The recent West Texas wind and dust storms (so typical of every April) reminded me of a story of which I wish I could somehow see a replay.
Mr. Coleman was an insurance salesman in Plainview, TX during the 1950's and 60's. He enjoyed the convenience of riding the Santa Fe passenger train which operated daily between Lubbock and Amarillo, TX. This unnamed train connected with the California Special in Lubbock and the San Francisco Chief in Amarillo. I cannot remember his destination that particular day, but I do remember him telling me he had some fun with one of his amusing talents. Using only his voice and lips Mr. Coleman could do a very convincing train horn. He entertained me with this talent every time we saw one another.
The story begins on a day when the wind on the South Plains of Texas was blowing hideously and the air was darkened by blowing sand. This portion of Texas was famous for dust storms so dark it would cause the street lights to turn on. Several people were in the waiting room of the Plainview depot waiting to catch the train, and the train was running a bit late. Impatient people were occasionally getting up to go outside to see if they could see the train approaching. This was fruitless because visibility was poor. At this point Mr. Coleman thought he would have some fun. He raised the newspaper he was reading high enough to cover his face and proceeded to "sound his horn". As he recalls, everyone jumped up to run outside into the nasty weather to board the nonexistent train. After the passing of several minutes they all started coming back into the depot one by one, each of them muttering, "I swear I heard that train coming..."
I always admired Mr. Coleman's little amusing talent, and was determined to gain the ability myself. I considered myself successful in this on the day I was doing my prescribed practice driving with my Drivers' Ed instructor. Upon stopping to look and listen at a FW&D grade crossing in Vernon, TX I started moving forward and "sounded my horn". The vehicle we were driving had a brake pedal on the passenger side (the instructor's side), and he stepped on it so hard it was torn from its mounting and rendered inoperable.
"What's wrong?", I said.
"I hear something honking around out there!", he said.
After looking carefully several more seconds he told me to go on.
There was one other student with us in the back seat. He never snitched on me, but some 40 years later will not let me forget it.
Photo by Joe McMillan of inbound #93 at Lubbock, TX
