Editor’s Note: The following story by Kim Andereck of San Antonio, TX relates his memories of Trenton while growing up in the community. Persons who have a memory to share are asked to do so by e-mailing the Republican-Times newspaper at [email protected]. Stories should include the writer’s name, address and telephone number along with a short bio of the writer. Stories are to be submitted by e-mail only and will appear periodically in the newspaper.
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THS Class of 1966
Ours was a small town, to be quite blunt about it. Not much more than a stopover or an afterthought. A watering hole for the occasional traveling salesman. A regular stop on the born-again revival circuit throughout the summer, when the minister would throw up a giant circus tent and borrow some fans and folding chairs from the funeral home.
And, it seems our little town was the jumping off place for immigrant laborers who maintained the railroad tracks in the years before the work was done by machines. We just called those fellows gandy dancers, because, well…that’s just what we called ‘em.
Oh, sure, we had a bronze statue of a Union soldier down on the courthouse lawn. He stood at rigid attention, maintaining a constant watch over the box office window at the Plaza Theater across the street. The old movie house is gone now, yet our soldier stands there even today, with his musket by his side and with that unblinking stare.
And we did have two cemeteries…three if you count the Catholics. I heard my pal, Art, say there was a colored cemetery around somewhere, but I never ever saw it, so I can’t say for sure. But, you know Art He liked to gab.
I don’t remember the first time, really. It would have been in the early ‘50’s…maybe around ’56, maybe ’57. Heck, it might have been even deeper into the past than that, but it’s not really important. What I do recall, as a very young man, a boy really, were the sights and sounds and anticipation that built to a crescendo those sultry summer nights along the mainline.
On hot August evenings, my family would load into that old green Plymouth station wagon and head over to the Lazy K. We’d park so we could watch Bob Kincaid through the plate glass window as he worked the grill in his spotless white T-shirt. Bob had lost an arm somewhere along the way, so he had become quite proficient at flipping burgers one-handed, while calling out side orders to his helpers in the kitchen: “Drop the fries!”, “Pick up on station two!”, “Buns to the line, please, buns to the line!”
We’d bring along a couple of empty glass jugs. You remember those old gallon size containers with the screw off lids? And the Lazy K would fill them up with Bob’s ice cold, creamy fountain root beer, so we could take them with us in the car to ward off our thirst in the stifling heat of another summer evening.
This was, mind you, an era that pre-dated air conditioning in any home and in most public buildings. You see, air conditioning had not yet been invented for normal people. Or it was only available in the big cities for city people. Regular towns, like ours, didn’t even know it existed.
So, in the summertime, the coolest place to hang out was usually outdoors. After leaving the Lazy K, we would head up north on old Highway 65, past the Hy-Power Cafe, to Dutch Lenhart’s drive-in movie theater. The drive-in was located out-of-doors, under the open sky, in a valley between the Gables Supper Club and the railroad tracks.
Before the sun went down, us kids would run up to the front of the undulating parking lot, dodging speaker posts and the procession of incoming automobiles. Beneath the giant white outdoor screen, we would play on the swing sets and on the little merry-go-round. Then, just like clockwork, precisely at 7:10 p.m., the shrill blast of a distant whistle heralded the approach of Old No. 3. The westbound express was crossing Route A, just a few minutes north.
“She’s coming, she’s coming,” the boys would shout. The children left the swing sets and raced to the nearby fence row. Waiting. Watching. Then suddenly, like a wild animal crouched and ready to spring at her prey, the beast lunged into view!
It was The Rocket! Barreling down the mainline in all her glory! And nobody between Chicago and California would dare to stand in her way.
The No. 3 engine was named The Golden State, flagship of the great Rock Island Line. Oh, God, she was beautiful, with her gleaming silver engine and two-tone red highlights. Before you could blink, a dozen steel and glass cars blew majestically by, leaving only a contrail of dust and discarded popcorn bags swirling in her wake. All that remained was the faint, faraway echo of her whistle all the way down to 4200 bridge. Then, she was gone.
As she passed through our little town, The Rocket was nearly eight hours out of Chicago. She’d be in Los Angeles tomorrow night, concluding her 39-hour run, half a continent away from this tiny North Missouri burg nestled along the railroad right-of-way.
When the sun finally settled in the West and the cartoon characters began dancing across the big screen in an animated conga line…you know, the cartwheeling popcorn buckets and jumping Coca-Cola cups…we’d head back to the car to find Mom and Dad with popcorn and chocolate bars. We ate ravenously and washed everything down with Lazy K root beer, of course. A hot August night at the drive-in. A family. Mom, Dad and three sleepy kids in the back seat.
I cannot tell you a single movie title from that era. Nor what we viewed on the big screen. Nor any of the actors or leading ladies. But what I do remember is a very special time and a very special place. Now, I am reminded of it occasionally, when I take that first sip of root beer and the sweet taste of wintergreen touches my lips. And when I watch the previews in a movie theater and smell buttered popcorn.
And when I hear the distant, doleful wail of a train whistle at sunset, my mind wanders back to those days of The Rocket and root beer; of dancing popcorn bags and hot summer nights. And my thoughts again return, ever so briefly, to that most unusual of times and that most special of places.