[RITSlist] Taking the Rocket to Chicago, from the RRHS list

[weezride at aol.com]

Appologies if this has been forwarded to this list already.....thought it was a great Christmas memory.



From the Quad City Times (Davenport, IA)...

The day we took the train to Chicago
By Bill Wundrum | Thursday, December 06, 2007 | 

For the life of me, I can’t remember more excitement than when we took our kids 
on the train to Chicago at Christmas time. It always happened on the first 
Saturday in December. It was glorious.

“Can we get pancakes for breakfast on the train?” “Will we have to wear coats?” 
“Can we take some money and buy things?” All such talk by little kids.

It was not an ordinary train, but the Rock Island Lines Rocket. We would ride 
this shiny streamliner from the Rock Island depot for the Christmas wonders of 
Chicago.

Our son, Tim, could not sleep the night before. We could hear him in the dark, 
getting up over and over to look at the clock. He never trusted the alarm.

We had to be up ridiculously early, because the Rocket left the depot at 6:25 
a.m. We rolled out of bed about 3:30 a.m. because Tim was always afraid of being 
late for the train. Our daughter, Becky, had her clothes all laid out the night 
before, a little plaid skirt and sweater. Our youngest, Peter, knew that he was 
going to Chicago to see the real Santa Claus.

We were the first to arrive at the depot, where a sleepy agent sold us 
round-trip tickets for — as I remember — about $20 or $25. A few shivering 
families were standing on the platform. Some had suitcases on the brick apron 
alongside the tracks.

Not a single person wanted to miss the arrival of that aluminum-clad wonder with 
the big red diesel locomotive. Tim could always imagine that the train was 
coming; more than once I would pull him back inside the depot because he wanted 
to put an ear to the rails to hear the Rocket approaching.

Finally it was here, a dramatic moment. We all shivered in excitement. At 
exactly 6:25, the conductor would yell, “All aboard. All aboar-d-d-d.” In a 
creak of rail cars and metal, we eased out of Rock Island.

We rocked through the weaving aisles, a giggle for our kids. It was as if we 
were aboard a ship, getting our sea legs, until finding our car and its seats. 
Our kids pressed noses to the windows, waving to imaginary people who were not 
there in small towns like Geneseo, listening to the ding-ding-ding of the 
railroad crossing bells.

The dining car was the momentous hour of the trip. Passengers walked from one 
car to another, a chilling cross-over with a burst of cool air while heaving 
open the door to the diner. There, we faced a wonderland of white linen 
tablecloth with china and silver. Polite waiters handed us little cards on which 
we circled our choice — scrambled or straight up eggs, ham, fruit and always 
Cream of Wheat. They stood, straight as soldiers, waiting for us to make our 
choices. It was a sight to see a waiter pouring coffee into the cup, from 4 feet 
up, without spilling a drop while the train jiggled around a bend at Bureau, 
Ill.

The clickety-click of the rails ended at LaSalle Street Station, with its dim 
rows of rails and trains, and inside to a lobby that looked like an Alfred 
Hitchcock movie set. It was a quick trip; we were in Chicago by 9:30 a.m. We 
were off to the magic of Marshall Field’s, to wander the aisles of the world’s 
greatest store and lunch in the Walnut Room around the tree that all of us 
thought was the biggest, the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Christmas 
tree in all the world.

All day we wandered Marshall Field’s, the magical store that is no longer 
Field’s, but Macy’s. We held hands with our kids, but somehow, Peter slipped 
away. Five-year-olds can do that. We were hysterical until a tuxedoed floor 
walker came up: “Do you claim this little one?”

Peter, always precocious and not a bit disturbed, said to the Field’s attendant:

“Daddy, this W.C. Field guy is good at finding lost kids.” That name jumble 
relieved our shaking tears.

Trains were magic, especially for trips to Chicago. At 5:30 we boarded a Rocket 
for home and were back in Rock Island by 9:30, bedtime.

We should have taken more such trips, summer, winter and fall.

Maybe some day we once again will clickety-click in and out of the Quad-Cities. 
Let’s hope they call any future trains the Rocket. When inaugurated, the rails 
were taut and roadbeds were strong; the Rock Island-Chicago run was a 
rocket-like 2 hours and 15 minutes.

Bill Wundram can be contacted at (563) 383-2249 or bwundram at qctimes.com. Comment 
on this column at qctimes.com.

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