At fourteen John felt like it was a great adventure to go work for his uncle on the railroad, but it was as real a job as you could get. Rising and resting by the sound of the whistle with his hands always coal black. That's what happens, his Ma said, for "his father getting shot as an adulterer and his brother running off into god know's where." Someone had to take care of Ma and his sister Daisy.
         The worst was the thought that his uncle would never send him back to finish his schooling. He read books as he could find them, as he could afford the time and the candlelight. He felt like he had a knack for mechanics and tried to absorb as much as he could about the engines from the men who worked on them in the rail yards of San Francisco.
         It wasn't until he was sixteen and promoted to the San Francisco-to-Dalles line that he found his inspiration to really get ahead. Who knew it would be the sight of red ringlets at the end of the platform. She was clearly dressed in her finest dress to go traveling, but something caught his eye - she was reading a book intently, in a way that was attractively bookish to him.
         "What you reading, miss?" he asked boldly.
         She started a bit and gazed at him suspiciously expecting to be teased by the ruffian in coal boy coveralls.
         "I just happen to be reading a bit of Walt Whitman," he said, showing a small smudged copy he kept in his pocket.
         She relaxed a bit. "Just a primer actually, I'm thinking of assignments for my students."
         "You're a teacher?" John said, trying to contain his excitement.
         "Just got my certificate this year," she said.
         "I wish I could have finished school."
         "Perhaps you should," she said.
         "But how can I, riding the rails like I do?"
         "Well, as long as the train comes regularly to the Dalles, I'll leave assignments for you." She smiled coquettishly, and John winked.
         "Sounds like a deal, miss." She rose to get on the train and he bowed to her.