City of New Orleans
Steve Goodman
I love this song. I've had heated arguments with people who are convinced it was written by Arlo Guthrie. I bought a Steve Goodman songbook just for this song.
Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail,
All along the southbound Odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along the houses, farms and fields,
Passing towns that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the grave-yards of the rusted automobiles.
Chorus
Good morning, America, how are you?
Don't you know me, I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Playing cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point ain't no one keeping score,
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,
Feel the steel rails rumbling 'neath the floor,
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpet made of steel,
Mothers with their babes asleep
Are rocking to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Chorus
Night time on the City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee,
Halfway home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling to the sea.
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his song again,
Passengers will please refrain,
This trains got the disappearing railroad blues.
Chorus
How Walter Dunham Woke Up Dad
I don’t remember this incident, although I do remember the wading pool. This story is from my mother.
One morning, when we were living at Garfield Terrace, Mum was unable to wake Dad. He really did have to get up and go to work.
The house was a duplex. We lived on the bottom floor and the Dunhams lived on top. Mum went upstairs and asked Walter Dunham if he could come and try to get Dad out of bed.
Walter obliged. Dad generally slept with no clothes on, and such was the case this morning. Walter thoughtfully put a pair of bathing trunks on Dad before picking him up, carry him outside, and dropping him into the wading pool.
It was October, and the thin sheet of ice was testament to how cold the water was.
In no time at all, Dad was wide awake!
Postscript
When I went back to Saugus in 1973, I was in the local police station arranging to get my Massachusetts driving licence. Walter Dunham was a policeman in Saugus, so I asked about him. He wasn’t around that day, but he did still work on the force. I related the above story to the young man at the desk. He looked at me in disbelief, then laughed.
Apparently, at the morning briefing recently, Walter Dunham had told that very story, and had received a sceptical response.
I had just boosted his credibility rating with his fellow officers.
