The Day Steam Died

by Brown, Dick

  Her mother gave her a grave glare. “I want you to go back and finish high school then go to college. We robbed you of that opportunity, and now that you’re father doesn’t have a say in it . . .” Alice closed her eyes and sighed. “You need to get out of that place. I’m afraid you’re going to get into trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I don’t need all that now. I have a wonderful son who is my life. I’m making good money and we have a nice house to live in. Jo Lee wants to go to college, and I can help her do that. There’ll be plenty of time to make Tank and Sam pay for what they did to us. I promise you that.”

  “I still worry about you in that place.”

  When Ann shrugged in response, Alice took Ricky once more.

  “I’ll read little Ricky a story and put him to bed. Why don’t you go in and visit with your father a few minutes?”

  “Momma, I’ve tried talking to him. He just stares at the TV and answers yes or no, if he answers at all. He apologized in his own way when he stopped drinking after the move. I don’t expect anything more and I don’t blame him. Let’s just leave it at that, okay? I’ll say prayers with little Ricky after you read to him. I think I’ll read for a little while and turn in early myself. It was a pretty busy day.”

  Winter 1959

  Jerry Blackmon always had a smile and friendly greeting for Ann when he swung off the slow-rolling boxcar. His job was finished after cars were switched onto the spur line, loaded, and picked up on the main line.

  “Good morning, Ann.”

  “Hi, Jerry. It’s freezing out there. Have time for a cup of coffee to warm you up?”

  Jerry was ruggedly handsome and carried 190 pounds packed on a six-foot-two frame. He wore a crew cut even though guys wearing long hair had become the latest style. Jerry stayed in shape by swinging off the bottom step of a boxcar to run ahead and throw the switch to the spur line leading to the loading dock.

  Marie and Jerry were the only people Ann associated with since she came to work for Sam. Jerry worked for the railroad, responsible for cutting cars off the main line onto spur lines at tobacco warehouses in and around Winston-Salem.

  Jerry was six years older than Ann, but she allowed herself to know him well enough to make jokes about the two toes he lost to frostbite in the Korean War. They shared coffee from his favorite Junior Johnson NASCAR cups and ate lunch together every day at the office.

  Warehouse workers moved quickly in the cold winter wind to load boxcars. They looked like a line of ants trailing from the warehouse into the boxcar and back with a load teetering on the front end of forklifts.

  “Watch what you’re doing, you idiot,” Ronnie shouted at an operator when the top box slid off his forklift that was piled too high. “You wanna keep that job? Then you better not let that happen again. If those cigarettes are damaged and have to be pulled, your paycheck will have a big hole in it this week.” His harsh comments rolled off the backs of the Mexicans who couldn’t understand a word he said.

  “He’s so mean,” Ann said to Jerry as they watched the driver scramble to pick up the ripped-open boxes that had scattered across the floor. “I don’t know how those people put up with him. I knew I didn’t like him when I met him on my first day here.”

  “It’s better than the work they can get back home,” Jerry said.

  Ann shook her head. “How many cars today?” She always asked these kinds of questions about the business and played it as if she were just interested in the warehouse’s workings as an employee, but she filed every piece of information she could in her memory for later use against Sam Johnson. “Mr. Johnson seems to be adding another one almost every week now.”

  “Yeah, I guess business is really good,” Jerry said. “He’s pushing to ship a million cases a week from here. I’m not sure the warehouse guys can handle an order that big.”

  “They’re stretched pretty thin. If he is seriously considering—”

  “Enough shop talk,” Jerry broke in. “When are you going to give up and go to a movie with me? It’s Friday and you don’t have to worry about a babysitter. West Side Story has been playing at the Capitol all week and will probably be gone next week. I know you like musicals, so how about it?”

  Ann had kept busy, not letting Jerry or anyone get too close. She surprised herself by wanting to say yes to the first guy she felt comfortable with since Rick.

  “Well, I guess so,” she teased. “Why don’t you pick me up around seven?”

  “I think your gentleman friend is at the door. Why don’t you invite him in for a few minutes? I’d like to meet him and let him meet little Ricky.”

  It was a cold November day. A clear night brought the temperature down after sundown like a falling rock. Jerry was dressed like an Eskimo, wearing a heavy coat with a fur trimmed hood and gloves. He stamped his boots to shake off a light dusting of snow that fell during the day before going inside.

  “Mom, I want you to meet Jerry Blackmon. He’s the brakeman on the box cars from the main line to the loading dock at the warehouse. My dad is in the kitchen eating supper with little Ricky. You can meet him later.”

  Jerry removed his heavy gloves before shaking hands with Alice. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Nestlebaum. You have quite a daughter here. She already knows more about running that warehouse than Marie ever did.”

  “Why, thank you.” Alice gave him a good look up and down and smiled. “I’m glad to finally get to meet you. And this is my grandson, little Ricky.”

  Ricky wandered into the room from the kitchen but kept behind Alice.

  “Hello, little man.” Jerry crouched to get at little Ricky’s eye level. “What a big boy you are.”

  “Can you say hello to Mr. Jerry?” Alice said. “He’s a friend of your momma.”

  “Hello, Mr. Jerry.” Ricky ducked his head and ran back to the kitchen.

  Alice watched Ricky go with a smile on her face. “Jerry, do you like children?”

  “Yes ma’am, I love children. Hope to have a house full someday.”

  “That’s wonderful. Ann tells me you moved in with your mother after your military service. That is a rare quality in a young man these days. You’ll make a fine husband for some lucky young lady.”

  “Momma please, you’re embarrassing Jerry. We need to get going. We’ll be home by eleven.”

  “Be sure you wear a heavy coat and boots. It’s cold out!” She hadn’t been treating Ann much like a little girl since the move, but perhaps it was seeing her dating again that brought that motherly aspect out again.

  “Yes, Momma. Don’t let little Rickie stay up too late. In bed by seven, okay?”

  “You act like I’ve never raised a child before,” Alice chided. “You two go on and have a good time. Stay out as late as you like. I can take care of things here.”

  Once outside, Jerry took Ann by the arm and led her to his truck. He opened the door for her and shut it after she’d climbed inside, a big grin on his face.

  Ann felt warmth in her chest thinking about him. He’d seemed to have some genuine affection for Ricky even in that brief moment, which made her feel safe around him. She’d allowed herself to grow fonder of Jerry than she realized and was beginning to move on with her life without Rick.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean going out with me, not the movie,” Jerry joked as they crossed the theater’s parking lot toward his pickup truck.

  The windows steamed up on the inside from their warm breath until the truck’s heater dispatched the frost. It felt a little odd having their first conversation away from the office and not talking about work.

  “It was a great movie,” Ann said, breaking the silence. “I seldom listen to popular music on the radio anymore. Rock and roll is changing so fast. The music is so loud you can’t hear or understand the singer. I guess I’m ki
nd of square for liking musical soundtracks and folk music, especially the Kingston Trio.”

  “Not at all. I feel the same way,” Jerry said. “I have a huge record collection of all the great early fifties music. You’ll have to come over and check it out sometime.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The cab was cozy on the drive home. By the time they’d decided the growing popularity of folk music was superior to the new rock and roll, they arrived at Ann’s house.

  “I had a good time tonight,” Ann confided when they reached the front door. Jerry was standing a bit close, so he probably wanted to kiss her. But that was rushing her too much. “See you Monday.” She gave Jerry a soft peck on the cheek before he could make his move then slipped inside.

  She leaned against the door with her eyes closed. That final night with Rick flashed back into her mind, but it wasn’t painful anymore. It was a fading memory losing its hold on her. She wanted Jerry to kiss her and went to sleep knowing there would be another chance. It would be different next time.

  Chapter 12

  “Traveling by train was the only way to travel in comfort and safety before there were Interstate highways and airlines.”

  March 1961

  The warehouse office was a warm retreat from the icy rain that made hanging off the side of a boxcar almost unbearable as it crept up to the loading dock.

  “Whooee, it’s cold out there.” Jerry shook off the cold water as a wet dog would. “Reminds me of those days in Inchon Harbor.” He pulled his rain gear off and stood as close to the heater as he could without scorching his clothes.

  From his collection of NASCAR cups, Ann held out a steaming mug. “Maybe some hot coffee will help.”

  “Winter is hanging on way too long. March is truly going out like a Lion, so we should have some pretty weather coming up in April and May.”

  It seemed like the weather and little Ricky was all he could ever find to talk about with Ann. Even though they’d been dating for a year, Ann still wasn’t ready to make a serious commitment.

  “Hey, our first anniversary is coming up this weekend,” Jerry said. “How about we go to Liberoni’s for dinner to celebrate? And before you say you have to check with your mother, I already have, and she says it’s fine with her to keep Ricky.”

  “Well, aren’t you the sneaky one.” Their coffee cups clicked, toasting the coming celebration.

  Ann smiled and raised her coffee cup in acceptance of his proposal for dinner, not wanting to spoil the thought of having been in a relationship for that long. She was okay with that.

  Liberoni’s was an intimate, dimly lit Italian restaurant with a violinist and accordion player that wandered around the dining room playing Italian and American love songs. They also were known to serve the best Italian cuisine in the state.

  “Buonasera.” A heavyset maitre d’ with a thick Italian accent and dark olive skin greeted Ann and Jerry. “This way, please.” A slight bow and his extended right arm draped with a starched white napkin directed them toward the back of the restaurant. “We have your table ready for you in the Naples Room.”

  Ann felt like royalty seated on her upholstered Victorian chair. She tried not to be swept up in the romantic atmosphere of candlelight and soft music. But the emotional wall she’d built over the years had already started to crumble.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I already ordered dinner for us. I wanted this to be a special night for a very special person.”

  “Thank you,” Ann said. “That’s fine with me.”

  “I know you told me you have never eaten much seafood, but you will love this. I guarantee it. Liberoni’s chef is from Tuscany and makes the best Italian seafood you have ever put in your mouth.”

  For the special occasion, the waiter recommended San Severo Rose to complement their dinner and poured each a sample. Having an alcoholic father, Ann was wary and tasted the wine slowly. She found it smooth, if a little tart for her uninitiated taste buds. She nodded her approval to Jerry.

  “If you liked the wine, you’re going to love the Marinara De Pesce,” the waiter said, beaming. “It’s a combination of clams, scungili, shrimp, lobster, calamari, and mussels marinated in Liberoni’s special marinara sauce and served over a bed of linguine. I believe you will like the different sea foods you have never eaten all in one sitting.”

  “To a wonderful evening.” Ann lifted her glass and lightly clicked against Jerry’s for one of the many toasts of the evening. “I’m impressed. I never knew you had such gourmet taste.”

  Jerry grinned. “I don’t. Antonio, the owner, suggested it because I wanted to really impress you with something besides lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs. I’m basically a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but I wanted to start a new tradition tonight with something we’ve never eaten before.”

  The Marinara De Pesce was more delicious than Ann imagined seafood could be. They savored the delicious meal with a second bottle of wine that brought a relaxing freedom of emotions she hadn’t felt since the security of being wrapped in Rick’s arms.

  After the waiter cleared their dishes, Jerry reached across the table and nervously took Ann’s hand in his. That was his cue for the violinist and accordionist to begin playing Somewhere from West Side Story on their first date. Her face, illuminated by the soft glow of low-burning candles, glowed like a single star against a black, moonless sky. Emboldened by wine and the beautiful image in front of him, Jerry spoke the words that until that moment had been locked away since they first met.

  “I love you, Ann. I want to take care of you and Ricky for the rest of our lives.” He touched his finger to her lips to keep her from speaking, just like she had done to Rick the last night they were together. He reached in his pocket and produced a little black box like the one Rick had given her.

  She clinched her hand into a fist when he opened the box and tried to put the ring on her finger. “I can’t,” she said. “I care about you, Jerry, but I don’t know if I can make that kind of commitment yet. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know I love you and will be a loving father to Ricky. You’re a wonderful woman and mother. What else is there to know?”

  A strained silence made Ann uncomfortable. Undaunted, Jerry stood and, still holding Ann’s hand, motioned for her to stand.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see in a minute.”

  Ann’s head was spinning from the wine. Jerry had an intensity about him that unbalanced her.

  The drive from Liberoni’s on Trade Street to West End Drive took only a few minutes. Their rented Lincoln Town Car climbed to a dark hilltop and made a sharp turn into a shadowed driveway.

  The crunching sound of a gravel driveway fell silent. In the beam of his headlights she could see they were sitting in front of an old Queen Anne style Victorian house.

  “What’s this?” She squinted to focus her wine-impaired vision on the showplace mansion.

  “Our house.” He got out of the car and came around to the passage door. After opening it, he offered his hand and said, “Come in and let me show you around.”

  They entered through a massive nine-foot oak and beveled glass door into a spacious vestibule illuminated by a crystal chandelier. They stood at the base of a spiral staircase that corkscrewed its way to the third floor. To the left through opened pocket doors with shiny brass doorplates was the living room complete with overstuffed love seat, richly printed upholstered wingback chairs with side tables adorned with Tiffany lamps.

  Ann looked in awe at the large fireplace with marble hearth and a carved mantle. “Jerry, this is beautiful.” Ann continued to the sitting room—more beautiful Victorian furniture, including an elegant chiffonier modified to contain the latest
thirty-two inch color TV.

  Through draped French doors they entered a chandelier-lit dining room. She gasped at a mahogany dining table that would seat a dozen people in Chippendale chairs.

  “This is so beautiful. Seriously, who lives here?” Ann questioned.

  “Nobody yet. I’ve been working on it for years and kept it a secret,” Jerry said. “I restored it while I was waiting to meet that special person to share this house and the rest of my life with. And you’re that person, Ann. Do you think you, Ricky, and I can be happy here? The difference in our ages doesn’t matter to me. There’s even room for your mom and dad and Jo Lee, if you want.”

  “This is unbelievable.”

  “You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

  Taking her hand, he led Ann up the sweeping spiral stairs to the master bedroom suite on the third floor. The streetlight shone through parted drapes of the floor-to-ceiling window coming to rest on the four-poster Rice bed’s pillows and down comforter.

  Ann struggled to understand what was happening. Between the wine and this surprise, she could hardly keep standing. “I don’t know what to say. This looks like something out of Gone with the Wind. I need to think—”

  Before Ann could finish, Jerry pressed his lips against hers and pulled her against him with forceful, enveloping arms. She responded by kissing him back. The wall of resistance she’d built up for so long tumbled down.

  Jerry moved her toward the bed. Without words, he caressed her neck. Ann allowed herself to be loved like she hadn’t been since Rick, which felt so long ago. She gave into her sensuality, allowing Jerry to undress her ever so gently.