Travel with me to the legendary railroad era while I interview Old Toliver Smythe. He did old timey stuff and he’s an ornery old coot. You’re welcome. This is DAY 4 of Flash Fiction February.

I recently interviewed retired Train Conductor, Toliver Smythe. We recount the long lost days of train travel. Toliver can hear the train whistle from his old train line from his home. He’s lived a long and eventful life, and the sound of the train whistle beckons his memories as we speak.

When alone in the woods, the sound of a distant train is very comforting. There is comfort in the consistency, a sentimental familiarity. Sometimes lying awake at night, waiting for the train, is the only thing that brings sleep.

Toliver Smythe knew this feeling well. He engineered a train for fifty years of his life. When he finally retired, he purchased a house just over a hill from the track he’s known better than anyone alive. He can hear his train, the very one he drove for fifty years, and he can’t get to sleep until he hears it pass in the distance.

A solitary man, Toliver lost his only love as she was giving birth at the age of thirty. Neither she nor the boy survived. He assuages his love and longing for her by remaining faithful to her his whole life. He sings to her every morning and bids her a good night in the evening. Her teenage picture sits on his dressing table in a frame that he made himself, which reads “My Only Laura”.

To his friends, of whom few are still living, Toliver laments, “It’s hard to tell train stories because some pervert always thinks you’re talking about dicks." Those people who think every damn thing is a cock metaphor. “My god, it just drives me batshit.” He didn’t like his memories soiled with the sordid imaginations of presumptuous armchair therapists.

While enjoying his retirement out in his garden, Toliver likes to speak to his plants. He grows a range of things. He likes his tomatoes, zucchini, and, of course, green beans and hot peppers. He’ll experiment with the odd pumpkin and squash. He grows flowers, too. He has roses and carnations and, from time to time, likes to get daring with some tulips. Nothing too adventurous; he likes to stick with what he knows.

His dog Charlie, who is very attentive, usually sits quietly as Toliver gardens, reads, or does whatever he’s doing. He’ll growl in a low tone or bark tentatively at noises. He's got a good extra set of ears around the place.

Upon finding that Toliver was a train conductor, people often ask him about their toy train sets. “I work on a train all day long. Many hours per week, hundreds and hundreds of hours a year. “ Then, I come home and I want to play with a f*****g toy train. “What the hell do you think? “I want to sit there like a moron watching a little train go around and round in a circle. “There’s already something wrong with you if that’s how you want to spend your time, but if I did that, holy s**t, it would be in some institution somewhere.”

As times changed and less people seemed to be interested in trains and more interested in cars, Toliver’s role as a conductor changed. At one time, he hosted passengers who’d be traveling across the entire country. They’d use his line as a part of their trip.

There would be all sorts of celebrations. Weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries, and business events. It would be part of his responsibility to introduce himself to these passengers and to answer questions. He would give impromptu tours of the train as well. Dignitaries and prominent people would travel his line, and it was something he did regularly. He would meet them, and on their way off the train, one by one, as they came off the train, passengers would thank him for a safe trip.

Later in his career, as times continued to change, his line was converted to a freight line. He didn’t work with the public nearly as much. Rather than people, his cargo would be industrial supplies, grain, corn, soybeans, automobiles, and all manner of commercial goods, including livestock. “ Once there, there was a noise I’ve never heard before or since." It sounded like an animal was dying. I was just doing a routine ground check at a transfer station, and I thought a cow was dying or something. “ Come to find out, we opened up this one car, and these three hobos were doing something under a burlap tarp, and I don’t even want to know." I never saw anything like that before. Yep, that was nothing like the parties we used to host.”

Toliver’s little workshop garage is a museum of sorts. Like a time capsule of not only his career but also the history of the rails. His various conductor hats, his watches, his timekeepers, and his ticket clickers. There are so many tools. His knowledge of trains, engines, and engineering is more than rudimentary. There have been times when his expertise has been needed to get him out of some difficult situations.

The shop walls are rife with certificates and awards. Congratulatory documents denote milestones and a job well done. “Oh yeah, they love to give that s**t out. It makes them feel good." It makes them feel like they’re appreciating you or something. “Let’s give this guy a plaque and a watch, or some kind of pin. “F**k that! Just give me more money." Why do they waste their time b**********g us with this garbage? “Who the hell do they think they’re kidding?”

As the sun sets on the little house, Toliver and Charlie set down in the living room. Toliver opens a bottle of scotch and gives old Charlie a fresh bone. Tired from a long day of reminiscing, it’s time to recount the day and make a plan for tomorrow. And so ends another day in the life of Toliver Smythe, a retired train conductor.

“You know what? I’ve had enough of this romantic nostalgic s**t: “What it’s time for is for me to get good and sauced so I’m passed out before that damn train whistle wakes me up; that’s what time it is.”

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AI Gen Keywords.

Retired Train Conductor, Train Whistle, Sleepless, Nostalgia, Toy Train, Dreams, Insomnia, Journey, Soundtrack, Nocturnal, Train Tales, Sentimental, Dreaming of Trains, Scotch, Train Line Stories, Napping, Retirement

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