They tell me that 30 years ago, everyone spoke “trains.” That was back in '65, when Depression-era hobos and trainmen were still in their prime, with tales to tell. In the 30s and 40s, most folk could count a family member or two who worked on the railroad; particularly in railroady towns like Altoona. People actually got around by train and trolley, as they had for nearly a century.
And then in the 50s, there were the Lionel and American Flyer baby boomers; those born in the 40s who are the toy train stalwarts of today.
Except for the toy train and train forums, club meets, and hobby shop banter, I feel rather lonely and, well, sort of odd, liking trains and even playing with toy trains. I often wish I had some neighbors who shared in the hobby, but those I know are at least a dozen miles away.
Other hobbies I have–Olympic lifting, sea kayaking, novel writing, and ferroequinarchaology–are similarly scarce in the locals’ interest and conversation. A string of odd-ish hobbies.
As I ride the train to work each day, I never hear anyone commenting on the BNSF lashup near the Springfield intermodal yard or the ex-Santa Fe modiefied F-3 that still does switching duty further down the line at Newton Asphalt.
Indeed, talk turns instead to the Nats and Nats memorabilia; the Nats being the ill-fated Nationals baseball team. Or, talk centers on a favorite recipe, grandchildren, women’s shoes, or steroids in baseball.
I wi***hat my fellow citizens could wear a toy train pin in the lapels (or a ferroequinarchaeology pin) so that I could carry on a conversation with someone I have something more in common with. Or, how about a female with a toy train purse with matching shoes. That too would be a great conversation starter.
