Emmett had to wait almost half an hour for his first opportunity—a lone workman in jeans and a black tee shirt who looked no more than twenty-five. As the young man paused to light a cigarette, Emmett crossed the street.
—Excuse me, he said.
Waving out his match, the young man gave Emmett a once-over but didn’t reply. Emmett forged ahead with the story he had fashioned, explaining that he had an uncle from Kansas City who was an engineer, who was scheduled to stop in Lewis sometime that afternoon on a freight train headed for New York, but Emmett couldn’t remember which train it was, or when it would arrive.
When Emmett had first seen this young man, he’d imagined their proximity in ages would play to his advantage. But as soon as he began speaking, he realized he’d been wrong about that too. The young man’s expression was as dismissive of Emmett as only a young man’s expression can be.
—No kidding, he said with a slanted smile. An uncle from Kansas City. Imagine that.
The young man took a drag and flicked his unfinished cigarette into the street.
—Why don’t you do yourself a favor, kid, and head on home. Your momma’s wondering where you’ve gotten to.
As the young man sauntered away, Emmett made eye contact with the panhandler, who had watched the entire exchange. Emmett shifted his gaze to the guardhouse to see if the guard had been watching too, but he was leaning back in his chair reading a newspaper.
An older man in a jumpsuit came through the gates now and stopped to exchange a few friendly words with the panhandler. The man had a cap pushed so far back on his head, it made you wonder why he wore it at all. When he began walking away, Emmett approached.
If proximity in age had proven a liability with the first man, Emmett decided he’d make the most of the difference in age with the second.
—Excuse me, sir, he said, with deference.
Turning, the man looked at Emmett with a friendly smile.
—Hey there, son. What can I do you for?
As Emmett repeated the story about his uncle, the man in the jumpsuit listened with interest, even leaning a little forward as if he didn’t want to miss a word. But once Emmett finished, he shook his head.
—I’d love to help ya, fella, but I just fix ’em. I don’t ask where they’re headed.
As the mechanic continued down the street, Emmett began to accept that he needed a whole new plan of action.
—Hey there, someone called.
Emmett turned to find it was the panhandler.
—I’m sorry, Emmett said, drawing the pockets out of his pants. I’ve got nothing for you.
—You’re misunderstandin’， friend. It’s me who’s got somethin’ for you.
As Emmett hesitated, the panhandler wheeled himself closer.
—You’re lookin’ to hop a freight train headed for New York. That about it?
Emmett exhibited a little surprise.
—I lost my legs, not my ears! But listen: If you’re tryin’ to hop a train, you’re askin’ the wrong guys. Jackson wouldn’t stomp on your foot if your toes were on fire. And like Arnie says, he just fixes ’em. Which is no small matter, mind you, but it’s got everythin’ to do with how a train is runnin’， and nothin’ to do with where it’s goin’。 So there’s no point in askin’ Jackson or Arnie. No, sirree. If you want to know how to hop a train to New York, the guy you should be talkin’ to is me.
Emmett must have betrayed incredulity, because the panhandler grinned and pointed a thumb to his chest.
—I worked for the railroads for twenty-five years. Fifteen as a brakeman and ten in the switchin’ yard right here in Lewis. How do you think I lost my legs?
He pointed to his lap with another smile. Then he looked Emmett over, though in a more generous manner than the young workman had.
—What are you—eighteen?
—That’s right, said Emmett.
—Believe it or not, I started ridin’ the rails when I was a few years younger than you. Back in the day, they’d take you on if you was sixteen; maybe fifteen, if you was tall for your age.
The panhandler shook his head with a nostalgic smile, then he leaned back like an old man who was sitting in his favorite living room chair, making himself comfortable.
—I got my start on the Union Pacific lines and worked the southwest corridor for seven years. I spent another eight workin’ for the Pennsylvania Railroad—the largest in the nation. In those days, I spent more time in motion than I spent standin’ still. It got so when I was home, when I’d get out of bed in the mornin’ it would feel like the whole house was rollin’ under my feet. I’d have to hold on to the furniture just to make my way to the bathroom.