One of the dictionary meanings for the word “cupola” reads, “any small structure above the roof of a building.” The caboose, or last car of a train, is the one that’s equipped with a stove and bunks for the use of the train crews. There is a cupola on the roof of this car.
As a child, I heard the word cupola many times. To me it always sounded like the railroad men were saying cu-pa-lo. I still pronounce it that way. Have you ever ridden in a caboose, up in the cu-pa-lo? I have. What a wondrous experience for a ten year old.
My Dad worked as a Carman on the railroad, so trains were a constant in my existence. In the late summer of my tenth year, he arranged for me to ride the train to a small community up the line for a visit with friends.
This particular train, a working freight train, left our community on one day and came back the next. There were many little communities and crossings to slow down for. At some it stopped to pick up mail, or supplies, and sometimes to drop of things. All of this took time, so it was often referred to as a “milk train.” It always traveled in the day time and the trip took about four hours. Speed was not a priority.
On the day I rode, we were to leave about 10 a.m. and would arrive at our destination at approximately 2 p.m. Mom made a lunch while I packed my suitcase with clothes to last me a week. Then I put on the Easter outfit she’d made me – a yellow circle skirt and a white peasant blouse. How I loved that skirt – it was so good for twirling. I don’t believe I’ve had another like it. Pleased to be so well dressed. I twirled out to the kitchen, ready to go.
Time seemed to crawl. However, soon Mom and I walked down to meet Daddy who was waiting to put me on the train. Looking back, I feel sure it was probably not the policy of the railroad to let little girls ride in the caboose of a freight train. I remember I didn’t get on at the depot, but on the opposite side of the train, a short distance from the station. No one made mention of this, nor seemed concerned. At the time nothing seemed unusual to me. My Daddy had said it was okay, so it was okay.
I boarded the train, along with the conductor and brakeman, to start our journey. These trainmen were co-workers and friends of my Dad’s and looked to be about the same age. They wore the striped blue and white denim overalls and caps, familiar to me as part of a railroad man’s wardrobe. It never occurred to me or anyone else that I wouldn’t be perfectly safe with them, and I was.
We talked a lot. They told me about the train and showed me all about the caboose. They teased me about my freckles and sun burned nose, and complimented me on my pretty outfit; all the time knowing I could hardly wait to get up in that little place on the top.
Finally they asked if I would like to ride in the cu-pa-lo, and of course, I said I would. Carefully I gathered my skirt around me, thinking to myself how proud Mom would be of me for being so ladylike, and up the four short steps on the ladder I went.
The ladder, small like one for a bunk bed, fastened solidly to the rest of the structure. In the cu-pa-lo were two places like upper bunks, a bit shorter, with just enough space between them to get onto either bunk from the one ladder. Large seat cushions, covered with black leather, filled each bunk space. The leather, soft, warm, and pliable from the sun, made faint crunching sounds as I moved around to get settled comfortably. I had a large bed pillow to lean against as I road along.
Whenever they weren’t busy one of the men would get up on the other side and point out things of interest as we moved along the tracks. I could easily see out of either window and it was amazing how far I could see.
The land, generally flat, showed a few small hills in some areas. Being the middle of the summer in wheat country, fields of that grain were prominent throughout the countryside. Mostly a deep golden color nearly ready for harvest, the heads of the grain were heavy. Gracefully they bent and swayed when an occasional breeze rippled through the fields. There were some fields of sage, with large rocks projecting up her and there, and occasional wild flowers, their blooms bending in the breeze. Other fields lay idle, with some ground cover for next years crop. As I watched, a lovely tableau of the area I lived in passed by.
Because of the warm sun, the little windows were open slightly and the air was refreshing. I believe it could have been very warm in that car at times. During the trip, I don’t remember ever feeling uncomfortable.
Soon it was lunch time, and the men suggested we pool our lunch and eat together. They each had a sandwich and a piece of fruit. When I opened my lunch box, I discovered a sandwich, an orange, a large, cool carton of fresh potato salad with small plates and forks, and three pieces of luscious chocolate cake. The men had coffee in their thermos bottles and I had cold milk in mine.
I had wondered why my lunch box was so big. I occurred to me that these men not only knew my Dad but also my Mom, who was a very good cook. Mom knew who was counting on her.
We had a good time eating and talking. Though I don’t remember much of the conversation, I do remember the pleasant feeling of being treated as though they enjoyed having on the trip. I felt important, like I had some value and something to offer in the way of conversation.
After lunch, it was back up in the cu-pa-lo for me. The sun was warm, the breeze was soft, and the leather smelled good. The train wheels made a rhythmic click against the tracks as we rolled along. Like a kitten with a full tummy, I curled up on the soft, warm cushion and had a nap.
In due time, we reached our destination. The conductor helped me with my things as I left the train. He made sure that I was not left there alone, before he went on about his business.
At the end of my visit with friends, I returned to the place I’d gotten off the train a week earlier, ready to go home. I did have a good time on my visit, but the best part of it all was being able to make such a trip with these two friendly trainmen. They introduced me to a panoramic world from the cu-pa-lo.