Reflections On The Other White Meat: Dad’s Pork Stories And Becoming What You Eat

“I want to eat some of those HOG MAWS! I want to eat some of those PIG FEET!”

An Introduction To Pork: The Other White Meat

The genus and species for the pig whose meat ends up on our dinner tables is “Sus Linnaeus”. As a scientist, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to add the scientific name of the pig to the opening of this piece. It’s classified as an “Omnivore” which means it eats both animal and plant matter itself. The meat I referred to in the opening sentence is the “other white meat”, pork. I’ve actually never considered pork to be in the company of poultry, but a commercial from earlier this century described it as such. Throughout my life, the other white meat has stirred numerous emotions in those around me and has frequently been a discussion piece. With Thanksgiving 2021 approaching, it will likewise serve as the basis for this humorous reflection/story.

Pork In Children’s Media

“Th-Th-The…..Th-Th-The….THAT’S ALL FOLKS!” Before I get into the meat and potatoes of this piece, I want to take a moment to acknowledge the celebration of pork in pop culture. Perhaps the most famous cartoon pig is none other than “Porky Pig” from Warner Brothers “Looney Tunes” gang. Porky’s iconic ending for the cartoons featuring the famous cast of characters came to mind as I was close to preparing this piece for publishing.

There’s also “Ms. Piggy” from The Muppet Show and the “Pigs In Space” skit. “Piglet” was also one of “Winnie the Pooh’s” sidekicks. There was also the popular children’s story Charlotte’s Web about a pig which was eventually going to be used for a meal and a spider it befriended.

Perhaps my most memorable pig caricature didn’t come from TV though. It came on a summer visit to Atlanta, GA. My eldest cousin and an auntie had one of their many legendary dust ups while a bunch of us stepped out. When we returned to the house there was a picture of a cartoon pig in a colorful plaid shirt covering up a hole in the dry wall. Whatever the conflict was, my cousin unleashed her frustrations there. Ahhhhh family.

Pork In The Movies

“My God. You killed a fucking pig!” In one of my favorite movies of all time, the original Predator movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as Dutch Schafer, a pig became the topic of discussion. Late at night while trying to trap the alien predator hunting them down, a wild boar sprung one of the traps created by Dutch’s gradually shrinking elite special missions team. “Poncho” played by Richard Chavez observes that “Mack” played by Bill Duke has bludgeoned and killed the wild boar, instead of the alien he has become obsessed with.

Breathing heavily Mack returns a f-bomb to Poncho as “Billy” played by Sonny Lanham bellows out his characteristic laugh. The pig in this movie was more of a supporting character if you will, but there are also movies where the animal was featured in the title. Two examples are Wild Hogs starring John Travolta and Ray Liotta. There’s also silly early 1980s film Porky’s.

“We have some tomatoes, sausage and nice CRISPY bacon!” This classic line is from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring movie. In this iconic scene, the four Hobbit protagonists camped out at “Weathertop”. They were in the early stages of the quest to destroy the one ring. Frodo played by Elijah Wood wakes up to see Merry played by Dominic Monaghan (quoted), Pippin (Billy Boyd) and Sam (Sean Astin) preparing a hearty snack which unfortunately alerts the Nazgul (the Ring Wraiths) to their presence.

“I want to eat some of those HOG MAWS! I want to eat some of those PIG FEET!” This final iconic movie scene that I’ll cite comes from Ice Cube’s classic comedy, Friday. In this early scene in the movie, Craig (Ice Cube) is in the refrigerator foraging for food. Mr. Jones played by the late John Witherspoon, finds Craig and mischievously chastises his son for eating up all the food and for losing his job.

Hail The Hogs And Hog Heaven

This may all sound absurd to you as the reader, but pork has also been celebrated in the sports world. During the former Washington Redskins championship run under Head Coach Joe Gibbs, their offensive line was nicknamed “The Hogs”. They were large and imposing and ‘hogged’ the line of scrimmage to the benefit of their many great running backs. While many people lamented the Native American symbolism, many passionate Redskins fans also wore pig snouts in the stands to show their support for their beloved franchise.

Finally, the University of Arkansas-Fayettville’s sole national championship on the basketball court was nicknamed “Hog Heaven” by Sports Illustrated. The school mascot for Coach Nolan Richardon’s Arkansas basketball team was the “Razorback” which is basically once again a wild boar. An avid college basketball fan at the time, that was a memorable championship for numerous reasons. One of the biggest was President Bill Clinton, an Arkansas native and his wife Hillary attended the national championship game. Okay now I’ll get on with the main discussion of this piece which involves pork as a food.

Our Early Diet And Proteins

Mom, who cooked for us most of the time, never prepared or served pork to my brother and me when we were growing up. That said, we could have it on occasion, particularly on our pizza (pepperoni) on Friday nights. Those Friday nights in Buffalo, which I have fond memories of, were our designated eating out nights where the cuisine was either Burger King, Chinese food or pizza and wings.

For those of you who don’t know, one of Buffalo’s signature cuisines is pizza and wings. You can get them on pretty much any of the main arteries of the city. My brother and I readily ordered pepperoni on our pizza and it’s still something I order on my pizza these days, along with mushrooms.

If you ever go to Buffalo, by the way, you must get the pizza and wings with blue cheese. Most any restaurant will do, but some of the bigger pizza restaurants are the Anchor Bar, Bocce’s, La Nova’s, Leonardi’s and Santora’s. There are also lesser-known pizzerias like Avenue Pizza and Just Pizza. You know you’ve got the real thing when the pepperoni slices curl up into little cups with oil pooled in the middle. Seriously.

Oh. One more Buffalo/Western New York-related treat you absolutely must try if you haven’t, is the “Sahlen’s” hotdogs which are made with pork and beef. I have wonderful childhood memories of consuming the long and flavorful hotdogs at church picnics and barbecues. When grilled over coals, the casings develop a signature ‘crunch’ when you bite into them. Many Buffalonians fiend for the Sahlen’s hotdogs when they move away and even order them for consumption at their current home.

My family had beef more readily when we ate out, but our proteins at home consisted mostly of fish and poultry. Though you might not expect it, Buffalo also has its share of steak shops similar to those found in Philadelphia. The “City of Brotherly Love” is known for its cheese steaks, and we also have them in Buffalo.

A Porkless Diet

Some of you may be wondering how one could grow up not eating pork chops, pork ribs, pork bacon or “souse“, but it is entirely possible. For those who don’t know what souse is, it’s pickled, specially seasoned chopped pork parts (ears, for example) held together in a gel-type of substance. If you ever go to Miami for example, you can get it at most barbecue rib shacks along with “rib sandwiches”.

By the way, a rib sandwich isn’t a sandwich per se. At one of these shacks, I actually asked how you could eat a sandwich with the bones still in the meat, and they looked at me like I was crazy. It’s just a portion of ribs served with white bread on the side in a styrofoam container.

Finally, pork never made it onto our holiday dinner tables. There was no holiday ham, or chitterlings (aka chittlins). To this day I’ve never tried chitterlings. My late grandmother made them for the above-mentioned anonymous aunt one time. It might’ve been Thanksgiving. They stunk up the entire hallway and from childhood on, I was never interested in them.

For the older generations, other parts of the pig were popular too such as pickled pig feet. I was never interested in those either. It’s also worth noting that vegetables like collard greens were often made tastier when cooked with pork, but there are other methods today.

Dad’s Aversion To Pork

“There’s no pork in this right?” I’d made a pot of Jambalaya with chicken and sausage as the featured proteins, one of Emiril LaGasse’s succulent recipes. Before scooping some out, Dad saw fit to verify that I wasn’t about to poison him with the “swine”. In Black Muslim circles, pork is referred to as swine. I knew of Dad’s aversion to pork and wouldn’t dare think of feeding him the other white meat.

“No Dad, there’s no pork in it,” I said, partially smiling. Knowing of his disdain of pork, I was both surprised but not surprised to hear his suspicion that I would attempt to feed it to him.

I don’t recall when Dad became averse to pork and pork products. One of the many books he had laying around his home was How To Eat To Live, by the legendary Honorable Elijah Muhammad of the Nation of Islam. I first heard of the book in the song Beef, by the rapper KRS-One in my teens, a song that I might still have mostly memorized. In any case, yes, Dad became averse to anything pork-related at some point.

Any of you who have read my writings up to this point know that my Dad has told me interesting stories over the years. Several have involved pork. One of my favorites that I first heard was when I lived with him in my early 30s as I was transitioning into my federal science career. Read on to see it for yourself. During that two-and-a-half-year stretch, we got how shall I say, better acquainted, as my parents divorced when I was three years old.

Beef Chop Suey: The Breakfast Of Champions……For A Little While At Least……

Dad was a man of routines, especially when it came to his diet. Part of his routine involved getting Beef Chop Suey from one of the local Chinese restaurants. He would have it for breakfast on Friday mornings. In fact, he was so regular that he said they knew what he was going to order whenever he walked in the door.

“What’s Up?”, I’d wake up seeing him bent over his kitchen counter in his undershirt and boxers, eating the protein, vegetables, and rice out of the Tupperware he warmed it up in. He was in a state of euphoria as he gobbled it down. It would be his biggest meal of the day because he, “Ate breakfast like King, lunch like a Prince, and dinner like a Pauper!”

Dad’s kitchen smelled good on those Friday mornings when he nuked his Beef Chop Suey. Just like the Long John Silver’s fish planks he ate on Thursday night; it was like clockwork. Then one day, the beef chop suey stopped abruptly.

“I think they put pork in my Beef Chop Suey. After I ate it, I could feel little things running across my body!” He acted out the sensation, moving his fingers in a piano-playing motion from his right side to his left side. He was convinced. It’s one of my favorite father-son moments of all time and it makes me laugh every time I think about it. It was possible, I guess. I also noticed that he would change his routines every now then just to ‘do something different.’

Dad’s Most Astounding Pork Story

Dad’s most powerful pork story, though, involved some of relatives from down south. I never met them because of the divorce. He told me that these people ate pork all the time, in addition to putting mayonnaise on everything. By the way mayonnaise, just like cheese, does make most everything taste better, though it is loaded with calories. I think using them together in a meal on a burger, for example, is considered “doubling your fats”.

“My one cousin ate so much pork that he started to look like a hog!” This one claim from Dad is forever etched into my mind verbatim. It also makes me laugh every time I think about it. It was like a classmate from South Carolina at Johnson C. Smith University. This individual insisted that he witnessed someone’s limb regrow as the person was prayed over during a church service. Like Dad’s pork story, I wondered if this classmate was delusional, imagined it or if the story was true.

“His face started to elongate into a snout, and his ears actually started to become pointy like those of a pig,” Dad said with conviction, once again affirming that he saw what he thought he saw. If it sounds like a fantastic story to you, the reader, imagine how I felt listening to it in real time.

You Are What You Eat

In any case, maybe the Honorable Elijah Muhammad was right in that you are what you eat. In closing, I’ve never officially sworn off pork myself. I still like it on my pizza, and there’s nothing like the crunch and the taste of pork bacon or a fried pork chop every once in a while.

My best friend and my Uncle “Ice” also both prepare very, very tasty barbecue pork ribs albeit in different ways. The Midwest is in fact known for its barbecue which includes the afore mentioned ribs, but also pulled pork sandwiches. Finally there’s also nothing like a Sausage McMuffin with Egg (and cheese) from McDonalds; again, every once and a while.

Pork is also a popular protein in the cuisines of other countries and ethnicities. Look at pretty much any Asian or Latin American menu for example, and you’ll see several pork-based dishes available. As a postdoctoral scientist in a lab with mostly Chinese colleagues, I noticed that pork was a very popular protein at our lab gatherings. I recall a Canadian friend of West Indian descent ordering some “Jerk Pork” one night in Toronto, ON. Chicago is known for its Polish Sausages, which are very, very good. I’ve also heard individuals from Pennsylvania discuss a Dutch pork dish called “Scrapple”. Finally, there’s the stereotypical whole roasted pig with the apple in its mouth at Hawaiian luaus.

The Author’s Post Thoughts/Reflections

“I WON’T GET MAD AT YOU IF YOU DECIDE NOT TO EAT IT. BUT DON’T TELL ME NOT TO EAT IT EITHER!” If you haven’t deduced it from this piece, pork consumption can be a big deal depending on your values and the circle you come from. At a church service years ago, a clergyman whom I’ll call Pastor Gray of the Jordan River Missionary Baptist Church in Buffalo, NY started passionately preaching about eating pork.

It was probably a bit of a pushback on the resurgence the Nation of Islam’s doctrines at that time. One of their biggest teachings of course involved not eating pork. Those doctrines were reenergized by the conscious Hip Hop music of the time (the late 1980s and early 1990s). When he got deep into his sermons, Pastor Gray became very passionate. His high-pitched voice ascended to a bit of a scream or a wail, a hallmark of many black preachers. His passion would startle you back to consciousness if you just happened to doze off for a moment.

I told this story here on Big Words Authors partially out of humor. However, it also is a bit of a thought piece. My mother was very vigilant about our diets early on. I’m very grateful for that as the majority of her dietary habits have stayed with me. We never got sick much and to this day I still don’t. As we all age, it’s also important to be mindful of our diets and incorporating more fresh fruits and vegetables.

I didn’t always understand his eating habits and his eating schedule. That said, Dad’s avoidance of pork may be a contributor to a relatively healthy life. Perhaps it is true that, “You are what you eat!” The opening quote of this piece, by the way, comes from the afore-mentioned song by KRS-One Beef.

The Big Words LLC Newsletter

Thank you for reading this piece. For the next phase of my writing journey, I’m starting a monthly newsletter for my writing and video content creation company, the Big Words LLC. In it, I plan to share inspirational words, pieces from this blog and my first blog, and select videos from my four YouTube channels. Finally, I will share updates for my book project The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story. Your personal information and privacy will be protected. Click this link and register using the sign up button at the bottom of the announcement. Regards.

The Exchange Street Tunnel And Growing Up Traveling On Amtrak’s Empire Corridor Trains

“Just then the tunnel lit up slowly as did the tracks at the bottom of it. And then the train appeared; a massive, large, gray, squared machine barreling towards us.”

Some of My Fondest Childhood Memories

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Dad coming to get us on the Amtrak trains. Like many kids in Generation X, my parents divorced when I was young. Afterwards Dad settled down in the Capital Region of New York State, while we grew up in Buffalo. That’s where Mom was from and that’s where most of my childhood took place. But this story isn’t about that per se. It’s about a yearly ritual that came about due to this circumstance.

Waiting for Dad’s Letter and Traveling New York State by Train

Dad had visitation once or twice a year and as time went on, it ended up being in the middle or end of the summertime. As a preteen during those months, I’d watch the mailbox for a letter from Schenectady, NY, the Electric City. It was given that nickname because the General Electric corporate offices were based there. Before my parents split, we lived 20 minutes east in Albany, the state capital. I don’t know exactly why Dad settled in Schenectady, but he did.

Dad initially called Mom to announce his intention to come get us. A formal man, he used that word a lot, and eventually he just sent letters. They’d agree on the dates and the length of our visit, and then he’d show up. The early visits were by car. He’d drive five hours to Buffalo on Interstate 90 (I-90) in his red Volkswagen bug. He would take us to Schenectady, and then bring us back usually in two weeks. Then, at some point, he decided to come get us on the train.

I don’t know what made Dad decide to start using the train for our visits. It could’ve been the grueling four-to-five-hour drive to Buffalo. It may also have been because of my love for trains. It developed when playing with the toy train sets Dad had. He had a miniature N scale train set, a medium sized HO train set and finally a Lionel train set with the third middle rail. His father, my grandfather whom I never met, constructed that HO train set we played with. Dad said his father had been a cook on the railroads.

Making the Exchange at the Exchange Street Train Station

Mom agreed to drop us at the Amtrak Exchange Street station in downtown Buffalo. In hindsight, the street and station names were coincidental, but accurate. The station was underneath the Interstate 190 expressway (I-190), across from the Buffalo Bison’s Baseball Stadium. Dad typically arrived in town the day before and stayed at the Travel Lodge Motel on Main Street. He’d go out to the famous Anchor Bar to listen to jazz and get food. I’d be at home in bed, anxious to see him the next day and for the trip.

My most vivid memory of him meeting us at the station was a day when Mom, and her then boyfriend, got us there early. Dad wasn’t there yet, and I eagerly looked around for him. In the tiny station I looked out of the window and up the hill. I saw him turn the corner and got excited. He descended towards the station with his luggage dressed in his signature short sleeve button down shirt, slacks and shoes. I darted out of the station up the hill and jumped on him, while my older brother patiently waited in his seat. My parents were cordial during those exchanges.

“Now you know you have to come back to Buffalo in two weeks, right?” Now just the three of us, Dad sternly made sure that we understood the terms of the agreement he and Mom made for the visit. He especially made sure I understood.

Waiting for Our Train

We waited for the train to arrive. Our tiny station consisted only of a lobby, an enclosed office for the ticketing agent, restrooms, and vending machines. There was one exit to the station’s single track which was for the most part covered by shade from the I-190 skyway above.

Dad usually bought tickets for east/southbound Train No. 64, the Maple Leaf, which originated in Toronto, Ontario. When I studied the free paper schedules available in the station, I saw that it stopped at places like Grimsby, St. Catherine and Niagara Falls, Ontario before crossing over the border to Niagara Falls, NY, the stop before Buffalo. This passage through customs made the train late every time by an hour or more.

Most of the trains in the Empire Corridor had names and numbers. In addition to the Maple Leaf, there were train Nos. 283/284 the Niagara Rainbow, and train Nos. 48/49 the Lake Shore Limited. Both trains made journeys to Western New York and beyond from Grand Central Station, and back again. The even numbered trains were eastbound, and the odd numbered counterparts were westbound trains (Nos. 64 and 63, for example). Trains like the Bear Mountain and the Electric City Express only seemed to journey to the Albany area from New York City. Some operated daily while others operated on specific days. It was all fascinating to me.

Seeing the Train Emerge from the Tunnel

The station attendant alerted us when the train was near, and we’d all file out onto the platform. Because the station sat below the skyway, you could hear the cars and trucks passing over head which created an ambient sound. I eagerly focused on the tunnel though, anticipating the arrival of the train No. 64. I still get butterflies thinking about it.

At that time there was one single track. To the west, it extended straight and then curved into the tunnel. Looking in the opposite direction from the platform, it extended eastward and then curved and disappeared in the distance behind a random building. At some point you could hear an increasingly intense hum which competed with the noise from the skyway. The hum was accompanied by the sound of an air horn, a very distinct high-pitched sound. The engineers typically blew it twice to let you know the train was approaching the station and to stand back.

The EMD-F40PH Engine Leads the Charge

Just then the tunnel lit up slowly as did the tracks at the bottom of it. And then the train appeared; a massive, large, gray, squared machine barreling towards us. There were two windows at the top of the engine car where the engineers sat, the engine’s cabin or “cab”. There were two singular vertical running lights at the front of the chassis, the ‘nose’ if you will. There were two more blinking lights below them on the right and the left, both flashing in an alternating manner. Red, white, and blue stripes wrapped around the body of the locomotive. In the front right half of the lower chassis, in those stripes, was the name Amtrak. The chassis was square shaped, unlike the General Motors (GM) Electro-Motive Division’s (EMD) classic FL9 passenger locomotives from earlier in the century. They were featured in movies like ‘Superman: The Motion Picture’.

After researching this, I later learned that this was a modern “EMD-F40PH” locomotive, also made by GM. Its distinct hum was accompanied by a loud bell which rung at a slow cadence as the locomotive rumbled past us like a goliath. The large beast of a machine literally shook the ground and kicked up dust and rubble as it slowed to an eventual stop. There was the distinct smell of the diesel exhaust fumes combined with the smell of the rails and the ties upon which the trains travelled. The side of the locomotive also read Amtrak, but in larger letters. As directed, we all stood behind the yellow line of the weathered platform, but you still felt the might of the engine.

The Regal Silver Amfleet

As the mighty locomotive emerged from the tunnel, you could see a sleek fleet of stainless steel, curved cars or coaches behind it. They also wore the same red, white, and blue stripes. These were Amfleet coaches built by the manufacturer Budd. They contrasted the locomotive because their sides were curved, not straight. Also, the body of the locomotive was a dull industrial gray. The top was painted black.

With the train stopped, you could still hear the hum from the engine down at the front end, but the cars made noises themselves. It sounded like a fan or something running similar to an air conditioner which made sense as there was machinery underneath each coach.

At each end there were four bare wheels with springs in the middle. Technically, these were the coaches’ trucks. In between these coaches were connectors through which people could pass. There were also the actual couplers connecting each coach, the air hoses and then electric cables running between each coach. Lining each car within the red, white, and blue stripes were rectangular tinted windows with round corners that were cut in half by separators.

Boarding the Great Silver Coaches

The complement of cars was typically five or six with one ‘café’ car. In the summer months, Amtrak extended the Maple Leaf Train to seven or eight cars, with two engines operating back-to-back when necessary. As the train slowed to a stop you heard another high-pitched sound, almost a whine, as the air brakes kicked in. As the train slowed, the doors at the ends of selected coaches slid open with conductors standing in their vestibules. They lifted hatches revealing stairways which unfolded down to the platform creating stairwells for the passengers. The conductors descended to direct and greet us.

“Schenectady is two cars down. If you’re going to Grand Central Station, get into the forward coaches. The food service car is at the center of the train,” the conductors would say. Most of them were men. You saw some female conductors on the Empire Corridor later, but most were men, both black and white. They wore military style hats, with Amtrak printed on them, short sleeve button down shirts, dress pants and shoes in the summertime. In the wintertime they wore overcoats.

Because the platform at the Buffalo Exchange Street Station sat at track level, passengers literally had to climb up into the coaches with their luggage, which was part of the fun. Looking down at the locomotive as I often did, I could see exhaust clouds emanating from its top side, like a whale and its blow hole. The interior of the coaches smelled like air freshener. The seats were a red color as were the coaches’ upholstery, and there were overhead racks for luggage. Sets of four facing seats were usually at the ends of each car near the restrooms. Because there were three of us, we usually sat there.

The conductors eventually came by and collected our tickets. They used some sort of hole punch and tore them in half. They then gave us each green, orange, or yellow generic Amtrak stubs with scribbles from a black magic marker which were placed above our seats signifying our destinations. Since we were going to Schenectady, our tickets read, SDY. On the return trips to Buffalo, they scribbled, BFX for Exchange Street, or simply BUF for the Depew station. Rochester was ROC and Syracuse was SYR. You get the idea. If you were going all the way to Grand Central Station, your stub read, GCT or NYC.

From Our Single Track onto the Mainline, and from the Inner City into the Frontier

The ride itself was magical. The train took us from downtown Buffalo literally into the countryside. From the Buffalo Exchange Street Station to the Buffalo-Depew Station, we passed the old Buffalo-New York Central Terminal, then the Conrail train yard along Broadway, the Thruway Mall area and then out to the suburb of Depew. I was unaware of Depew until taking those rides. The single Exchange Street track literally merged with Contrail’s mainline right around the old Buffalo Terminal. From there we rode a two to four track network from Western New York to the Capital Region.

After leaving the Depew Station, we immediately passed the Attica State Prison and then passed through an endless series of small towns and villages which included farmland, forests, and marshes enroute to our sister city, Rochester. Between Rochester and Syracuse, the largest stretch of the trip, there was yet more farmland, forests and marshes. You could also interestingly see that we were traveling parallel to I-90.

After leaving Syracuse and heading to Rome and Utica, like magic, the Adirondack Mountains and the Mohawk Valley emerged. New York State was very geographically diverse and beautiful, and this was the ideal way to see it. From Utica to Amsterdam there were more small towns, villages and train yards with old, retired freight and passenger cars. There were even older broken-down structures on land and built into the sides of the some of the mountains. The Mohawk River also appeared, and we rode along its banks until the final stretch between Amsterdam and Schenectady.

“We don’t own the tracks between Buffalo and Albany. We just rent them from Conrail, and their trains get priority.” I once overheard a conductor telling another passenger why we had to stop occasionally to let the Conrail trains pass by. When we were in motion Conrail trains regularly came thundering past us. When we were headed in opposite directions I could feel our train shake. Occasionally we’d also pass westbound Amtrak trains. Along the entire route to Schenectady, there were freight train yards in each of the other cities which were once owned by Conrail and are now owned by CSX, confirming the conductor’s words.

Disembarking in Schenectady

“THE NEXT STOP IS SCHENECTADY IN 25 MINUTES,” the conductors announced walking through our coach snatching the appropriate stubs as we departed Amsterdam. “THE EXIT WILL BE THE REAR OF THIS COACH!” In some instances, announcements were made in person and in others they were made using the train’s public announcement system.

At Schenectady we disembarked from the train onto the station’s elevated platform and entered the fantasy world that was our summer visit with our father. I also liked watching the train depart so we stayed and watched it. Once the conductors took on new passengers they climbed back into their coaches, and the doors slowly slid shut; the opposite of their routine in Buffalo.

With two blows from the engine’s airhorn, the train slowly started back up and disappeared around a curve behind a building heading south to New York City. The two red lights on the last coach were the final parts of the train I would see along with the sound of the wheels on the rails. I often wondered what it was like to ride all the way down to the famous Grand Central Station.

When it was time to go back to Buffalo, we’d do the exact same thing, but in reverse. Early on I’d cry my eyes out. It was hard going back, not because I didn’t want to go back to be with my mother, but because I wouldn’t see my father again for another six months to a year. But that’s a different story. As I got older, I stopped crying. Just like the trip to Schenectady the train would disappear, but this time into the Exchange Street tunnel. The two red lights on the last coach were the final parts of the train you would see as it disappeared into the darkness.

Thinking about the The Empire Corridor in Buffalo

Those trains departed from and arrived at the Exchange Street Station daily. In the mornings they arrived in Buffalo on that single track and journeyed east to New York City. In the afternoons and evenings, they arrived and then departed for either nearby Niagara Falls or further north to Toronto.

Though I only got to ride on them a handful of times per year, I thought about trains regularly. I daydreamed about riding on those silver curved coaches. With my grade school being on the westside of Buffalo and my high school being downtown, I’d hear the trains announce their arrival in Buffalo. It was during the warm weather months when the windows were open when I’d hear that distinct sound of the airhorns the most. As a teen I thought about them along with basketball, girls, and peer acceptance.

Even as an undergraduate and a graduate student in states far away from the Empire Corridor, I still dreamt about travelling back and forth on it. Nothing was ever like watching those trains emerge from the Exchange Street tunnel. While more convenient timewise, air travel never compared to train travel for me personally, nor did bus rides or car rides.

Always thinking about new technologies, my brother once speculated on magnetic trains, which would hover over rails with little or no contact with the ground. In contrast, I always loved the bumpiness, the roughness, and the sounds of those rides on the Empire corridor – the subtle sway of the cars from side to side, hearing the hydraulics of the coaches, the roughness of switching tracks; all of it.

Riding the Maple Leaf and the Niagara Rainbow

Dad took us to Schenectady on the Maple Leaf probably for scheduling purposes. Because it originated in Canada, when you boarded there were already lots of passengers on the train and they could’ve been from Africa, India or any of the countries in the Middle East in terms of diversity. Since the Niagara Rainbow started in nearby Niagara Falls, NY, it usually ran on time. And because Buffalo was its second stop, I always got my seat of choice, though the train usually filled up the further east we traveled.

As I grew older, I rode the Niagara Rainbow more often, which departed Buffalo early in the morning. Both trains had food service cars where you could choose from an assortment of items on Amtrak’s menu including cold and hot beverages, breakfast sandwiches, burgers, kosher hot dogs, potato chips and mini pizzas. When getting us, Dad often brought cold Kentucky Fried Chicken (no sides) and we’d snack on that for the five-hour journey to Schenectady. That’s right, cold Kentucky Fried Chicken.

The Empire Corridor

Oh, I got so into my story that I didn’t describe the significance of the Empire Corridor. Years ago trains were the primary mode of travel in the United States. There were numerous individual private railroads in multiple states like the multiple airlines today. Examples are the Pennsylvania, the Baltimore and Ohio, the New York and New Haven, the Reading (pronounced Redding) and the Southern. These were just the eastern lines. Out west there was the Central Pacific, and the Union Pacific, among others.

There was also the New York Central Railroad. The Empire Corridor is basically the remains of the New York Central Railroad. It is now the New York State portion of Amtrak’s national system, spanning from Niagara Falls to New York City. You might be able to throw in the Adirondack route up to Montreal as well, but the main trunk is the route spanning from Western New York to New York City. The New York Central also extended to Chicago, Illinois and the above-mentioned Lake Shore Limited which, in a way, keeps that part of the old railroad alive to this day.

In Buffalo, the old terminal located on Paderewski Drive, off of Fillmore Avenue, is a relic of that system. Grand Central Station in New York City was once the heart of the system, but Amtrak’s Empire Corridor trains now start and terminate at Penn Station where passengers can easily connect with the electrified Northeast Corridor. Amtrak’s modern system consists of the remains of the feasible routes of the old railroads. The other parts have been sold off or dismantled altogether.

Have I ever completed the journey to New York City along the banks of the Hudson River? Yes, I have. In fact, I’ve done it several times, but I’ll cover that in another piece.

The Author’s Post Thoughts/Reflections

During those times, Amtrak also used a couple of turboliners on the Empire Corridor before retiring them due to technical issues. They were of European design and had engines on both ends of the train like the modern-day Acela Express. My brother preferred them, but I always preferred the single engine with the fleet of coaches.

In case it wasn’t evident from this piece, I know a lot about trains (laughing). They’ve always fascinated me. While in graduate school at the University of Michigan I started collecting issues of Trains Magazine and loaded my brain with more and more trivial railroad facts. Most of the articles were long just like this one. That said, there is a whole demographic of railroad enthusiasts, as is the case with everything else.

If I’ve written this piece correctly, I will have conveyed a sense of innocence to you the reader. My childhood was an innocent one, and in general, that was a much more innocent time for our country and our world compared to what we have now. Though my parents split early in my life, my father wanted to remain a visible part of my life, to which I’ll always be grateful. He did a lot of things for me including helping me develop a love for trains which has lasted a lifetime. It was something we did together, and it helped me to start to see other parts of New York State, and indeed the country, outside of the eastside of Buffalo.

Just as when I was a kid, I don’t get to ride the trains every time I take a trip, but I’m always thinking about them. Whenever I see train tracks, I wonder where they’re going and where they’ve originated from. Furthermore, before I leave this world, I’d like to ride in a locomotive just to know what it feels like. In the Washington, DC area, where I now live, commuter, passenger and freight trains are everywhere, coming and going. Nothing, however, is like the Empire Corridor.

Most of the images used in this piece are from the first decade of this century. Interestingly, I didn’t know how I would use the photographs when I first took them. Like all of the upstate New York stations, the Exchange Street station has been renovated. It’s now larger with a train-level platform and two tracks. Again, there’s nothing like that old station of bygone days.

If you’ve read this article to the end, thank you. I like to tell stories of all kinds on this platform, and before it’s all said and done, I think there will be a collection of stories specifically about trains. I’m also working on a book. If you have a moment, please check out the page for my book project “The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story”. Finally, I’m also a YouTube content creator. There’s a page on my original blog with links to each of my four channels. Regards.

The Big Words LLC Newsletter

Thank you for reading this piece. For the next phase of my writing journey, I’m starting a monthly newsletter. It will be for my writing and video content creation company, the Big Words LLC. In it, I plan to share inspirational words, pieces from this blog and my first blog, and select videos from my four YouTube channels. Finally, I will share updates for my book project The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story. Your personal information and privacy will be protected. Click this link and register using the sign-up button at the bottom of the announcement. Regards.

A Tribute To Kevin Roberson: The Hutch-Tech Engineer Who Started It All

“K was a good dude. Yes, trust me. It was one of the hardest days of my life when he passed. That was tough for me. That was tough.”

The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story

Up to this point I’ve left subtle hints that I’m working on a book project chronicling my high school basketball experience, what it taught me about life, and what sports teaches its participants in general, both in and outside the lines. Well, let me tell you some more. The title of the book is “The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story”. It’s a two-part project.

Writing-wise, it is a creative non-fiction piece based upon real life events and many of the names will be changed. If you were there and are not averse to being a character in the story, feel free to reach out as it is not finalized yet. As recommended by author John U. Bacon, I’ve changed the names of most of the people who weren’t interviewed. People mentioned in the newspaper were fair game and all the 20-30 players and coaches I interviewed, all agreed to be characters, major or minor.

A Project Of Discovery

The project has admittedly taken a while for a myriad of reasons. I am convinced though that the finished product will be quality and will have been worth it. A major component of this project has been the research, particularly the above-mentioned interviews of players and coaches who were there in Western New York in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

From my vantage point, my story initially started with seeing Michael Jordan hit “the shot” against Cleveland in the 1989 NBA playoffs. I then saw Coach Ken Jones turn the Hutch-Tech Boys’ Basketball Team into city and sectional champions during the 1990-91 season, which was my freshman year at Hutch-Tech High School. Both were important events for me. The truth though, which I didn’t know when starting this project, is that the story started before Coach Ken Jones and the players on the 1990-91 team all arrived at Hutch-Tech High School.

It started with one young basketball player from one of the neighborhoods in the “Central Park” area of Buffalo. He influenced his peers from multiple schools, some of whom I knew before I got into high school myself. He mentored them in the great game of basketball and in life. That player was the late Kevin Roberson.

The Kevin Roberson Award

As I describe in my story, I didn’t learn about Western New York high school basketball and its rich history until I was in high school and looking to earn a spot on our varsity team. That was admittedly on the late side for a prospective basketball player. Thus, I didn’t hear of the likes of Ritchie Campbell, Marcus Whitfield, and Trevor Ruffin until I was part way through high school and beyond. You can also throw Christian Laettner in there whom I didn’t become familiar with until his legendary four years on the basketball court at Duke University.

Likewise, I didn’t hear of the name Kevin Roberson until my senior year at Hutch-Tech when my basketball dreams crashed and burned and were in tatters. I, personally, was unable to get anything significant done on the hardwood and I had no city or sectional titles to show for my time in the maroon and gold, which is what I aspired to in my freshman year. I did, however, win an award late in my senior year, interestingly the “Kevin Roberson Award”.

It was great that I won another award. I won the “Best Practice Player Award” as a sophomore and “Most Improved Player Award” at the Ken Jones Basketball Camp just before my junior year, so I had won a couple of basketball-related awards. But who was Kevin Roberson? And why was I winning this award in his name?

Pictures Of Kevin

There was a picture of Kevin on a plaque on the first floor of Hutch Tech High School with other trophies, awards and pictures. I recall it being posted during the 1993-94 school year, my senior year. The picture of him was on the basketball court at the University of Vermont standing under the basket looking up for a rebound (see the initial image for this essay). The range of years beneath the picture indicated that he had died recently. Unfortunately, there was no announcement at school that I recall and none of my coaches had talked about him. Being a senior myself in 1994, any basketball alumni from the late 1980s were long gone and hadn’t really come back to the school to mentor the younger players.

I also found a picture of Kevin on the fourth floor of the school with the other senior portraits near the cafeteria. In my final days at Hutch Tech, I actively sought out his picture with the graduating Class of 1988, and often stopped and looked at it. Sure enough, there he was, smiling in his black jacket and bow tie like the rest of the boys in his class. The girls wore pearls and black dresses.

A Great Guy

“He was a great guy and played basketball just like you,” said Ms. Unger, my sophomore year math teacher. A great guy just like me? I don’t think Ms. Unger, or her family, will mind me mentioning her in this story. Ms. Unger, by the way, taught me a critical lesson or two about how to approach my academics, but that’s a different story. In any case, Kevin had made a lasting impression on her, and other faculty at the school it seemed.

So, he was a great guy like me, or the other way around. But what did that mean? What was great about me during my senior year? What seemed to make this Kevin Roberson great was that he had the skills to go on and play Division I Basketball at the University of Vermont. I didn’t have that. It turns out, there was more to him than his basketball skills.

A Leader And Inspiration

Years later when working on my book project, my interviews and research interestingly revealed a common figure who inspired quite a few basketball players at Hutch-Tech, and other schools, such as Turner/Carroll High School. This figure was none other than Kevin Roberson. That’s right. The guy whose name sake award I won in my senior year, was the inspiration and mentor for many of the guys I played with and or looked up to at that time. The following are words about Kevin Roberson that came up in my interviews. They give you feel for his character, leadership, and selflessness.

Curtis Brooks, Player, Hutch-Tech High School, Class of 1991

“Kevin Roberson, I’ve got so much love for that man. He had that horrendous car accident and was taken from us short. He was the best athlete and could’ve possibly been in the league!”

Ronald Jennings, Player, Turner/Carroll High School, Class of 1994

“And then across the street from me on Manhattan Avenue, there was a guy named Kevin Roberson. I’m sure you’re familiar with Kevin Roberson. He lived across the street from me. As I got older and Kevin came home for the summertime getting ready for college, I was his workout buddy. He would get me up and make me go ride the bike with him to shoot free throws. He saw something in me that I didn’t quite see in myself and just brought that out of me in terms of basketball. It just increased my love of sports in general, but in terms of both basketball and football. He was the one that really got me playing ball.”

Quincy Lee, Player, Hutch-Tech High School, Class of 1991

“The guys getting most of the minutes in my first year were Kevin Roberson, who died in a car accident, Kevin Lee, “Rabbit” Jackson whose name I think was Anthony – I think he was the point guard. Those three, but I can’t think of who the other starters were.”

Jerrold “Pep” Skillon, Player, Hutch-Tech High School, Class of 1991

“I knew I was going out for the team. Actually, I had a friend on the team, a guy I grew up with from my neighborhood. It’s not like I had an ‘in’ or anything like that. He just told me what to expect. It was Kevin Roberson. Me and Chuck grew up in the same neighborhood with ‘K-Robe’ and we used to go to the park together. K was a good dude. Yes, trust me. It was one of the hardest days of my life when he passed. That was tough for me. That was tough.”

Charles “Chuck” Thompson, Player, Hutch-Tech High School, Class of 1991

“The only thing I did was play for Campus West and I played for them my sixth, seventh and eighth grade years. But really where I learned all my skills was in Central Park at the basketball court. I used to play ball with – you ever heard of Kevin Roberson? If you want to say he was my mentor, he was my mentor, because we were in Boy Scouts together. We grew up together and I played a lot with him. He and his sister passed away in a car accident right here on Kensington. You know what, we played a little bit as freshman, but it was mostly watching because we already had a good team with Kevin Roberson.”

Leaving His Mark At The University Of Vermont

During his senior season at the University of Vermont in the 1991-92 season, the Buffalo News wrote a feature on him entitled, “Roberson Matures from a Scrawny Kid into a Top Shot Blocker” (see the image above). Robert J. Summers wrote it and discussed his senior season at the university and his potential NBA career. He averaged 17 points, 10 rebounds and five blocks per game that season. In 2020, the Burlington Free Press published an article on what would’ve been Roberson’s 50th birthday. The paper shared that he and his sister died in a head on car crash with a drunk driver on the east side of Buffalo on May 18, 1993. It was two weeks before he was going to receive his diploma from the University of Vermont. That coincided with the ending of my tumultuous junior year at Hutch-Tech High School.

Concluding Words

This will conclude my piece about Kevin Roberson. Just as I was surprised to win the award in 1994, I had no idea that this project would lead back to him. I want to thank the 20-30 players and coaches I interviewed, but especially the five gentleman who shared their stories about Kevin Roberson. No. 21, Ronald Jennings was my first ever point guard and our leader at the Campus West/College Learning Laboratory on the middle school team, the “Bengals”. He assisted my first ever basket in an organized game which I still remember to this day. He went on to play basketball and football at Turner/Carroll High School.

The other four gentleman, No. 13 Curtis Brooks, No. 11 Quincy Lee, No. 32 Pep Skillon and No. 55 Chuck Thompson were key cogs on the 1990-91 Hutch-Tech Boys’ Basketball Team. They won the Yale Cup Championship with a record of 13-0, and the Class B sectional title in my freshman year, also a major inspiration for my story. Again, the stage for all of this was set by the late Kevin Roberson. Salute to you sir and rest in power.

Future And Related Works

I intend to create more promotional/teaser pieces for “The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story”, both via print and video as I journey through the final steps of the book’s completion. I created a page here on Big Words Authors for the purpose of giving a background of the book. On my first blogging platform, the Big Words Blog Site, there are interviews of some the most accomplished Section VI players from my era. They include: Jason Rowe, Tim Winn, Carlos Bradberry and Damien Foster. I also interviewed legendary LaSalle Head Basketball Coach Pat Monti. Finally, there are several other basketball-related essays related to my book project. If you liked this piece, please share it on your social media and leave a comment beneath this piece.

The Big Words LLC Newsletter

For the next phase of my writing journey, I’m starting a monthly newsletter. It will be for my writing and video content creation company, the Big Words LLC. In it, I plan to share inspirational words, pieces from this blog and my first blog, and select videos from my four YouTube channels. Finally, I will share updates for my book project The Engineers: A Western New York Basketball Story. Your personal information and privacy will be protected. Click this link and register using the sign-up button at the bottom of the announcement. Regards.

The Happy Couple Who Commuted On The Metro

“Once they made eye contact, he jumped on the metro car and they happily sat next to one another for the ride back to Huntington.”

My first short story on Big Words Authors reflects on the pre-Covid-19 world. It involves the importance of human-to-human interaction. It focuses on people and a specific couple I used to see on the metro, among others.

In the Washington, DC metropolitan region, thousands of federal employees, military service people, contractors and other workers commute daily. They use the Washington Metro Area Transit Authority (WMATA) trains and buses to travel to their places of business. Likewise the metro system is arguably the lifeblood of the region upon which everything runs. Depending on what time you start your commute, you can see familiar faces. Adjust your time just a little bit, and you’ll see a whole new set of faces. You’ll in fact see the same commuters at the same time daily unless there’s a change of some kind. It could be a doctor’s appointment, a meeting, an emergency – anything in that person’s life that day.

The Twice A Day Eight Car Mixing Bowl

Prior to the Covid-19 pandemic, there was a couple I saw regularly on the Yellow Line train. I normally commuted to and from Crystal City, VA when I saw them. I actually saw a lot of people on the trains in the mornings and evenings. Many got on the train at specific hours. Whenever I went into the office earlier or later than my usual time, I saw different commuters on my route.

As a single man, obviously the women stood out to me the most. I saw many that I wanted to talk to of varying races and ethnicities. The metro however wasn’t always the optimal place to ‘cold approach’ them. In terms of learning ‘game’ for which there are courses now, cold approaching is simply striking up a conversation with a woman you don’t know who has sparked your interest.

Sometimes, you can wait because you’ll probably see the woman again, but in a city like Washington, DC where people are constantly coming and going, you might have to make your move when the opportunity is there because the woman may be visiting from out of town, or she may only be on your side of town for a meeting that particular day. In short, you may never see her again if you don’t make a move. Whatever move you make, you must be confident and classy to get the best results, especially with other commuters around, sometimes in earshot of your conversation.

Many people are into their morning rituals, getting ready for the daily battle ahead at their respective government agencies. In the evening people are looking to just go home and relax after a day of battle. Like at the gym, seeing a woman with earbuds on is a bit of a deterrent from going over and saying hello. Some openly converse on their phones and disturbing them would be awkward or rude. The fear of looking foolish in those moving enclosed spaces was also a bit of a deterrent. As a single man this is the reality and you have to decide as the clock ticks, like a quarterback looking for his target as the pass rush closes in.

The Happy Couple on the Metro

In any case, there was one couple I randomly thought about late one Pandemic night when driving to Herndon, VA to watch a Buffalo Bills game. On the 37-minute drive, I decided to not listen to any YouTube podcasts, livestreams, or playbacks, but instead to the rainy-day piano jazz station. As my phone’s GPS guided me to my destination, I listened to the music and my mind drifted off into my creative space and the couple popped into my mind. They were two of hundreds and maybe thousands of people I hadn’t seen since COVID-19 swept around the globe and inflicted lockdowns on our country. It made those of us who were fortunate to do so, work remotely from home 100% of the time.

Some mornings, or evenings, or both, I would see the couple. I lived near the Huntington Metro stop, the southern terminal of the Yellow Line. The couple would arrive at the station together in the morning, sit next to one another and make their morning commute. They were a middle-aged black couple. I can tell you that he wore glasses and I think she did too. Both were always dressed professionally. He might have worn a mustache and he had a studious look about him. She was an attractive woman.

As I waited for the train to take me home one evening at Crystal City, I saw her seated on the Yellow line as it pulled into the station. She caught my observant single man’s eye. I noticed she was looking for someone on the platform. It was him. He too was looking for her from the platform.

Once they made eye contact, he jumped on the metro car and they happily sat next to one another for the ride back to Huntington. They coordinated their evening commutes so that they could ride home together, a sign that these two people were genuinely in love with one another. One of my ex-girlfriends and I had something similar before our relationship turned for the worse, but that’s a story for a different day.

Appearance vs. Reality

This is what made me think about this couple. They looked so happy as they made those commutes together. I don’t know if they had children. I don’t know if this was their first, second or third marriage. Perhaps they figured it out on the first try, unlike so many other people in these modern technological times where families are different, both genders are educated and the gender roles have been blurred. I don’t know. What I can tell you is that they genuinely looked both happy and peaceful as they rode from stop to stop.

They could have gone home and fought like cats and dogs. When they got into their car, she might have started giving him the business and talking his ear off about her day. They may have gone home and partitioned themselves into different rooms for the remainder of the night. They may not have been the couple portrayed as dutifully riding together in the morning and the evening. After all, from experience, I’ve learned that you never know what’s happening with a couple behind closed doors, no matter the outward appearance.

I did sense, however, that they were genuinely happy based upon the energy they gave off and what my spirit discerned. They had figured out something that had been forgotten for a significant number of the rest of the population in the generation before and after mine. They were happy, or at least looked so on the outside for all of us to see.

The Author’s Post Story Reflections/Thoughts

There are several significances to this story. First. While our morning and evening commutes were burdensome and tiring on some days, they were a way of life. Furthermore there was value to seeing faces you both did and did not recognize. In the Washington, DC area, I especially disliked the commutes in the mid-summer humidity which lurked even at nighttime. Again though, there was value to those commutes.

Second. During our work days, there’s a lot going on. Whether its commuting, going to lunch or going for coffee at Starbucks, you never know who is watching you. I’m certain the couple in this story on the metro, had no idea I noticed them. I did however notice the harmony and love for each other they displayed outwardly. They were rare in today’s world. They probably never would have thought that I would remember them on that random Saturday night. If I see them again, perhaps I will share this with them.