MY GUARDIAN ANGEL WAS WORKING HARD

Excerpt #6 from Dr. Crittenden's memoirs:

Trains were the reason my hometown was founded. My dad was a carpenter for the train yard and the second brother in line worked on moving trains as a brakeman and conductor all his life. Both of them were given a gold pass to ride trains anywhere they wanted free for the rest of their lives but neither one ever set foot on another train after retiring.

I still love trains. During the 1930's mama and we five boys would ride to Texas to visit relatives. Since dad worked for the railroad, he had the privilege of securing free passes for his family to ride anywhere. Mama always took a big basket of fried chicken and other goodies for us to eat, because prices in the diner and from the butcher boy were at least double those at a restaurant. There were no air conditioned trains; therefore we rode with windows open. The cinders and smoke blew into the passenger cars. It was normal for us to get very dirty. The ICRR was the last rail company to switch to oil or diesel, because the line owned their own coal mines. We boys didn't mind the dirt. We each had a window and spent a lot of time hanging out trying to see the engine. When the train went around a curve, we caught sight of the engine huffing and puffing. We loved it.

There was no railroad bridge over the Mississippi River at New Orleans in the 1930's. To cross the river, the train had to use a ferryboat. If it had more than 12 cars counting the engine, it had to use two ferries and took almost two hours to get out of New Orleans.

We were allowed to get off the coach and go to the rail in the front or back of the ferry. It was always night when we crossed on the ferryboat. We would see the lights of boats and docks and hear the gurgling and splashing under our feet. My imagination would take me on a sea voyage to China or Australia.

While visiting my aunt who lived two blocks off Main Street in Houston, I got lost. Mama and my aunt had left me in the care of a tenant named Ruby one evening. Ruby was a good-time girl. She decided that she and I would walk the two blocks to N. Main to a fast food outlet of those days called a "Pig Stand" for a barbecue sandwich. While we were eating, a friend of Ruby's came in and sat down with us. They talked and laughed for a time and then decided to go out on a date. "Can you find the house, Billy?" She pointed to the first street and said, "Just go one block down there and then one block to the right." I was nearly 10 years old.

I assured her there would be no problem. So she handed me a wrapped pork sandwich to take home to my aunt. After that first block, everything was pitch black and I wasn't sure which way to turn. After a minute or two of failing to find anything familiar, I walked back to Main. I tried going down the next street without success. For an hour or two I walked back and forth one block off N. Main, until I couldn't even find the Pig Stand. That's when I sat down on the curb.

In a few minutes a police car pulled up. The officers came over and asked me if anything was wrong. I told them I couldn't find my aunt's house. They wanted to know her name. I didn't know her last name. They told me to get in the back seat of the patrol car and they would find my aunt. One clicked the button on his mike and said, "This is Car Three. We just picked up a white boy named Billy Crittenden. He is about 10 years old. He was sitting on the curb on North Main in front of the Bijou Theater. We need to find his aunt's house where he is visiting. A lady named Ruby left him at Pig Stand 6."

I rode in the police car for several hours, finally going to sleep. Ruby got home at 2:30 AM and called the police. When I woke up, there were my mama, aunt, and Ruby. I thanked the two policemen and handed the soggy mess of a sandwich to my aunt.