All Out for Kalamazoo

 All Out for Kalamazoo

by Walter E. Paul

    He was, perhaps sixty years of age, stocky, a little under average height. A wisp of graying hair showed under the brim of the soft felt hat placed squarely on his round head. Over his left arm hung a faded brown top coat. A morning paper protruded from one side pocket of his suit coat while the other pocket bulged with an assortment of railroad time table folders.

     Walking slowly down the coach aisle he scanned briefly the faces of the dozen or more passengers already aboard as if choosing neighbors for the trip. He studied the hat racks overhead evidently looking for a place to his liking in which to deposit the bulging, imitation leather grip clutched tightly in his chubby right hand. Finally he selected a seat on the right hand side directly behind a pleasant appearing elderly lady of about his own age. 

     As the train started he laid his top coat over the back of the seat, hung his hat on a hook, then with both hands carefully lifted the grip and deposited it in the rack overhead, wriggling it a little this way and that, pushing it here and patting it there to assure himself that a lurch of the train would not bring it tumbling down upon him.

     Puffing slightly with his exertion he drew a large white handkerchief from a hip pocket, removed his glasses, wiped his face and neck, blew a resounding blast on his nose, replaced the handkerchief in the hip pocket, adjusted his glasses and sat down. Taking the newspaper from his pocket he gave it a cursory once over then laid it aside.

    Turning, he discovered a group of boys playing cards in the rear of the coach. He got up and slowly walked down the aisle, swaying from side to side with the motion of the train, steadying himself by grasping the backs of the seats as he passed. Perched on a seat arm opposite the card players he offered such nuggets of advice as he thought appropriate, supplementing them with comments on his own past experiences with the game.

     Tiring of the card game he slowly rose and made his way back to his own seat, smiling benignly in passing at any one whose glance met his.

     Seated once more he gave a sigh of contentment then leaned back and for a few minutes contemplated the passing landscape, his pudgy fingers nervously tapping the window sill beside him.

     Soon the landscape lost its interest. Clearing his throat he bent slowly forward, rested his arms on the seat back before him and announced to the elderly lady “It’s a beautiful day.”     

     Lifting her eyes from her needlework she turned her head slightly in his direction.

     “Yes, indeed.”

     With his chin resting on his arm he seemed for a few minutes to be lost in thought.

     “Are you goin fur?” he ventured.

     She gave him a brief resume of events leading up to her journey and what she planned to do upon reaching her destination.

     He hitched forward in his seat as his interest grew, his head nodding slowly in agreement with her remarks.

     Soon as she paused he continued. “Well, I’m going to Kalamazoo, going to visit friends.” From there on the monologue continued like the slow drip of a leaky roof in a tin pail, interrupted at long intervals by a quiet comment from the lady busy with the sewing before her.

    “You see I’m getting on in years. I live on a little place in Ioway. I live all alone, never did marry. I have a dandy little four room house, all modern, oil heat, hardwood floors, an acre of ground, flowers, shade trees, shrubs and a little path of garden. How come I got the place, young feller who built the house couldn’t finish the payments. Come wanted me to buy it. Told him wa’nt interested less price was right. Said he had $800 in it and would let it go for that to get his money back.”

     He wriggled in his seat, brought his lips an inch closer to the lady’s ear, lowered his voice a trifle and said, “I wrote him a check for the $800 and he gave me the deed. Yep, it was easy worth $3000, Course I’ve put some improvements on it since.”

     Leaning back in his seat he sat gazing out the window a few minutes apparently waiting for the foregoing to make a proper impression, then he bent forward and started a new line.

     “My health aint been too good. Bothered with rheumatism a leetle. Don’t sleep too well nights. Doctor says I should humour my heart some, got a little trouble there, nothing serious you understand, but a man my age can’t be too keerful. That’s why I’m making this trip. Getting away from it all. Do a feller good.”

     Turning his head to one side and searching the face of his patient listener he asked, “How’s your health? You’re lookin’ well.”

     She quietly gave him a reply to which he nodded his head gravely in understanding and sympathy saying, “Take keer of yourself.”

     “Take me” he rambled on, “few years ago I was all run down, worked too hard I reckon. Anyway I call’ated I needed a rest so went to spend a year in Northern Minnesota. Rented me a little cabin on the purtiest lake you ever did see, thirty, forty miles from Duluth. Bought two hogs to raise me some meat. Fed them scraps from the table and vegetables from my garden. Dandy fishing there too. You see that’s my hobby. Caught bass, northerns, walleyes and crappies. Come winter built me a dark house for spearing. Cut a hole in the ice and put the dark house over it. Lots of sport, that was. Got great big northerns s-o-o---- long most every day. When I speared more northerns than I could use I cut them up into chunks so-o--- big and fed them to my hogs. Made real good hog feed, they did. Neighbor of mine advised me to stop feeding them fish two three weeks before butchering so the meat wouldn’t be tainted none.”

     “Kalamazoo next.” announced the brakeman passing through the coach an hour later.

     “Well,” sighed the elderly gent, “guess that is where I will have to get off. I just cant tell you how much I have enjoyed this visit.” Rising to his feet he reached up for his grip overhead, carefully lifted it down and set it on the seat.

     When the motion of the train commenced to slacken the brakeman passed through again calling out, “Kalamazoo! This way out.”

     Slowly putting on his top coat and hat our friend continued, “It was real nice of you to listen to my story. I hope your health remains good.”

     As the train ground to a stop he buttoned his coat, picked up the grip and stepped into the aisle then rested the grip momentarily on the arm of her seat.

     The vestibule door slammed open and again the brakeman shouted, “Kalamazoo! Kalamazoo!! This way out.”

     “Well, spose I’d better start if I’m getting off here. Thank you again for listening. Perhaps we will meet again sometime, Good bye.” he said.

     “Good bye.” she replied.

    Turning reluctantly he moved slowly toward the door. Suddenly the lady gasped, clutching the seat back in front of her with both hands. “Allan!” she cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth as her face went white. He turned slowly and stared at her a puzzled look on his face.

    “That scar behind your ear,” she said, “could you,- could you by any chance,- could you be Allan Becklund?’

     “None other, lady.” he replied.

     “Allan, do you remember Cindy who jilted you at the party the night before you disappeared so many years ago?”

     He stepped closer, his head bent, his pale blue eyes searching, probing into hers.

     "Cindy,” he whispered as a tear started slowly down either ruddy cheek, “Cindy Martin.”

     He set his grip on the floor. Slowly an arm stole around her waist as she looked at him, waiting. 

    “Cindy” he said a little quaver in his voice, “Cindy, again I ask you the same question I asked you that night so long ago. Will you, Cindy?”

     “Just try to stop me you big ape.” she chuckled as she dabbed a hanky at her eyes then grabbed frantically for her hat, her coat and suit case.

     Again the vestibule door slammed violently open and a purple faced brakeman wild of eye bawled, “KALAMAZOO! KALAMAZOO!! Last call. ALL OUT FOR KALAMAZOO!!”

     Together the pair, smiles wreathing their faces, tears sparkling in their laughing eyes walked down the aisle, through the vestibule and down the steps.

     “All a-b-o-o-r-d!” called the conductor.

    

Author’s Note

“All Out for Kalamazoo”  This is an actual scene I witnessed on a train out of Chicago about 1953, except the incident related on the last page which I made up as a climax to what went before. He was an interesting old gentleman and I have repeated the actual conversation as accurately as I can recall it. I really did think the train would go on before he finally made up his mind to leave the lady’s company and get off.