My
sister and I had
just finished our day at White School located in the country near
Durand, Michigan.
There
was nothing
that stood out for this normal one-room school day with one teacher
for grades K-7.
It
was four o’clock
and school had let out and we waited for Dad to give us a ride home.
We waited for a while and then decided to walk home. It would be a
mile and a half if we walked the road or take the Grand Trunk
railroad tracks. It was going to be a long walk as there was a
snowstorm, and the roads were slippery with few cars traveling Byron
Road. I was about eleven and Pat was not quite ten around 1956.
The
snow kept coming down and we soon reached the railroad tracks but
didn’t know what to do as a long train had stopped and blocked
the road. We finally decided to walk around the caboose. We could
hear voices and were a little scared but eventually walked around the
end of the train. To our surprise, Dad was talking to the caboose
man. They talked and talked as Dad was a friendly outgoing person.
When he finished and said goodbye, we started to walk home by way of
the train track. The train had started to move again. As we walked
along, I asked Dad, “Where’s the car?” He pointed
to the ditch along the railroad fence about 300 feet from the road.
There, parallel to the tracks was our 1949 chevy.
The
accident
happened when Dad was coming after us to school because of the
snowstorm. As he was approaching the tracks, he heard the train
whistles. He tried and tried to stop but the car kept sliding. Just
as the car was going to cross the tracks, he opened the door and
rolled out and the train crossed the road hitting the driver’s
side of the car. Dad wasn’t hurt and it was reported in the
Durand Express newspaper, but for me a memory never to be forgotten.
I grew up in Michigan. At almost 79, I enjoy recording my stories through the Write on Writers of People Plus in Brunswick, Maine.
