Savannah Whoo-ee’s
Marlow’s Coastal Empire
They hadn’t heard train whistles for thirty, maybe forty, years. Their new home-town hadn’t either until about six years ago, when globalization brought back regular whoo-ee’s to the residents. When Savannah became the Saudi Arabian-like sea-railhead for eco-friendly, sustainable, wooden fuel pellets for European Union electric power plants, train traffic on its dilapidated rails zoomed.
Up to 192 whoo-ee’s per day now bother certain residents. The Wall Street Journal reported that Noble L. Boykin, whose law firm is on East 38th Street, said he and other attorneys have to take “train breaks” during depositions. He has to step into a closet for phone calls. He also lives near the tracks, so he can’t escape them – even at 5 a.m. “Everybody hates it.” he said.
Marlow and W are not so inconvenienced.
Perhaps it was due to something they had read long ago or heard their mommas say that out of sight was out of mind. Now each time they stop for a train or cross empty rails, they recall long ago trips that passed shadowy lanes, winding streams, moonbeams shining down on lonely small town stations, and sleeper cabin pull down shades. With each whistle and trestle beam, old dreams reappear through their minds’ cracks. They look at the tracks going forward and those going back to what and who knows who.
Well, their hood doesn’t shake like the B&O, but sometimes it wobbles like the L&N.
Savannah’s become a railroad hot-spot, trains not scared to shout where they’ve been.
A long ago Savannah songwriter lived a few short blocks away from Marlow’s place during the halcyon days of US railroads. More than a few of this Mercer boy’s songs feature railway imagery and motifs.
Maybe Savannah‘s now reconnecting with her blues in the night when “the rain’s a-fallin and (she) hears trains a-callin ‘whoo-ee!’ A-whooee-ah-whooee ol’ clickety-clack’s a-echoin’ back th’ blues in the night.”
They have noticed the evening breezes now and then start the trees to crying. Sometimes the moon hides its light when the trees get these blues in the night.
Copyright © 2016 From My Isle Seat/Johnny Mercer
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