Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, June 13, 1994                   TAG: 9406270132
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A-5   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

KEEP OFF THE TRACKS

The engineer and conductor had managed to stop their train about a quarter of a mile past where the group danced. Luckily, the kids already had jumped - one stupidly waiting until the engine was a mere five car lengths in front of his face.

"It's no fun watching somebody die," the conductor said.

Maybe these kids think they know what death looks like, because they've seen it in the movies. Maybe they think kids don't ever miss a step or jump a little too late. Maybe they've lived beside the railroad tracks so long they've forgotten the power of trains.

The conductor thinks they're safe now, because "they got the tar scared out of them" this time. I hope he's right. Fear is a fine basis for respect, for remembrance.

I've never lived near the tracks. But several years ago I visited an artists' colony north of Lynchburg where the tracks lie right behind the studios. An evening ritual there involves going out to wave at the train.

My first or second night there, a new acquaintance invited me to stroll with her after supper. It was a light, balmy evening and we hit it off, walking farther than we'd thought to. We realized this when we passed under a dusk-to-dawn light and I remarked on the bats.

"Bats!" my citified companion cried, her hands immediately flying up to protect her hair.

"They aren't interested in you," I said.

But suddenly, she noticed that it was getting dark, that we were strolling largely unlit country lanes, that trees and bushes loomed around us hugely. "We'd better get back," she said. "Right now."

By then we were maybe a half-mile from our point of departure. We'd just crossed a highway and started up a narrow secondary road, when we crossed the tracks. "Let's walk down them," my companion suggested. "It's bound to be quicker."

Now, I'm sure someone, at some time in my life, had told me not to walk on railroad tracks. But what relevance did that advice ever have for me, who'd never lived near a train? It did seem the shorter route. So we started down the tracks and resumed our chatter.

Presently, I heard a sound I couldn't identify. "What's that?" I asked my companion.

"Traffic," she said. "The highway's right over there."

But the sound got louder. "It's not traffic," I said, again interrupting our chatter. In front of us, the tracks curved lazily out of sight.

"Don't worry," she said, this woman who'd been so terrified of bats.

But the sound grew. The ground thrummed. The second I said "That's a train!" and hustled her off the tracks, the engine's light came into view.

We stood clutching each other on the right-of-way, while the wind of that train menaced our hair, while its awesome roar shook our bones and blood. In the dusk, I doubt that engineer even saw us.

Naturally, being writers, we turned this into a wonderful parlor story when we got back to safety. Embellishments, drama, maybe a little exaggeration.

But neither of us said what I'm sure we both felt: That close call had scared the tar out of us.

Of course, we weren't playing chicken. But that would have made no difference to the train. I will never forget this good advice now: Stay off the railroad tracks! Luckily for me - and, they should notice, for the kids at McCoy - it's not too late.

Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.