In St Louis we were parked awhile at an unimpressive-looking train station in an equally unimpressive neighborhood. One woman in my car was sure that this wasn't the "main" St Louis Station. She would get off at the next stop, she said, which would be the main one, downtown.
Staff did with some difficulty persuade her that yes, this was THE St. Louis station and that if she didn't get off she would end up at the real next stop, several miles away.
It was by now fairly late on Friday, and I fell sleep not long after we had pulled out of the main and only St Louis station.
I awoke in northern Texas. Marshall, Texas, if I remember rightly.
Longview Texas was next, and those on the train who wanted to go to Houston had to get off at Longview to make their connection.
Around 11:20 those of us still on the Eagle were in Dallas. We had about a 20 minute stop over. I got out of the train to stretch the legs a bit and because I hoped to find a newspaper. The sole vendor of a newspaper in or around the station house was a mechanical one, one that wanted a full dollar in coins. I only had three quarters, so went about looking for someone, machine or human, who could make change. The place was, as you might have imagined from what I've just said, threadbare of activity. Quite a contrast to Chicago in this. Eventually, in fear of missing my train, I had to forego the pleasure of reading up on things in Dallas.
Austin, TX, too, has a small station, but it had nice architecture. We didn't pass through there until the sun was setting. Was it 8-ish? I don't know.
Anyway, those few of us left on the train by 11 that evening arrived in San Antonio. I took a cab to my hotel rather than walk the mile or so.
I encountered a talkative cabbie who told me a story that brought me back, in a sense, to Connecticut. He said he had been driving his cab in San Antonio for 40 years, and he had made good money this way. Indeed, even when he started, in 1972, he was making $200 a day [hmmm, what would that be in 2012 dollars?].
Anyway, he has done well enough to send his son to college. The boy attended the University of Connecticut: in his second year there, he called his cabbie father to say, "They just invited me to join the fraternity! They don't treat me like a Mexican in Texas here. This place is great!"
So my cabbie friend was delighted to learn that his fare was from Connecticut. And, without any effort to draw any broad social lessons therefrom: I'm delighted to have that reminescence as a way of closing this little travelogue.
As to why I went to San Antonio and what I did there: that will make the gist of my next two entries.
Staff did with some difficulty persuade her that yes, this was THE St. Louis station and that if she didn't get off she would end up at the real next stop, several miles away.
It was by now fairly late on Friday, and I fell sleep not long after we had pulled out of the main and only St Louis station.
I awoke in northern Texas. Marshall, Texas, if I remember rightly.
Longview Texas was next, and those on the train who wanted to go to Houston had to get off at Longview to make their connection.
Around 11:20 those of us still on the Eagle were in Dallas. We had about a 20 minute stop over. I got out of the train to stretch the legs a bit and because I hoped to find a newspaper. The sole vendor of a newspaper in or around the station house was a mechanical one, one that wanted a full dollar in coins. I only had three quarters, so went about looking for someone, machine or human, who could make change. The place was, as you might have imagined from what I've just said, threadbare of activity. Quite a contrast to Chicago in this. Eventually, in fear of missing my train, I had to forego the pleasure of reading up on things in Dallas.
Austin, TX, too, has a small station, but it had nice architecture. We didn't pass through there until the sun was setting. Was it 8-ish? I don't know.
Anyway, those few of us left on the train by 11 that evening arrived in San Antonio. I took a cab to my hotel rather than walk the mile or so.
I encountered a talkative cabbie who told me a story that brought me back, in a sense, to Connecticut. He said he had been driving his cab in San Antonio for 40 years, and he had made good money this way. Indeed, even when he started, in 1972, he was making $200 a day [hmmm, what would that be in 2012 dollars?].
Anyway, he has done well enough to send his son to college. The boy attended the University of Connecticut: in his second year there, he called his cabbie father to say, "They just invited me to join the fraternity! They don't treat me like a Mexican in Texas here. This place is great!"
So my cabbie friend was delighted to learn that his fare was from Connecticut. And, without any effort to draw any broad social lessons therefrom: I'm delighted to have that reminescence as a way of closing this little travelogue.
As to why I went to San Antonio and what I did there: that will make the gist of my next two entries.
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