Near Cass, West Virginia, February 1991.
The snow still lay on the ground in the state of West Virginia, but the trees hadn’t especially noticed. They stood strong and tall, as they had done for many centuries, and would continue to do so for many centuries more. If the state had a lot of one thing, it was trees!
But on the slopes of one of the hills, the valley echoed to the loud roar of a locomotive. This locomotive was unlike any ever seen in most parts of the world.
It was long, and had three bogies which each consisted of 2 axles, on the end of which were two wheels each. The boiler was offset from the frames, and sat in front of a heavy utilitarian cab. The engine had three cylinders, mounted on the right-hand side of the locomotive, and these were linked to a long gearing axle which ran the length of the engine.
These cylinders whirred up and down as if there was no tomorrow, producing an incredible noise as the engine descended the hill with 5 coaches. This engine was a Shay, namely Number 5, the second oldest operational Shay and the state locomotive of West Virginia.
At the controls of this engine was a young man, of a tender 21 years of age. He had pale lemon skin and red hair, with green eyes which glimmered with intensity. He was a tall man, of about 6 feet and 3 inches, and wore an orange polo shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and brown work boots.
His name was Bright Mac, a new (ish) employee of the Cass Scenic Railroad State Park. He was bringing his train down the line from Whittaker to Cass, on the last run of the day. Come to think of it, it was the only run of the day, as the line received lighter use during the winter months.
Indeed, most visitors came during the summer, when the trees were beautiful, the skies were (often) clear, and the engines produced an incredible sound and sight, snorting their way up the grade like they had for almost 100 years. Mac hoped that they would continue to do so for many more years.
The train rolled past the depot on the right, where No. 11, a Pacific Shay, was being put away for the evening. Number 5 rolled down the line, past the water tower, and into the final straight to Cass depot. Mac sounded 4 long, loud blasts on the whistle. It was a wonderful, loud, clear sound that rang through the air and woke everyone up in the town in the morning. According to his mother, they had woken people up for work using the locomotives. It worked alright, as those whistles could deafen anybody.
He brought the engine to a smooth stop in the platform, and signalled the conductor to drop the boarding ramps. They fell with a clang, and the passengers scrambled off the train to have their pictures taken with the engine, or to head away to their cars in order to get home.
Once the passengers had gone away, Mac sounded the whistle, set the cylinders into the forward position, and opened the throttle. The Shay rolled forward with its coaches, moving them to the siding next to the depot. Once they were uncoupled, Mac stabled his steed in the shed, and hopped off to activate the fire release gear.
“How’d she behave for ya?” asked a friend of his, Valve Gear.
“Well, thanks,” Mac replied. “We got the best job in the world, ya know that?”
Gear laughed. “And you have a concert ta get to.”
Mac looked around him. “Ah’d totally forgotten that!” he cried, running out of the door. “Meet ya outside the post office!”
30 minutes later, a very out-of-breath Bright Mac appeared outside the whitewashed exterior of the post office building, next to the restaurant (watch out for the coleslaw!). Standing in front were his bandmates, a collection of fiddles, guitars, and even a washboard, of all things.
“Talk about last minute!” called one of them.
“Sorry!” Mac replied. “Train got in late and we needed ta do some work on Number 5!”
“At least yer here,” said another. “The crowd is already assemblin’.”
Many locals turned up to hear them play. The crowd must have numbered at least 50.
“Don’t mess this up Bright,” the leader called.
“Ah won’t!” Mac replied. “Clap yer hands, folks!”
The washboard joined in, and the sound of clapping soon echoed off the hills.
At which point Mac started to sing.
“Well life on the farm is kinda laid back;
Ain't much an old country boy like me can't hack;
It's early to rise, early in the sack;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
Suddenly, the audience began to join in, which surprised Mac a bit. But he kept his cool, and on he went.
“Well a simple kinda life never did me no harm;
A raisin' me a family and workin' on a farm;
My days are all filled with an easy country charm;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
Mac launched into the chorus with gusto.
“Well I got me a fine wife I got me ole fiddle;
When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle;
Life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddle;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
Then the band entered, a truly wonderful sound of tuned and semi-tuned instruments.
“When the work's all done and the sun's settlin' low;
I pull out my fiddle and I rosin up the bow;
The kids are asleep so I keep it kinda low;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
“I'd play Sally Goodin all day if I could,
But the Lord and my wife wouldn't take it very good;
So, I fiddle when I can, work when I should;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
“Well I got me a fine wife I got me ole fiddle;
When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle;
Life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddle;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
“Well I wouldn't trade my life for diamonds and jewels
I never was one of them money hungry fools;
I'd rather have my fiddle and my farmin' tools.
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
It was then into the second instrumental break, which bought Mac some time to summon up the words from his memory.
“Yeah, city folk drivin' in a black limousine
A lotta sad people thinkin' that's mighty keen;
Son, let me tell ya now exactly what I mean,
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
“Well I got me a fine wife I got me an ole fiddle;
When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle;
Life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddle;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
It was then into the THIRD instrumental break.
“Well, my fiddle was my daddy's till the day he died
And he took me by the hand and held me close to his side;
Said, "Live a good life and play the fiddle with pride.
And thank God you're a country boy!”
“My daddy taught me young how to hunt and how to whittle;
Taught me how to work and play a tune on the fiddle;
Taught me how to love and how to give just a little-Mac held the note with pride-
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
“Well I got me a fine wife I got me an ole fiddle;
When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle;
Life ain't nothin' but a funny funny riddle;
Thank God I'm a country boy!”
The crowd erupted into applause, and the band dispersed. Mac walked home and entered his home, Cass cottage No. 22. One of the original worker’s homes, it had been renovated a bit and featured some more modern amenities. Mac closed the door behind him, and put his boots by the door.
“How was yer day?” called a voice from the kitchen. Mac walked through and hung his stetson on the hatstand.
Standing next to the stove was a woman with green skin and white hair, done in a severe bun. She wore a yellow blouse with a chequered necktie, a red skirt with a white apron, and yellow boots. This was his mother, only known as Mrs Smith.
“It were great Ma!” Bright replied, picking up some plates and setting the table.
“Ah could sure here ya up in the hills, with those Shays makin’ such a racket,” she answered, bringing the stew over and putting some onto Mac’s plate.
Another person stepped in, with white hair, yellow skin and brown eyes. He wore a blue shirt, with blue jeans and brown boots.
This was Great Apple, Mac’s father. He was an engineer on the railroad, and helped to keep the Shays going. After all, he’d driven the originals in the glory days of the logging lines.
“Ya pushed Number 5 hard again,” he said. “If yer not careful, we’ll be replacin’ the cylinders, so go easy.”
“Ah’ll keep that in mind,” Mac replied.
“Ya’ll keep that in yer head,” Mrs Smith laughed, “or else yer butt’ll remember it!”
The three of them laughed. Mrs Smith had a peculair sense of humour.
But then Great spoke again. “Mac,” he said, “I got a call from that Grand Pear fellow I know out in California. The work placement has come through.”
Mac looked up. “Ya mean?”
“You’ve got the job!”
Mac was delighted. “Thanks! Ah’d been hopin’ I’d get that.”
Little did he realise, but this would improve his life in more ways than one.