Tag Archives: Angel



I consider many of the stories I write are a prophecy of things to come. I believe this because I believe in the quantum of quantum physics.

There is a possibility of many parallel Universes in existence at the same time. They are completely identical except for the outcome. Within this line of thinking, I become responsible for my future and its outcome.

For me the quantum part means that I see quantum physics as if it were two parts: the unknown magical part, quantum and the physical part, science, known as physics.

All new concepts and discoveries are not believable at first. However, over time these ideas gain credence. I have my reasons to believe that I am one of many who have a glimmering about the magical part of quantum.  

I believe that some of these multi-universes operate in the realm of the supernatural as we are becoming, however rudimentary, to understand. The realm of the spirit world of angels, demons, souls and spirits. The all-knowing Universe that I write about. 

Peg was my lifeline, analogous to the ‘line’ in my story, The Tight Wire.

Peg saved me by being my ‘line,’ which I held onto for dear life. Alas, she was also my safety net, which allowed me to take chances and walk a different line. With her I was able to constantly, but carefully, step outside my safety zone.

With Peg’s passing, my lifeline wire is fraying.

I believe Peg’s arrival in my life was by design, design of my own making, a quantum design, not the responsibility of my beloved Universe. I am prophesying my own future in the way I conduct my daily life and, in my thinking, and writing. I simply do not know the outcome in advance.

Now that Peg is on her next Journey, my lifeline is no longer connected to any substance. I am falling.

I am desperately trying to find my way without the aid of any light; falling through an endless void with no compass. My Angel is not there to illuminate my way, she is there only to help me complete my earthly journey, no matter what the ending will be.

In my story, I Make my Future, I address my own need to make my future by envisioning many quantum outcomes. The one I choose will be the way life goes for me.

There is no bottom to my fall this time; this is it. I am prepared to join Peg, or make a different outcome.

Excerpts from some of my stories are set below. I leave it to you to see the intimate connection of the words, which are there only, because as a writer, I am compelled to write the chain of words even if I do not understand them and their connection with the future.  

Excerpts from The Tight Wire

There was less than a thousand feet to go. The wire was heating up, the grease working itself out between the fine strands. During all the years he had spent learning, he found the wire had a life of its own, telling him everything, telegraphing its feelings through the buffalo hide soles of his slippers. But now, the wire was telling him it was dying.

Prepared in France, the wire was the finest of its kind, very strong, attention had been paid when it was woven. As always, he had supervised the rigging for this walk, spending hours going from side to side checking the tension and the security of the anchors. This change in temperature was unexpected. He had waited for three days for overcast, cool weather, with no wind. Halfway through, the sun broke through the clouds and warmed the wire. Had the gods parted the clouds to peer down at his walk? The tightwire began to slacken from the heat; a fresh breeze made balance difficult. He must have offended the gods; one cannot walk wire without the consent of the gods.

Walking was the province of the gods. You must always be in grace with the gods because only they prevented your fall.

Wallenda fell in South America, they said he didn’t supervise the rigging. He had offended the gods by calling it, `The Last Great Walk.’

He had been afraid before. At first, he felt paralyzed, his legs turned to lead, he stopped and balanced. The braided wire dropped one inch; the ends of his pole deflected up one inch. He began to walk and then run across the tightwire, the weight of 38 years of life left his body. He was light; he flew across a wire that was no longer pressed against the callused, godless soles of his feet.

When I wrote these words, I intuitively knew my life was intertwined with Peg. If Peg passed, my lifeline would become unraveled. How would I be able to exist without her?

Excerpts from I Make My Future

My future does not exist until I do something to move from my present energy place to some other energy place.

Tomorrow is an empty place. It doesn’t exist until I fill it. I can fill tomorrow with today or I can fill tomorrow with something new.

I have the power to change tomorrow by changing the energy of tomorrow by my greatest power, my thoughts.

This is my example of the power of Quantum thought. I think it, so it will be. My current state of grief is causing me great mental and physical harm.

My conundrum: here, with Peg’s infinite living energy around me and finish out my life on earth, or leave my earthly life now and join Peg in completeness in the Universe.

I believe in Life after Death but still, while currently falling through the void, I must find a reason to want to stay here. Only with that reason will I be able to arrest my fall.


Excerpt from Life after Earthly Death

It is said: physicist Stephen Hawking’s believed that after death, we simply turn to dust. If I believe his teachings and I have something important to contribute, I need to contribute it now. Or, is there an alternative?


Apparently, Hawking’s also believed that the Universe and Time all began at the same moment, the moment of the Big Bang: a theory that is all his science can prove, so in a way, as great a thinker as he was, he was held hostage by his science.


Personally, I am not held hostage because I do not need to prove anything and I have a different understanding of Time. Although rarely discussed, Time is the important part of the puzzle. The Big Bang was 13.8 billion years ago: an unfathomable period of Time for a human, but perhaps a mere blip in the life of a spirit or an Angel.

My explanation and knowledge of Time is why I know I will be back. I won’t need to wait another 13.8 billion years, because new Universes are created all the time. Other Universes are running concurrently with ours. Everything I do, say, or write is flowing into the other Universes as wisdom.

I am here, and there, in the same moment, but nevertheless, different. My contribution is made now, here, and in a different Universe concurrently. My spirit is in multiple Universes at once. I know.


Two Doors

Two doors in front of you stand closed.

Which to take? One enters on the realities of life, atomic dirt and strife.

The very thing you now despise.

The other enters upon your dreams, mystic clear and clean.

The very thing you idolize.

Now you must decide.

Each is clearly marked.

Some will choose the door marked life, to conquer all its dreadful stink,

and by winning self-esteem find the door marked dreams.

Some will open the other door and through the power of their dreams,

gain the strength to stand before the door marked life.

Some will exist forever, their hand outstretched into the air, and never open either door.

They will need no life, nor have no dreams.

The point: I find it is possible for me to live in the boundary between the multi-universes. I only know I live in this boundary after I read what I write, otherwise I consider my existence in this boundary normal and realistic and not magical thinking. My wish is that the above explanation will give you new insight into my thinking and how I believe I make my way through life by living the ending in advance. I will, therefore I am. 

The Energy of Souls


“I guess I died, huh?”


“Yes, you did, well you didn’t die, your physical body died. It got old; you had a few strikes against you by not taking care of your health. It was mostly a good life and got better towards the end, you accumulated a lot of wisdom. I am proud of you.”


“Is the Source proud of me?”


“The Source doesn’t know you. The Source only creates life. It is up to you to find your love and happiness, either here in my arms in the Universe, or in another body when you decide to reincarnate.”


“Do you mean I am not loved by the Source or the Universe? They do not care about me?”


“The Source created you and equipped you with all the ingredients for you to love yourself and for you to love others. The Universe is the store of all knowledge, yours and everyone and everything else from the beginning of time. That is enough. There are souls who have loved you in the past, here in the Universe, and during your stay in a human body when you have reincarnated and now that you have passed, those who love your memory.”

“Some souls you have met along the way have become soulmates. With them you have a special loving relationship, which nurtures the both of you and affirms you are becoming a complete soul yourself. Then, of course, you have me, you love me and I love you. This is one of the roles angels play as we travel with you on your eternal journey.”  


“What do I do now?”


“You have some choices to make, they are your choices, yours and yours alone. You will need to decide if you want to reincarnate again, or do you want to fly with me in the Universe forever?”


“I have more work to do, I am not ready to fly forever, I still can help others. Tell me again how I will know when it is time to reincarnate?”


“You have been here in the Universe before. You will use the wisdom of the Universe to find your way to reincarnate into a human body again when you are ready. You are in a state of pure energy. You have no physical form. The Source has prearranged it so your unique energy is yours and yours alone, it is your exclusive energy. You are now in the Universe, a place so immense you may never come across another soul for what could be an infinite length of time.”


“Will I be able to connect with the souls of those whom I have loved and have come here to the Universe before me? Will I find my beloved parents and sisters? Will I be able to be in touch with my beloved Peg even as she has not passed at this time? Will I find my soulmate here, or can I connect with my soulmate even if she is still on earth in the body that she called her own when I met her?”


“Your questions are natural to ask, because you have not achieved the state of having received total wisdom.”


“How am I to reincarnate if there are no other souls to lead the way?”


“Dear One, the Universe will supply you with the knowledge of reincarnation when you are ready to go to another human body. You will know when, the Universe will sense that time and supply all the help and direction you need from other souls when your time comes. As long as you have work to do, reincarnation will happen naturally for you. There will be no concern for time or timing, reincarnation is automatic for those who wish to continue their work.”


“Will I eventually come here to the Universe and live forever with you? When will my need to reincarnate stop?”


“You will sense a time when your knowledge is so great, when you no longer have to ask questions, when you know the answers. Your purpose will change from reincarnating to teaching. Your soul life will become important to the Universe in the role of a teacher. At that time, you and I will live here in harmony and bliss, here in the Universe forever. This is when your role of becoming a complete soul ends and you will serve the Universe’s highest purpose: teaching other Souls to find their highest purpose.” 




I was gasping for breath. What caused this? I thought to myself. It’s that dream, the dream I’m drowning.

Margie and I had a deal. If I got in trouble during the night, I was to wake her.

“What’s up with you?”  Angel asked mind to mind, as she alighted on the bed. Angel has been part of my daily life for seven decades, a gift given to me by the Universe. She pops in and out of my day faster than a steam locomotive.

“I’m in serious trouble,” I answered.

“Why don’t you wake her?”

“I know, I know,” I said, becoming more worried as time went on. “It must be the altitude out here, and the stress of the flight, I haven’t been breathing this poorly for years. I didn’t suspect my asthma would be an issue.”

One of the hallmarks of coming from a dysfunctional/abusive childhood home is being independent to a fault. Now my propensity not to ask for help could derail the trip I am so looking forward to.

The rhythm of Margie’s breathing changed.

“Oh no, did I wake her?”

After a long day of walking back and forth to the train station and seeing the sights of the celebration in Ogden, Margie would need a good night’s sleep.

“Get your rescue inhaler!” Angel asserted.

I reached out to the nightstand and found my flashlight, the one with the lanyard, the one I keep especially for this purpose, the purpose of lighting my way in unfamiliar surroundings.

Using my elbows to help me slide to the headboard, I put a pillow behind me and sat up. By this time, I was taking rapid, shallow breaths.

“That kind of breathing must stop, you’ll hyperventilate. Sit on the side of the bed and catch your breath.” I listened to Angel’s gentle guidance; Angel’s my Intuition. 

Finding my emergency inhaler on the nightstand, I made several deep inhalations of Albuterol. It wouldn’t take too many minutes for the inhaler’s medicines to work. In the meantime, I formulated the plan: If my normal breathing couldn’t be restored by the inhaler, I would wake Margie, get dressed, and call 911.

In the past, I practiced a regular breathing exercise called `boxing my breath,’ a process of taking in a breath for several seconds, holding my breath, exhaling and holding my breath again, over and over, at least four times. This usually restored my normal rate of breathing.  

It is not the lack of air that is the total problem, panic leads to hyperventilation and possibly passing out. I don’t panic easily, or at least I haven’t, despite the many difficult adverse experiences of my past. I pride myself on this.

Pride goes before the fall. 

I don’t do well alone – especially at night, I never have. My recently acquired adult asthma added another layer to my nightly discomfort and convinced me that I needed help from those I love and trust. No more macho-superman stuff for me.

Carefully rising from the bed, I steadied myself against the wall and made my way into the bathroom.

I closed the bathroom door and turned on the light. Finding my long-acting cortisone spray, I took two deep puffs and held my breath to the count of ten after each one.

These are miracle drugs, I thought to myself. Within moments my breathing became less labored.

“Who is this man?” I said out loud to Angel who was standing beside me as I looked into the vanity mirror. I always wondered if the person I saw in the mirror was really me. Looks are always so deceptive.  

“It’s you, don’t worry you’ll be fine. I am with you. Believe in me, you are loved.”

Although I could not see Angel, I felt her presence. I sat on the toilet lid. My breathing slowed and my lightheadedness passed. I turned out the light and quietly opened the bathroom door and made my way back to bed. Sitting upright, I listened for Margie. Her breathing rhythm seemed normal. I sat up for an hour; for you see, remnants of the nightmare are still flooding through my veins and now I am in what I call ‘the zone,’ an in-between area, the nightmare and the real world. And I ask myself, which is the worse of two evils – a night without sleep or a double nightmare night.

After 60 long minutes, I felt better, rolled flat and fell asleep.

The Invitation


Peg was not up to this trip, she wished to stay home. How interesting could a restored sixty-year-old steam locomotive be? Although Peg and I have done everything together, this trip to Ogden, UT, was more than her age and infirmities would comfortably allow.

My wife and I have had a love affair from the beginning; I am ten years younger than her, now our physical abilities are out of sync.

Peg suggested I ask Margie to go with me for company, and to help me with the fall-out from my frequent and violent nightmares. We have known Margie for ten years; she is younger than I, and in good health. Her presence on the trip would be greatly appreciated. I would pick up all the expenses, the trip would not cost Margie any money; she was doing me the favor.

I met Margie through a close friend who knew that I struggled with my past. With a Bachelor and Master’s degree in Social Work, for over thirty years, Margie has worked with people from dysfunctional, abusive situations. Because of her background, she was perfect for me. Slowly, trust grew via frequently exchanged emails and talking on the phone. Her understanding of the effects of child abuse on a man’s mental health kept me close to her.

If Margie decided the trip was not for her, I would not go. That would have been a great disappointment to me. A complete restoration of a steam locomotive of this size had never been attempted before and this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. 

4014 is the largest steam locomotive in the world to be restored to full working condition. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when I read the locomotive would come out of restoration and be on public display in Ogden, UT in May 2019.

4014 would arrive in Ogden to help with the celebration of the 150th anniversary of the hammering of the Golden Spike, joining the east and west railroads at Promontory Point.

Originally, I made my initial request to Margie by phone; she suggested I come over for tea to explore the idea in greater detail. She had not completely ruled out going, however, steam locomotives were not a big interest to her.

Margie might go as a special favor to Peg and me. I was hoping she would find interesting things to do in Ogden while I was busy viewing the train. I am too young to stop going to interesting places and events.

I had to admire Margie’s spunk in considering spending four days in the company of a man she didn’t know all that well. 

Margie said she would go online to the Union Pacific site and look at the events planned for that special weekend in Ogden. To my surprise, after doing some research, she seemed enthusiastic about the trip – the walkable town, and the celebration fair.

There was one big decision for the two of us to make, the sleeping accommodations.

The purpose of Margie going was not only for the companionship, but also to help me in the middle of the night, which would not work unless I could book a suite with two separate but connecting sleeping areas. If I got in trouble, Margie would throw me a lifeline.

This was to be a pleasure trip, a good night’s sleep in a nice hotel was part of my plan.

            “Okay, I’ll go,” Margie had said.

            “See there,” Angel said. “Everything always works out if you believe it will.” That’s why I love Angel and why she was always nearby.

The next morning in the Ogden hotel coffee shop

            “I heard you last night. Why didn’t you get me up?” Margie’s concern was evident in the caring way she asked the question.

            “I should have, I have trouble asking for help, but you know that.”

            “That’s why I am here. Tell me about it, don’t hold back.”

            “Well, let me sit for a bit and sip my coffee.”


It is said somewhere in the many readings I have that if a man is to be happy he should have a Vision.

As it is with all inspirational sayings, this one may not be true for me.

I had Visions, a couple of times – I am glad I did. They helped me get through life to the productive and yes, happy place I am now.

Presently, things are different for me. I am still on the Journey, but I have no particular destination, unless I consider the ultimate Earthly destination that we all have, Death, which will come at its own pace.

No, I am free of striving. Free from awaking in the morning with a list of activities I must accomplish to get ahead.

I am allowing the winds of fate to propel my craft to a suitable but unknown destination.

This is called Faith.

Faith comes to me as one of the gifts of Grace I received from the Universe.

I am in possession, or perhaps I am possessed, by an Angel. Angel is my Orenda, my spiritual power, my guide, my intuition. The Iroquois believe we all have Orenda, a spiritual power. Everything animate or inanimate possess Orenda.

I have chosen to use my Orenda and believe in my spiritual powers.

Because of my faith in the Universes special power,  Orenda, I no longer have to invest my daily life in a vision. I have the Orenda to complete my Journey All I need is to sail my little craft, taking directions from Angel, which will lead me to my understanding and spiritual knowledge.

The Universe, through Angel, has given me the voice to explain my connection with the natural world, its power over me and my power over it. I do this through my writing – my voice, my Orenda.








The Superchief

The Super Chief                         

I got to the Dearborn station early before anyone connected with the filming arrived. The Santa Fe management had given me the time and a special pass allowing me to participate in the filming of a commercial featuring the advantages of train travel with the next generation of modern passenger cars and the diesel-powered engines.

The Santa Fe thought the combination of the brand-new lightweight Budd Corporation stainless-steel passenger cars and the powerful and clean General Motors EMD Corporation streamlined diesel engines would convince people to take the train and ride in unparalleled style and luxury of the new modern era of passenger train travel.

The Super Chief was an extra fare All Pullman Streamliner. Native American colors such as turquoise and copper were featured on the interior intertwined with striking exotic wood trim. The Super Chief’s classic ‘Warbonnet’ exterior design featured sweeping red and yellow lines against the stainless-steel background of the engine and cars. Additionally, the engine had a large dramatic Santa Fe herald emblazoned in wraparound fashion across its gracefully aero-dynamically slanted nose.

A large, lighted drumhead with the Santa Fe logo was affixed to the sweeping curve end of the observation car. The entire train was one brilliantly executed design of the age of modernism: A functional, rolling work of art.

I caught a ride in the cab of the terminal diesel switcher out to the ready track where 3751 sat simmering after being serviced from the Los Angeles run the day before. My train of the old-style heavyweight passenger cars had been cleaned and was coupled on behind the engine and tender. Right away I could see the stark contrast between my old train and the new modern passenger train fleet. My train seemed dated and old fashioned; and then I wondered – was I dated and old fashioned? What would be the ‘transportation of choice’ for the woman who was quickly stealing my heart, Theodora?

As I approached the slumbering engine, I never believed the company would invest so much money in making 3751 shine like new once again.

“I heard you,” Angel shouted over the roar of the conflagration in the firebox.

“I didn’t say it out loud,” I replied as I mounted the ladder to the vestibule of the cab.

“No matter, I could hear your thoughts. Yeah, they pulled out all the stops.”

I looked at Angel incredulously and hoped she didn’t know about the dream I had last night about Theodora sleeping in my arms.

“Yummy, Big Boy, maybe we can perform the same bed-tricks when this movie is through?”

“Good grief,” I replied, “is nothing sacred with you?”

“Only the stuff that happens between you and I. No one would believe that anyway, so I’m safe,” Angel retorted.

She was right, what went on between Angel and I would always remain our secret.

“I see you have the train orders Mr. Engineer, my movie star, mister engineer movie star. I don’t want you sharing your body with any other women until this movie is over, it’s too important for you and the railroad. Besides you have your widow, she would love to be in love, with a real movie star.”

Reality came down hard on me: I have a job, responsibilities to my company, my kids and the memories of my dear departed wife. And perhaps even the attention of a good practical woman who would share my retirement years.

I am just too conservative. However, the idea of being involved with a movie star, and having a boy to raise was very appealing. What-the-heck, other men I knew had women on the side, or much younger wives after their first mate’s passing. Why couldn’t I?

Angel shook her head, “Heartbreak Hotel!”

She was right, again. “Angel, I can’t find my way back from my past life and wife – farming part time, occasional train trips, locking ourselves in the bedroom when we needed private time and hearing the kids holler,`What’s bangin’ up against the wall?'” I moaned, “I want it all back.”

“Soon,” Angel said with conviction. “Let’s steam this loco up and move the train into position. The work will ease your mind for a while. Then, after, you can lay with me and we can make sense of it all.”

The train orders had us backing the empty old-style passenger cars into the station on Track One. Facing out on Track Two, I was to park 3751 next to a brand-new diesel engine: The future of modern train travel – powerful and economical, clean and able to travel long distances without service.

Contrasting the old steam-powered passenger train with the new modern diesel-powered train, the railroad hoped that the film would take ridership away from the increasing competition of the private automobile and the airlines.

The railroads marketing department told me Theodora had requested me to be the engineer on both locomotives; Theodora and Timmy would be the first passengers on the inaugural diesel run from Chicago to Los Angeles. The real life ‘Train of the Stars.’

There was little room to spare at the track ends. I had no doubt in my mind I would be able to ease the train into exactly the right spot and make sure both engines would be even with each other within inches. By design, the trains were set up to be the same length, give or take a foot.

I had to move forward on the ready-track and take the switches, which would place our train on Track One.

Angel had the steam pressure up to the required two hundred thirty pounds. We sat and waited for the track signal to turn green. Precisely at the stipulated time, we received the green signal light. I started the bell ringing and whistled the customary blast for a train moving forward, then released the brakes and applied steam. Our train moved slowly forward and we wound our way through the serpentine of the station-tracks until we were on Track One. I could see the conductor from my side. He gave us the hand signal indicating we had cleared the switches. I gave an acknowledging blast on the whistle. We stopped, waiting for the signal allowing us to back into the station.

Soon the conductor at the rear of the train gave us the go-ahead to reverse. I made the reverse whistle signal and started the reverse move. We drifted slowly backward into the station. I slowly applied engine brakes, allowing the passenger cars to stretch out the slack for a more comfortable jolt-free start when it came time to go. I set the train brakes and the engine brakes and gave one last long mournful whistle blast. Our train had stopped on Track One, perhaps for the last time.

We sat motionless, adjacent to Engine #11, the future of modern locomotives. The second generation of General Motors diesel streamliners consisted of 2 back to back engines, Units E1a and E1b, the latter without a cab. Combining the two engines created a powerful unit of 3600 continuous horsepower, sufficient to pull the Super Chief from Chicago to Los Angeles for the entire 1700 mile trip without fuel stops, a savings of time and money for passengers and the railroad.

On the platform, there was a stir of activity between the two trains. I rose from my seat, but not until once more making sure the train and engine brakes were firmly applied and the steam reverse gear was in neutral and the throttle closed. I walked back on the footplate and stood in the doorway of the cab between the engine and tender.

At that moment I saw her, Theodora, the woman of my dreams. A sharp pang of desire flooded my body and ended up squarely in my groin, an ever-insistent reminder that my interest in her had only begun.

“Be careful Big Boy, you are headed for one big heap of trouble,” my know-it-all wing mate said in an altogether too loud of a remark, which made me jolt out of my erotic dream. “Shape up, here comes the press.”

Following closely behind Theodora and her son was an entourage of people of various job descriptions: Donna, (Theodora’s confidant), Theodora’s agent, the movie producer, marketing people, attorney’s, and what I like to call ‘the hanger-on-ers.’ Behind them I recognized the president of the railroad and his staff, our marketing people, an army of attorney’s and the press. It was a tidal wave of folks, all with their fingers in the pie of me and my starlet’s life.

Just to make matters worse for my already fragile self-esteem, behind all of them was none other than Bucky Armbruster, holding the arm of the widow.

Angel let out a gasp, “Oh no!”

(To be continued….)






















Prelude to the Observation Car

“Where’s Timmy?” Donna inquired, sitting in Theodora’s bedroom suite on the train.

Theodora made eye contact with the movie studio liaison; originally Donna was hired to keep her in check but in the meantime, they had become friends and really there was no need, Theodora knew how to walk the walk and talk the talk. “Reba has him in her compartment, he’s playing with his trains. Timmy brought his wind-up engine, freight cars and track in a separate suitcase. I swear he would take the trains to bed with him if I would let him.”

“I’m keen-bean that you brought Reba along, she’s been a big help in minding Timmy while you deal with the press and, I must say, your stardom.”

Theodora laughed at Donna’s slang. “Reba loves him. She doesn’t know if she will ever have children. She and Harvey keep trying, they are spending money they don’t have to visit specialists, no luck. When she minds Timmy, I get a break and she gets to be around a child she always wanted. Luckily, I have the money to be able to hire her, it’s good for both of us.” Theodora took several deep breaths.

“What’s the matter Teddy?” Donna spoke tenderly with concern in her voice.

“It’s Gerald. He isn’t sleeping with me.”

“Yikes! It’s a big compartment, where does he sleep, in the trundle?”

“Hilarious. You know Gerald must be sleeping with Clark. I am only a convenience, to lend the allusion of propriety. I stay with him because there is so much potential in this new movie role.

“But I don’t want Timmy to grow up around these show people, especially now that there are producers who insist actresses audition nude for ‘Boudoir scenes.’ I want him to lead a real man’s life, a spiritual life, with a regular job and then marry the right girl. He loves trains and the railroad. If he wants to be a railroad engineer, then that’s what I want for him.”

“What if he wants to become an artist or a writer? Surely you wouldn’t object.”

“Oh please, not the artistic world, I am learning to hate it.”

“What are you saying? You made a fortune in the movies and the money is good for the both of you, especially Timmy. You’ll be able to afford a great education for him at a private school, which would also get him away from your work.”

“I won’t send him away to boarding school. When this film is done, I’ll take time off  and live with Timmy some place honest and good, maybe farm country. Or get a ranch, a place where I can work outside in the fresh air and get dirty.” Theodora’s large brown eyes filled with tears, “Not the filth of my past.”

“Teddy?” Donna’s eyes opened wide.

“My past is a well-kept secret,” Theodora adjusted her thick, curly, shoulder-length auburn hair. “A year out of high school, Raymond Anderson discovered me and got me into films. Raymond and his wife Louise, took me off the street and gave me a head start. I owe them a debt of gratitude that I will never be able to repay. They were the perfect couple, kind and generous, perfect role models. My secret died with them in the airplane crash a few years ago.”

“Are you sure you want me to know?” Donna asked holding her hand to cover her mouth, as if to keep anyone from hearing.

Theodora dismissed her question with what Donna referred to as the ‘Queen’s wave.’ “Do you know why I picked Theodora as my screen name?”

“Theodora!” Donna exclaimed. “Movie-goers love it and everyone at the studio thinks it’s a great selling point, ‘Theodora, Theodora,’ they say. You are in all the headlines as Theodora, I just thought it was your given name. Come to think of it, you don’t ever use your surname. Why? I only know you as Theodora or now that we are close, as Teddy.”

Adjusting her already correct posture, Theodora explained, “I don’t know my father’s identity. For that matter, I never knew my mother, she died an alcoholic’s death shortly after my birth. I was raised by my aunt, a good woman, but she didn’t know how to care for me. Not her fault, I was trouble from the beginning. I don’t belong here in this world, something went wrong, very wrong. My aunt made up my surname for the birth certificate. The doctor knew something wasn’t right but she told him my father was killed in a construction accident. Davis, yes Davis, forged in deceiving black ink onto my birth records. My given name is Madeline, Madeline Davis, nice isn’t it?”

Theodora lifted her chin, a picture perfect pose. “My uncle used me. He started on me early; my aunt didn’t know. When my uncle found me alone, he would come after me. While he held me down, he whispered that what we did together was real love. But my soul knew differently. I would go to another place; I just left my body to him and entered a dream world where I became a beautiful and loving princess. Then when my periods started, he finally left me alone, but there was no love, never was.”

Donna intentionally kept quiet, listening and watching this 25 year old star revert back to a habit she only did in private, raising her left hand to her beautiful face and using the back of her fingers to brush lightly along her cheek.

“I was troubled all through school,” Theodora said. “A devil on my shoulder made me flirt with all the boys, I couldn’t get enough attention and earned the nickname, `Slutty.’ ‘Hey slutty, whatcha’ doing tonight?’ None of those boys ever stuck around and the good girls ignored me.

“History class was my lifeline and where I first learned about ‘Theodora and Justinian,’ lovers on a grand scale. After class, I would go to the library and look up everything I could find about them. She was a stagehand who ascended first to the stage and then as a courtesan, known as ‘the dregs of the army.’ The original Theodora had unbounded sexual energy, then unaccountably, she changed and settled into a modest house near the emperor’s palace and made her living spinning wool. Justinian saw her, she was very beautiful, young and intelligent, he fell in love with her. He used all his royal powers to have her become his wife and had her crowned, `Augusta.’ They shared Imperial power; I wanted to be her, so I took her given name.”

“Oh, bananas Teddy! I won’t say doodly-squat but it’s difficult to keep a juicy secret in Hollywood.”

It was as if Theodora never heard her. “After high school I did menial labor at a hotel in Los Angeles,” she continued. “I took on paying men, married men, almost every night. They knew if they revealed my secret I would get even, I had too much on them, all the dirty little secrets, the petty jealousies.

“Then, I had three men in the same night, all of them together with me in the same room. They said they were starting a new kind of film industry – Adult Art Film’s. I would become a star. The movies would be sensual and artistically done. I bought into their idea and that night was to be an audition. Instead, they filmed as they raped and beat me, took my money and left me there alone, crying in my own blood.

“That’s when I changed, instantly overnight, a divine intervention; I was not going back to that old life. By then I was 18 and had worked my way up at the hotel, and Raymond encouraged me to audition for a part in a movie he was producing, a musical. He needed a wholesome looking girl, I was good at it. Raymond offered me more parts, then as if in a dream, I became Theodora, Theodora the movie star.”

However, when she was 20, Theodora had a brief relapse and got pregnant; Raymond and his wife Louise gave her an ultimatum: amend her ways or the studio would drop her. “One last chance at respectability. I grew up instantly knowing I could never forgive myself if I let them down again.”

Theodora confronted the man she suspected was Timmy’s father, to no avail. “Raymond and Louise made sure the sensationalism of my being an unwed mother didn’t get out of hand with the tabloids. Funny, in a way it was good for my career, other women in the same situations wanted to know more about me and began to flock to the movies that I had roles in.”

Hoopin’ and hollerin’ sounds drifted in from the nearby parlor, “I don’t want Timmy to find out about my past. I have got to find a way of protecting him.”

“Teddy, do you have a plan? How will you break with Gerald? It’ll be all over the newspapers.”

“I don’t care, neither will Gerald, he’ll be glad to be rid of me, I’m just excess baggage now. After the last film, he made a great deal of money and this one looks like it will be even bigger. He wants to take his money and move overseas, he says European’s will be more understanding of his lifestyle.”

Donna shifted gears and told Theodora that following shooting the remainder of their current musical in Chicago, the studio and the railroad were going to film a commercial about the advantage of train travel across the country versus the airlines. ‘The Modern World of Train Travel,’ would feature one of the new diesel engines on the `Super Chief` as it departs for Los Angeles. “The studio wants to feature you and Timmy as well as an engineer.”

“I wonder,” Theodora smiled, “maybe the same engineer Timmy and I saw a few months ago in Lamy?”

“Uh, oh Teddy, do I see a gleam in your eye?”

“I have a soft spot for fatherly men,” Theodora leaned forward. “And Donna, when I looked into the cab of that engine in Lamy, I could have sworn I saw a real angel. Timmy too because he said, ‘Mommy, an angel just winked at me!’ I think it was a sign.”

“Time to head for the observation car and get lunch,” Donna shook her head, motioning towards the door. “I’ll check on Timmy and Reba, you go ahead and find a place for us. At least you can have some time to dream, watch the miles go by and hope for a better destination.”


The Engineer

I caught sight of Angel as she stepped out of the doorway of the crew shack. She was immaculately attired in her very clean, newly pressed overalls. She had on a red engineers cap emblazoned with yellow polka-dots, but on closer inspection, were actually embroidered little yellow hearts. Her red bandanna loosely hung around her neck and over the bib of her overalls. Freshly shined brown work boots finished off her ensemble.

She headed straight down the side of the roadbed which, leading down from the coaling facilities, was always dirty with unburned coal and clinkers left from hurriedly cleaned fire boxes. There were also large puddles of oil and standing water from the overflow of the tenders when they were carelessly filled. It amazed me she was able to stay so clean – Jiminy Cricket! she fired a steam locomotive – but she did, and now I knew the secret: Angel levitated over all of the mess, without stepping in any of it because, after all, she is an angel.

This would be our last trip together in this locomotive 3751. Soon I would be in command of one of the brand-new diesel ‘E’ units, which would be on the front end of all the ATSF Super Chief passenger trains. I was blessed to have her as my fireman through the years of steam, now she would join me operating the new wave of railroading.

She came alongside of the cab without looking up to acknowledge me. I saw directly down on her delightful head and shoulders, the same parts of her body I was recently caressing while we lay in bed. She was singing a little tune, oblivious of my presence above her in the cab window.

At the rear of the cab, she turned and mounted the ladder up to the footplate between the cab and the tender. Swinging herself in and around the back wall of the cab, she stepped to my side and holding my head in her gloved hands she sang a little verse, “Whatcha got cookin’ good lookin’?”

“Wow,” I proclaimed. “You could make a hit song out of those lyrics.”

“Maybe I will when you retire in a few years.”

“The Hosteler left us here on the `Ready Track,` they didn’t have the room down near the station. When I got the briefing and manifest, I saw that it’s a really long train this morning. In a few minutes, we’ll have to back down and couple on,” I said staring out the cab window trying to mask my thoughts of the ‘human’ women I wished were in my life.

“Not only long,” she replied. “Heavy too, there are several sleepers, and three baggage cars, not to mention the additional REA cars up front. I hear there’s a film crew from Los Angeles, they are going to film a movie in Chicago, a musical about the old prohibition days. She’s the star.”

“You mean the starlet with the little boy, the one we saw a few months ago? Is she on the train?”

“Yep, in the last car, the vista dome observation with the VIP suite and she’s with that big-time movie producer the tabloids are making all the fuss about.”

“How do you know these things?”


“I know them, that’s all, I just know things. Her little boy wants to see the engine again, they will probably stop by at Lamy.” I could see the excitement and the confusion in his eyes. He so wanted to see that woman again. I could almost tell he was rising up.

“Well, let’s drift on down then,” he said.

“Okay baby, I’ll get up some steam and straighten out that fire. Doesn’t anyone know how to lay a good fire anymore? By the way you were in pretty good form last night. Do you like that trick I showed you?”

“Oh, be quiet. I can’t think straight after a night like that, I think there is a rule against it – eight hours from body to throttle!”

I raked the fire and started the stoker, so I could throw coal way back into the corners. The pressure came up, I sensed a good healthy fire going.

I saw him turn on the tender backup light and start the bell ringing. He turned and faced backward out the cab window. Releasing the engine brake, he moved the power reverse lever to reverse position. There was a hiss of steam from the mechanism. Without looking he reached behind him and found the throttle; cracking it open slightly we moved slowly, drifting back down the track to the waiting train.

He knew automatically where the rear of the tender was, it was a very big tender. He told me once he counted the railroad ties below the cab as a way of judging the distance. The train supervisor had positioned a man at the head of the REA car where we coupled on and with hand signals, he was able to show how far the couplers of the car and tender were apart.

Slowing the engine to a crawl the inches went by, without the slightest bump the couplers came together and latched solidly into each other. The train supervisor gave the sign to pull ahead and test the security of the connection.

He moved the reverse lever, it was just enough to allow the engine to pull forward and take the slack out of the connection. A sign was given, one of the workmen attached the air hoses from the tender to the train line. With that sign for the brake test, my engineer let air into the train line while carefully taking up the slack in the train.

It was done, all done, we were now one big long train. Other than the crew, no one else would have noticed the ballet that was going on to make us one.

I noticed he took the same care in his lovemaking. Carefully attending to all the little details. It gave me the shivers to see the dance unfold once again, this time with a behemoth passenger train but somehow, all the same, all about caring.

We sat there listening to the hiss of the escaping steam from all the various mechanisms that allowed an engine like this to function as a unit.

I stepped up beside him and cupped my arms around his shoulders.

“Did you see her this weekend? The widow at the Grange Hall?”

“Yes, I went to the Grange for the roast beef dinner, she was there. I sat across from her.”

“And, and then what?” I asked with great anticipation. Never in my dreams would I have believed he would make the first move.

“I said hi,” he replied rather pensively. “Do you think I started the conversation off okay? I mean, I didn’t know what else to say.”

“You did fine, yes, terrific, a very honest way to start a conversation. What did she say?”

“She said, ‘You must be a little lonely with Claire being gone. Why don’t you come over to my place this Sunday at noon? I can bake an apple pie, we can have pie and ice cream. I mean if you’re free and all. I mean, I don’t know what I mean except I would like that.’ Yes, I would like it too and hoped that she wouldn’t see me blushing, I could hardly speak my legs went numb.”

“And then, then what happened?” I asked over and over again.

“Then! Then! Bucky Armbruster busted in and plopped down right beside her and started telling her how much money he made at The Chicago Mercantile Exchange, trading butter futures last week.”

“Ah, oh,” I hope the widow wasn’t going to fall for all that money. I couldn’t help it, I just blurted out, “You mean the Bucky Armbruster, Robert Wayne Buckwalter Armbruster the third? Do you know him? Personally?”

“Cut it out,” he said in an irritated voice. “I’ve known him since grade school, that big overgrown lout. There’s nothing special about him, we all put our pants on the same way.”

“Well maybe not all you men put your pants on the same way.”

“What?” He was getting more irritated as the conversation wore on.

“I am just foolin’ with you Honey Bun. Remember what happened this morning? You got flustered and put your shorts on backwards!” Hoping to change the subject from this morning’s romp, I asked, “What went on at the table after Bucky arrived?”

“Bucky started telling stories about how his businesses were so successful. Just talking out loud to the table in general. All the people at our end of the Grange Hall could hear him. Not only was he loud, he’s fat. You should see his gut hanging over that five-inch belt buckle, I thought his chair would collapse from under him.”

“You’re not jealous, about the money?” I asked demurely, trying not to laugh out loud at the description of Bucky my man was giving me.

He sighed, “No, I know what I am up against. I’m getting older and a good woman is going to need some other man, younger, with a future, not just a pension.”

I felt him slump down in his seat, as if he was succumbing to the weight of the world around him.

“How did the meal go afterwards?”

“During the time that Bucky was spouting off, the widow glanced at me and said in a low voice, ‘I hate to leave you with that oaf, but I have the ladies quilting bee in a few minutes. You just never mind about him and come over on Sunday for that apple pie, we can have a good laugh.’ Then she patted the top of my hand and I nearly fell apart, you know, from the strain of losing Claire, and the possibility of a new relationship. I’m so grateful I have you, Angel, I don’t know what I would do without your direction.”

We sat there, just sat, while he regained his composure.

“It’s getting to be time to go.”

I turned and took my seat on the fireman’s side.

“All aboard. All aboard,” I heard the call and checked the steam pressure: 230 pounds with plenty of water.

He gave two blasts on the whistle and we moved with great precision out of the station.

Since we were underway, I made up my mind to sit in the spare seat behind him and just hold his hand and I pondered, if you have ever wondered why steam engine whistles seem so forlorn, it is because of all the loves gained and lost while working on the railroad.

Western Union The Pocket Watch

Glancing over, I saw him  reach into the top pocket of his overalls and produced a pocket watch, securely attached to a button hole in the bib of his overalls by a gold-toned copper alloy chain with a Masonic medallion on the end.

He consulted the time. “It’s three-o-two, we will leave in 8 minutes,” he proclaimed, still in the pensive mood he had been in all morning.

The watch was large as pocket watches go,  given to him by his father ten years ago as a gift when he was appointed a Railroad Engineer. He was the third family member to have the watch; in the late 1880’s, his grandfather was the original owner. Now, both father figure’s were gone. His wife gone; his mother was ill; a great many losses for a man with time left.

Housed in a thick gold case engraved in relief, with a picture of a stag and doe emerging from the forest into the bright sunlight of a meadow, the watch was his pride and joy; within contained all the memories of what little senior family he had left.

The watch seemed to exist on its own, an individual entity, and would live on and go to others when he was gone. In this way the memories of his ‘tribe’ would be preserved.

In a moment of intimacy between us, he had explained that in this life, he didn’t really ‘own’ anything, everything was ‘on loan’ to him, to be passed on to others when he made his final trip with me.

He turned and leaned out of the cab window, placing his full upper body weight onto his forearms, his right leg curled under him on the seat, his left leg out behind him braced by his foot on the back-head. He leaned out the window as far as he could to get a clear view of the train behind him. His train, the train he commanded responsibly, as was his job.

Normally at this time his eyes would be on the senior conductor, waiting for the all-aboard signal, which would give him the go-ahead to leave the station.

I knew what was really on his mind. He was looking for her, the one who had captured his heart in an instant that afternoon here in Lamy, one month ago.

I studied him, he did not know how carefully I was considering him. His overalls were clean. His boots, although old, were kept in good shape by frequently replacing the soles and heels. He meticulously maintained the uppers, now partially hidden by the legs of his overalls fastened around the top of the boots by a leather garter, a fashion that would keep stray hot coals from getting inside his boots.

“Are we ready?” I questioned, knowing the answer full well. I had already topped off the boiler with water a few moments ago and the water had stopped flowing from the injector, leaving on my side of the roadbed only a steam-filled puddle.

The temperature and pressure in the boiler were back up to the levels I needed for a fast departure.

“All the conductors are standing in the vestibules and no one is left on the platform,” he said peaking around behind him. I could hear him over the thump, thump of the steam-powered air compressor and the whine of the generator on the boiler just outside the cab.

He consulted his watch again and compared his time with the master clock on the Western Union wall, scrupulously maintained by wire every hour. Time, which flowed through the wires hung on telegraph poles that lined the right-of-way. Time, which ultimately was regulated by the expansion of the universe, a recently considered wisdom by his contemporary, Albert Einstein.

Because once again, our country was growing quite fast, the Great Depression had come to an end, expansion was the order of the day. The telegraph poles supported more wires, sometimes as many as twenty pairs, all tied securely around the blue glass insulators on every cross arm.

Electrically transmitted information at the speed of light simultaneously streamed into every station in the country; a precursor of what was to come. Already telephone wires were strung along the same poles below the telegraph wires and would soon displace the mechanical telegraph communications with a human voice.

I heard the lead conductor’s voice ring out across the platform.

“All aboard.”

My engineer turned and nodded to me.

I was ready.

He toggled the air valve to the engine bell, which rang out censoriously. He applied the sander, momentarily spraying sand onto the rails ahead of the locomotive wheels.

He reached up and pulled the whistle cord, two long blasts, which meant we were on our way.

“High Ball!” he stated loudly. “I’ve got the High Ball.” His voice was filled with emotion, I saw tears run down his cheeks; he was trying to outrun the losses that had accumulated, one after another,  much too soon.