Thoughts

For The Week Ending: December 20, 1997.

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Southern Hospitality

As always after being away for a while, it's good to be back home. Audy and Tabatha made me feel right at home while I was there, and they treated me like a king. I had a great time. There's so much I want to say, I don't even know where to begin. So, I'll just start at the beginning.

My trip began on Wednesday, December 10, with a 5 hour ride on a Lamer bus to Milwaukee. That leg of the journey went just as I expected -- I did that route on Greyhound before, back in 1982. Once there, though, all was new to me and I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't get the level of assistance from Amtrak that I had expected.

A couple of weeks ago, when I wrote of my plans for this excursion, I said that the Amtrak representative assured me that someone would be waiting to assist me at each connecting-point. Upon my arrival at the Amtrak terminal in Milwaukee, there was no one there to help me from the bus to the train. The bus driver was about to take me into the terminal, and another passenger from the bus graciously offered to help. She got me to the ticket counter where I was told to have a seat and wait for the train to be announced and someone would get me on it. I had almost an hour to wait, which I spent curiously watching and listening to people bustling about with luggage in tow, wondering about each individual story. The time went by quickly.

My train was announced right on schedule and a man came to help me on it. There was no luggage check on this metro line called the "Hiawatha," so I took up two seats with my suitcase and duffle bag next to me. I got my ticket out and waited for someone to ask for it but no one did until after we were moving which made me wonder what they would do if you didn't have one. The conductor came through asking if all of us who were on board were going to Chicago and receiving no negative response he disappeared and the train started to move. I couldn't see much out the window but it looked as though the train on the track next to us was overtaking us. When I saw a trestle overtake us, I realized that we were moving backward, which caused a slight feeling of vertigo for a minute as my brain adjusted to this new data.

About 5 minutes into the ride, the conductor returned to collect tickets. When he got to me I gave him my ticket and asked where the restroom was located. It was in the front of the car. I was in the back, of course. I counted the 29 steps and found it easily. Counting 29 steps back I was pleased to find my seat again without incident. With more leg room, wider aisles, bigger restrooms, and in general larger than a bus, I took an immediate liking to this mode of travel.

After making two quick stops we arrived in Chicago and the conductor called for a "redcap" on his two-way radio. He then helped me off the train and onto the platform where I waited a few minutes for the redcap driving a modified electric golf cart called a "people-mover." He took my suitcase and assisted me up on to the seat, again facing backward. Holding my duffle bag with one hand and a bar next to my seat with the other, we sped between trains weaving this way and that. With a yellow light flashing and a steady beeping sound warning people to get out of our way, he asked "where you going?"

"New Orleans."

"Where?"

"New Orleans," I said a little louder.

"New Awlins?"

"Yes."

He came to an abrupt stop and asked again, "Where you going?"

"New Orleans."

"New Awlins?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right back."

He was only gone a minute, and when he returned he put a small piece of paper in my hand.

"There's your claim ticket," he said, and again we were speeding through the terminal, flashing and beeping like we were going to a fire. When we stopped again, he helped me off of the people-mover and to the ticket counter, and was gone. The woman at the ticket counter took my name and said "Wait over there a redcap will come get you when it's time to board the train."

"Where? Over here behind me?"

"Yes," she said, offering no further assistance.

I turned and walked slowly, duffle bag over my shoulder, feeling with my cane for a chair. Before I found one, though, I heard a soft voice asking if I needed some help. Thinking that it was an Amtrak employee, I asked if there was someplace where I could get something to eat, and she offered to take me upstairs to McDonalds. I got an order to go and she took me back down the escalator and to a seat near the ticket counter. She sat and talked with me as I ate, and it was only then that I realized that she was not an employee, but rather, a university student returning home for the holidays.

While I did receive adequate assistance from Amtrak personnel to get where I was going, I found that I got far more help from fellow travelers. A man guided me to a bank of pay- phones so that I could call Julie to inform her of my status. Another man got me back to the fountain near the ticket counter where I was to wait almost 3 more hours before climbing onto another people-mover driven by another redcap.

After being asked 3 or 4 more times where I was going, I was taken to the proper coach. The redcap lead me into the coach, and on the way to my seat, showed me where the restroom was located. I settled in for the nearly 20 hour ride and waited to depart. A voice came over the intercom welcoming us aboard the superliner they call the "City of New Orleans." Expecting the clich‚ "All aboard!" I was a bit disappointed when they simply announced that all visitors should leave the train immediately. I won't go into a detailed description of the train or the services it offers -- there are other sources that do this better than I can. Suffice it to say that the voyage went well.

Upon our arrival in New Orleans -- where it's residents say it as one word, "N'Awlins" -- Audy was there to greet me. Before my cabin attendant was even able to call for a redcap, Audy hugged me, nearly lifting me off the ground "You made it!" he exclaimed cheerfully. We went inside the station to claim my luggage, and made our way through the rush-hour traffic to his apartment as we began making plans for the week. It only took 10 or 15 minutes to get there, and after showing me around the place, we continued planning the week over beer and cigars.

The week-long feast began that night with a sandwich called a "muffelata" (I'm guessing on that spelling), and ended the night before I left with crawfish and hushpuppies. When Julie called mid-week I told her "they keep trying to feed me!" I'm not use to eating that much but every thing I tried, no matter how strange it's name, was delicious -- even the alligator was a savory treat.

My entire diet, however, was not that exotic. I had hotdogs at the Louisiana Super Dome, where the Packers kicked New England's butt in Superbowl XXXI. The state high school championships are played there and we went to watch Tabatha's home team get trounced. It sure would have been great to be there to see Green Bay play, but nonetheless it was great just to see that impressive stadium itself -- although I have had better hotdogs.

After going around in circles for a while, we finally found our way out of the parking ramp and proceeded to the french quarter -- better known as "the quawta." Bourbon Street isn't famous for nothing. After a drink called a "hurricane," and nearly following a strange woman out of a bar when I mistook her for Tab, I wondered just how to describe all of the activity going on all around me. Audy just laughed when I asked "How the heck am I going to write this?" as Tabatha lead me back to the car. Where else can you get a drink in one bar, walk down the street to the next while you drink it, and they don't get mad at you when you sit at the bar without buying a drink until you finish the one you came in with? Women beckoning men to come into the strip clubs, men dressed as women doing the same, and you can never be sure which are which. Most all of the bars have house bands, and I nearly lost my voice singing along. And it was a relatively slow night being that it was cold, windy, and sleeting; although by the time we left that first bar, it felt like a warm spring night to me.

This chronicle is already almost three times as long as most of my columns, and I've only covered some of the highlights. Although I may cover more of the trip in future columns, I will leave it at that for now. The journey back home, though more crowded because of the approaching holidays, went well and I made it home safely. I can hardly believe that the 10 day, 9 night jaunt is over already. As the saying goes "time flies when you're having fun." As fun as it was, though, It sure is great to be back home, reunited with Julie. And, as fun as it has been writing this piece, I'm tired and it's time for a nap.

Next week we are going to Phelps for the weekend so this column will likely be a little late again, but until then: Merry Christmas.

These thoughts copyright 1997 by Greg Roggeman.

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