a good personality. Don't you think fat people have a good disposition?"

Evelyn smiled weakly, hoping this was true, since she was already on her second bag of Lorna Doones.

"But I wouldn't take anything for the trains. What would I have done all those years? They didn't have television yet. I used to try and guess where people were comin' from and goin' to. Every once in a while, when Cleo could scrape together a few dollars, he'd take me and the baby on the train and we'd go as far as Memphis and back. Jasper, Big George and Onzell's son, was a pullman porter at the time, and he'd treat us like we were the king and queen of Rumania. Jasper went on to become the president of the Brotherhood of the Sleeping-Car Porter's Union. He and his brother Artis moved to Birmingham when they were very young . . . but Artis wound up in jail two or three times. It's funny, you never know how a child will turn out . . . . Take Ruth and Idgie's little boy, for instance. Having to go through life like that could have ruined some people, but not him. You never know what's in a person's heart until they're tested, do you?"

JUNE l6, 1936

The minute Idgie heard the voices outside by the tracks, she knew that somebody had been hurt. She looked out and saw Biddie Louise Otis running for the cafe.

Sipsey and Onzell had walked out of the kitchen, just as Biddie threw open the door and screamed, "It's your little boy, he's been run over by the train!"

Idgie's heart stopped for a moment.

Sipsey threw her hands up to her mouth, "Oh Lord Jesus!"

Idgie turned to Onzell: "Keep Ruth in the back," and started running over to the tracks. When she got there, the six-year- old boy was lying on his back with his eyes wide open, staring at the group of people who were looking down on him in horror.

When he saw her, he smiled, and she almost smiled back, thinking he was all right, until she saw his arm lying in a pool of blood three feet away.

Big George, who had been out in the back of the cafe, barbecuing, had come running right up behind her and saw the blood at the same time. He picked him up and started running as fast as he could toward Dr. Hadley's house.

Onzell was standing in the door, blocking Ruth from leaving the back room.

"No, now, Miz Ruth, you cain't go. You jus' stay put right here, sugar."

Ruth was scared and confused. "What's the matter? What's happened? Is it the baby?"

Onzell took her over to the couch and sat her down and held her hands with a death grip.

"Hush, sugar . . . you jus' sit here and wait now, honey, it's gonna be all right."

Ruth was terrified. "What is it?"

Sipsey was still in the cafe, wagging her finger up to the ceiling. "Don't you do dis, Lord . . . don't you do dis to Miz Idgie and Miz Ruth . . . don't you do dis thang! You hear me, God? Don't do it!"

Idgie was running right behind Big George and they were both yelling at the house, three blocks away, "Doctor Hadley! Doctor Hadley!"

The doctor's wife, Margaret, heard them first and came out on the front porch. She spotted them just as they came around the corner, and she shouted for her husband, "Get out here quick! It's Idgie and she's got Buddy Jr.!"

Dr. Hadley jumped up from the table and met them on the sidewalk, with his napkin still in his hand. When he saw the blood spurting from the boy's arm, he threw the napkin down and said, "Get in the car. We've got to get him to Birmingham. He's gonna need transfusions."

As he was running to the old Dodge, he told his wife to call the hospital and tell them they were coming. She ran inside to call, and Big George, who was by this time completely covered with blood, got in the backseat and held the boy in his arms. Idgie sat in the front seat and talked to him all the way there, telling him stories to keep him calm, although her own legs were shaking.

When they arrived at the Emergency entrance, the nurse and the attendant were waiting for them at the door.

As they started in, the nurse said to Idgie, "I'm sorry, but you'll have to have your man wait outside, this is a white hospital.”

The boy, who hadn't said a word, kept watching Big George as they took him down the hall, and until they turned the corridor, out of sight . . .

Still covered with blood, Big George sat outside on the brick wall and put his head in his hands and waited.

Two pimply-faced boys walked by, and one snarled over at Big George.

"Look, there's another nigger that's got hisself all cut up in a knife fight." The other called out, "Hey! You better get yourself over to the nigger hospital, boy."

His friend with the missing front tooth and the crossed eye spit, hitched up his pants, and swaggered on down the street.

JUNE 24, 1936

Tragedy Strikes in Front of Cafe

I am sorry to report that Idgie's and Ruth's little boy lost his arm last week while playing on the tracks in front of the cafe. He was running alongside of the train when he slipped and fell on the tracks. The train was traveling about forty miles an hour, Conductor Barney Cross said.