Joke Issue: By Rack 'Em Rack Willie
Oh freight train. I remember when you used to come 'round these parts. Your toots and horns, and that especially loud noise you made, like you were just grinding along the track, like metal on metal, was music to my ears. When I jumped you and avoided that angry cop with the nightstick and the police whistle, I entered into a musical world smellier and more crowded than anything since Boxcar 24. And maybe, on a good day, even Boxcar 5.
There was Stinky, who liked to sing about Lou Henry Hoover’s undergarments, and Papa Hank, who was asleep under those rags the whole time, who we didn’t know was dead for over two weeks.
Oh Papa Hank, I miss your smell and your empty eyes. Such an expressive face.
But mostly, we came for Big Joe. And his guitar, with the two remaining strings. Those were two more strings than I had ever seen in my life. We used to pack the boxcar when he played, like bed bugs on a trench coat left in a dumpster.
The acoustics in there were beautiful, the notes bouncing off the metal walls, the grind of the rail and the retches of the drunk conductor accenting each twang. We sure knew how to sing the blues in those days, and we had a fine time doing it until we were kicked off, while the train was still moving, somewhere near Kansas.
Info Box: Traincar that used to come around these parts, Circleville, Ohio Upcoming shows: Big Joe shanks a train worker, eats a cat.
