In 1949 the New York Central Railroad was still runnning hot and heavy and Crooked Springs was on a line with a double track connecting Chicago and Cincinnati–two major livestock markets.  At its peak 27 trains a day raced through town each day–all but one still coal-fired steam locomotives.  The two trains that once stopped to pick up passengers and milk had just become history and Will, the station master, had retired.  When Wilbur would leave to go home and a train would whistle in the distance nearly everyone in the parlor would shout derisively, “Get off the tracks, Wilbie.”  That would bring hoots of laughter drowned out by the rumble of the 9:27 roaring west toward Indianapolis.

One winter morning word came to our sheriff from Cincinnati police that the conductor of a freight train had found a human leg attached to the caboose of his train.  Later, Artie, the town’s paperboy, spotted a dog carrying a human hand.  When he approached the animal it ran from him.  That same morning, Donald Ray, a high school senior walking to class, found a human head.

In cold weather Wilbur always wore a cardigan sweater buttoned up under his overcoat and over his bib overalls.  Being buttoned it made it difficult for him to extract his braille pocket watch from the bib.  I can remember him fumbling with it many times.  Although he was struck directly by the eastbound train a remarkable thing was found.  His overcoat was torn to pieces but the cardigan was found alongside the tracks… intact…still buttoned up.

As time passed fewer and fewer trains made their way through Crooked Springs but each time one did the men in the card parlor would say, “Get off the tracks, Wilbie” only  now there was no laughter as the new deisel hummed past.  When they said get off the tracks, Wilbie it was because they were country people–they didn’t know how to put their deepest thoughts into words.  What they meant was, “God speed, Wilbie.”