It was in the 1930's during the depression. There was a BIG storm that lasted 3 or 4 days, and the town was in bad shape from the flood. The storm flooded sections of the railroad track, and the railroad workers were dispatched to make repairs. They were coming home that night in a pair of open railroad cars when they collided with a gravel-filled car coming the other way. Eleven men were killed, and one of them was my grandfather. The accident devastated the town, and everyone was crying. Railroad workers were making about 35 cents an hour, which was a low wage at the time, but a valued position. My grandfather left behind a widow (my grandmother) and five children, and my father was only 10 years old.
Every time I hear the sound of the train whistle blowing, I think of my grandfather, and even though I didn't get a chance to know him, I feel him with me and honor him for his dedicated work on the railroad.