No, I didn’t wake up the next morning to find that I had been dreaming and the story about Scott being arrested was only a bad nightmare. The two stolen bikes were still stashed behind the clubhouse and this morning was exactly like all the rest, I had to get dressed and go to school. I knew this was going to be a rough day. I really felt fine physically but my mind could not adjust to sitting through a boring morning in class. Mrs. Grant was a great teacher if you showed up for the purpose of learning something she was attempting to teach, and that was never my goal. I was not interested in the ‘crap’ she talked about.
The morning didn’t get started off in the right gear to become a ‘good’ day. My brothers gave me a bad time about something as they usually did. However, there seemed to be something about their attitude that provoked me. I knew better than to punch one of them in front of mom. I ate quickly and left the house.
I walked my bike around the corner, with plans to retrieve the six cigars from their hiding place. My cigar ‘loot’ had shrunk from six to four cigars. I was at first confused to only find four cigars. Then when I heard ‘snickers’ coming from the back yard I knew the purpose of their behavior at breakfast. I walked around the house to see them holding a smoking cigar and laughing at me. Oh, yeah, I headed for them with fire in my eyes. They knew I could kick the crap out of either of them. Then my older brother reminded me, “Okay, Jim, so you may be able to beat either one of us. Let me tell you something, you will only get your butt kicked if you try to take on both of us at the same time. However, if you want, bring it on.” Well, I thought about that comment for a couple seconds, and to tell you the truth, I thought he might have made an excellent point. I stopped and started to tell them what I was going to do when I caught them alone; however, my mom stepped to the back door to shout, “You boys, stop shouting at each other and go to school.” And, of course, I agreed with mom. I made sure the cigars were out of sight and I crawled on my bike and headed for school.
My mind was somewhere but I don’t know where, as I said, this was the start of a very bad day. I forgot all about old man Chase. I didn’t realize I was riding in front of his house until I saw movement on Chase’s porch. He was picking up the morning paper. I didn’t have the stick to rake across his picket fence for sound effects, so I did something that I had never done before. I waved at old man Chase, with the full length of my right arm, with all my fingers extended. He looked up as if in a state of shock, although I saw his mouth drop open, no sound escaped. He only stared in disbelief. I grinned to myself thinking I would rattle his cage later.
I wasn’t in any mood to go to class but I had to, or smoke the cigars alone. Since neither Monte nor I had smoked a cigar, more than likely most of the other boys had not either, and I wanted company. It would not be any fun to cut class and smoke alone. We might think of a way to get rid of those two stolen bikes before someone found them or one of the club members developed tongue slippage. So, I went to class because I could not find anyone before class. In fact, three or four of my boys were late to class and that didn’t sit well with Mrs. Grant. She gave each of them a little lip service, which made my task of getting them to cut class much easier. However, I could only get Monte and Corky to go with me.
At recess, the three of us left the school. Leaving wasn’t a problem because there never was a teacher on the playground. Since Corky had the cast on his arm he didn’t want to ‘crash and burn’ again, we rode reasonably slow and remained on the street. Most of the time we rode trails through the park, through alleys, and between houses. Today we rode the safest way possible. We did stop at the park to discuss ‘LOCATION’. Finally — don’t know why — we decided to ride down to the railroad tracks and smoke there. Monte suggested that one of the teachers or the Principal might come to the park because that was our usual hangout. For the last several weeks my ball, the one with ‘Jim’ written on it was laying in the middle of the court. So anyone could play basketball if they wanted to.
We rode down the railroad tracks for a long ways — or a long ways to us. We were west of the park located across 17th street from the Oregon State Fair Buildings. There was a pile of new cross-ties on the east side of the tracks. We parked our bikes and walked down the tracks toward that pile of crossties. While walking down the tracks I found three large ‘railroad spikes’. We talked and laughed about a multitude of things as we parked our little butts on top of a four or five-foot pile of cross ties.
Our effort to smoke the cigars didn’t work at first. We didn’t know that one end was sealed — usually, you see the smoker bite the end off and we did not do that. So, we finally burned that end off with the match. After those stogies were burning pretty good and smoke was drifting up from each cigar, we knew one more giant accomplishment had been achieved.
Corky or Monte asked, “Jim, didn’t you put a penny on the track one day for…?” I stopped him as I jumped up to pick up the railroad spikes, “Yes, that freight train did a job on the penny. Wonder what a freight train will do with a railroad spike?” As I went over to lay the spikes on the track we could hear a train coming from the south. I ran back and jumped back up on the pile of crossties. We sat there smoking and waiting with curious expectation for the train to hit the spikes. I was wondering what the spikes would look like when flattened out like the penny had been. Our wait didn’t take long. The “Shasta Daylight”, was picking up speed going north out of town.
When the train hit those spikes, the sound was something like the doors of hell being blown off! With the doors off, the fires of hell exploded! There was a screaming of iron burning iron, causing fire and sparks to fly twenty feet in every direction. The train seemed to leap out of the fire in its effort to jump over the spikes. Then the wheels screamed again as they came back down on the iron rails. The train continued to wobble and shake as if the wheels were coming off. The Shasta Daylight skidded, rolled, or bounced down the tracks while continuing to scream, spit fire, and spark. Apparently, one of those spikes stuck under a wheel, and that wheel did not appear to be turning. The train appeared to be in the first stage of flying off the tracks. And it may have if that spike had not dislodged from under the wheel. When the spike came loose, it flew from under the train with such tremendous force it penetrated a cross-tie about six inches from where we had been sitting. Then the noise sparks and fire stopped and the Shasta Daylight seemed to pick up speed and roll along normally once more as it continued north out of town.
For a short time, we were petrified by fear and didn’t move; however, that millisecond didn’t last long. Because we were out of there faster than Castor Oil through a green goose! Later each of us discussed the question, “What happened to the cigars?” We didn’t know if we swallowed, ate, tossed them away, or simply dropped them as we ran out of there. We got away as fast as we could. That was a short train but it was fast. The Shasta Daylight really was a fast passenger train. I’ll bet those folks riding the Shasta that day will remember going through Salem.
We ran south to get to our bikes and the train was going north. I saw people inside the train but I didn’t see anyone at the caboose, we rode back to the park where we stopped to talk about the incident. Oh, yeah, all three of us will remember where we tried to smoke our first cigar. We didn’t think anyone saw us and if they did there wasn’t any way for them to find out who we were, and… anyway, nothing happened. No one was hurt and, more than likely, the engineer and everyone laughed about it. After arriving in Hollywood the entire crew probably laughed about the incident over a cup of hot chocolate.
People as a species either don’t give a damn, don’t think, or don’t care. This comment can be verified by the millions of ‘people’ serving time or have been executed for millions of crimes. History shows that millions of adults are guilty of committing crimes, with the excuse, “I didn’t think it was loaded!”, just as we thought putting those spikes on the track would not cause any problems. This act could be called ‘childish’ curiosity, or a scientific experiment. Because statistics show that during the six-month period immediately prior to that incident: Other kids without thinking did the same thing and the results of their experiments derailed fourteen trains, injuring 37 people while killing three. However, I did not know that when I put those spikes on the tracks. Something else I didn’t know, the engineer of that Shasta Daylight had over twenty-years experience and he knew about those statistics!
When the train started bucking and jerking after hitting the spikes he thought his life on earth was over. He too thought the ‘Gates of Hell’ were opening for him. This was not his first ‘rodeo’; he had been through this several times during those twenty years. His first reaction was to see who or what caused the problem. The railroad track in that area is slightly curved to the right. The rear view mirror provided the engineer an open and broad view of three boys running as if the devil was after them. The smaller boy with a cast on his arm was losing the race. A few seconds earlier those boys were seated on a pile of crossties, smoking a cigar and laughing about something.
No, kids don’t think as adults and that is why parents, educators and those in authority usually have rules and regulations where it is required for ‘children’ to be supervised. Parents accomplish that at home, are supposed to, and then it is the teachers responsibility at school. Had we not cut class, we would have been safe inside the classroom and the engineer would not have been ‘grabbing’ the brake and throttle while trying to hold his heart rate down to less than a million beats per second while hoping to keep all of those paying customers riding the train alive.
No, we didn’t think about any of that stuff either before or after that incident. Once the train was out of sight, it was almost out of our minds. Not quite, because we had to tell someone about making that train scream and bounce down the track with fire flying. We didn’t have any idea what enormous problems those two little spikes could have caused. That brief moment of childish curiosity could have killed several people; however, that thought never crossed my mind. As all children that age, there are many things we have to learn. That incident opened the door to a very big training lesson that we would never forget.
After catching our breath and getting a good laugh from the near tragedy, we rode back to the clubhouse, where we talked about the two stolen bikes. We did not know what to do with them. We decided to ditch them at Parrish Junior High. Since Corky had a broken arm, Monte and I rode the stolen bikes over there, parked them in their bike rack and walked back to the clubhouse. We were rid of the bikes and for once felt good that the rightful owners might get them back.
From there we rode to the park and played basketball the rest of the day or until I had to leave for home and boxing lessons.
The next day I learned why yesterday morning my subconscious told me I was going to have a bad day. It went really well regarding the class cutting. Both Mrs. Grant and the Principal seem to understand. So, I took as much rope as they allowed. As long as they didn’t call my father, I continued to pull on the rope. Shortly before noon, the principal made it ‘loud and clear’ over the PA system, “Jim Cunningham report to the principal’s office.” I left my seat and went to the principal’s office. Once more I would be trying to talk my way out of any problems created by cutting class, which was all old hat to me.
On entering his office, there sat Monte and Corky. Two men in suits were standing next to the principal, who was standing to the left of his desk. The principal spoke, “Jim, this is Agents Brown and Wilson with the FBI!” Each man nodded his head, as one said, “I’m Brown!” I had to smile because two days before that my brother told me a bad joke and the punch line was, “Ass….. are Brown!” My giggle turned into a smirk and the principal raised his voice, “Jim, I believe the problem these men are here to talk with you about will be more than enough to wipe that stupid smirk off your face! Now, take the chair over by your two partners in crime!” Yes, that did take the smile off. I was thinking about some of the terrible things “My Gang” had accomplished, plus the FBI might have a different word for those acts, other than accomplishments.
Then Agent Brown spoke, “What were you boys doing down by the railroad tracks other than smoking cigars?” My mind changed gears! He wasn’t interested in cutting class or smoking cigars and more than likely didn’t know a thing about “My Gang”. At that moment I was correct. All three of us looked at each other but no one spoke. Then Brown changed his question, “Which one of you put the spike on the railroad track?” My mind relaxed, he wanted to know about that. This to me was not a crime or even something that could land anyone in JDH (Juvenile Detention Hall). So, I volunteered, “Sir, I did.” However, I did not volunteer to explain the real fact, that I put two spikes on the track. As I finished, Monte spoke, “No, Sir, I’m the guilty one for that.” And then Corky didn’t want to be left out. He said, “Those two are lying to keep me out of trouble.” Then both the FBI Agents laughed; however, the principal did not laugh. He jumped from behind his desk to point at me, “You are the only one telling the truth. You boys listen to me and you listen carefully.” At that point he gave us a lecture about all the accidents, trains derailed, people injured and killed and that talk lasted about half an hour. He closed with the facts. “These men have been very busy since you put the spike on the tracks. Yes, they know you are guilty. They are also thankful that no one was killed or this talk would be taking place at the police department or JDH. Agent Brown has already talked with your parents. They are going to let Judge Felton decide if detention or MacLaren is the best place for you boys. These two agents will decide today if you wait in JDH or are allowed to go home and attend class until Judge Felton has the time to see you. I hope you are smart enough to realize your attitude today will be a major factor in their decision. Now, they have some additional questions for you.”
They asked us a million questions, which were easy to answer truthfully. At one point Brown asked me one that almost made me swallow my tongue. I was so cocksure all they wanted to talk about was the train thing. Out of the blue he asked me, “Have you really got a gang?” At that I must have blushed, gulped, flinched, or something because they exchanged an unsolicited glance that, not only told them something, but… me too. My response was a little chuckle and a question, “A gang of what, Sir?” Then he continued, “A few of those that don’t play basketball at the park, tell me that you are the leader of a gang of boys?” That brought on a wide smile, “Yes, I guess that is true. I have several boys that follow me to the basketball court almost every day and I can always depend on them to be around when we want to get a game going. I didn’t know that was called a gang, though?” I was very thankful that he did not pursue that line any further.
When they finished talking with us, the principal told us, “Okay, you boys may go back to class. Don’t go home or cut class today or you will really be in trouble. We will want to talk with you later today. You will be called out of class.”
The three of us were smart enough to leave good enough alone and went back to class without making any smart remarks to provoke additional problems. I didn’t like the sound of attending JDH or talking with Judge Felton.
While walking down the hall we didn’t talk much. We more or less exchanged glances and shrugged. All three of us knew we were in trouble and the less we talked the better off we would be.
Playing basketball at noon was a great relief. I did notice that my game was not up to par. I didn’t make a single long shot, one kid dribbled around me and that was something they had difficulty with, even in grade school. The time on the basketball court did pass fast and to some degree provided relief from the mental stress. Yes, anytime the FBI is talking to you regarding a ‘misdeed’ you will have mental stress. I was young, not stupid. The classroom time that afternoon was terrible. However, the principal didn’t use the PA System to call us out of class. One of the girls that worked in the office came down and told Mrs. Grant, who got our attention and pointed to the door. We knew exactly where to go.
Those same two agents talked with us for over an hour, which seemed like two weeks to me. They made it sound like the act of putting a spike on the railroad track was the most terrible thing one could do. An act more terrible than burning a church down, stealing from Santa’s Salvation Army Pot at Christmas, or kicking the crutches out from under an old woman and stealing her purse. All of those vile acts could not kill anyone. However, in the past, putting the spikes on the tracks could have caused numerous losses of life. Somewhere along there in Brown’s lecture, he hesitated and I, once more, didn’t think… when I prompted, “Well, Sir, that would depend on how many people were in the church when the fire was set!” To which, Brown only shook his head but the principal jumped to his feet to scream at me, “You really don’t get it.” With that attitude, you will be spending a lot of time in JDH!”
Then Brown continued, “Yes, Jim, you are correct. However, the point I’m trying to make with you boys is that some things in life can be called experimental, and from that, we learn. There are many things we don’t understand. Developing those facts for everyone to understand is best left for the experts who conduct those experiments safely. In most cases, facts and information about those things that bubble our curiosity have already been recorded in a book. A book by Robert E. Fellman written in 1927, with the simple title, “TRAINS”, has all the answers to anyone’s questions regarding trains and that does include how they are powered, what makes them run, with complete instructions on how to operate and how robbers and vandals stop, rob and destroy trains. Boys, let me tell you, your act was more violent than the act some ‘Train Robbers’ use to stop and rob the train. Some train robbers actually stopped the train without any violence whatever. They put a heavy coat of black grease, old horse-drawn wagon axle grease, on the rails. They find a fairly steep slope where the train needs all the power possible and even by using all the power and traction they can muster, the trains have a hard time getting over the hill. At that point is where they put the grease on the tracks. When the train hit the grease the iron wheels had to spin fast enough to burn the grease off before getting traction on the iron rail. That loss of traction usually caused the train to stop and roll backward. The robbers took full advantage of that opportunity, robbed the train without anyone getting hurt or killed. You boys are guilty, as most young boys are, of having a normal curiosity. You wanted to know what would happen if you put a spike on the tracks. You probably have a friend or friends who either told you or showed you a penny they put on the track. So, you wanted to see what one of those railroad spikes would look like all mashed flat. No, we do not believe that you had any intention of killing anyone. You may not be aware of the laws regarding convicting those guilty of a crime. We must prove ‘intent’ before we can convict. Oh, yes, there are other routes through neglect and others, but we are hoping you boys will take this seriously and help us keep the trains and their passengers safe while traveling through your beautiful city. So, to close, you may get back to class. If we allow you to go home tonight, instead of going to detention, and without any future talks with your judge, may we depend on you to stay away from the railroad tracks and encourage all of your friends to do the same thing? This way everyone will be much safer. Does that sound reasonable to you? Are you willing to work with us?” At that point, the principal spoke up, “Okay, your answer?
I responded, “Sounds fair to me.”
“Okay,” was heard from both Monte and Corky. Then Brown continued, “All right, you boys are now officially on probation for one year. During that period you will not go near the railroad tracks. You will not get into any trouble whatever. The local police, Judge Felton, and the school here will have a copy of our report. I seriously hope we don’t have to talk with any of you boys again, ever! All right, either of you boys have a question or want to say something? All three of us shrugged our shoulders and both Monte and I started sliding out of our chairs when Corky spoke, “May I ask a question?”
Brown, was putting papers on the principal’s desk, he turned slightly to look at Corky, “Sure, son, go ahead.”
“You talked about a train being stopped with grease, has that ever happened in Oregon?”
“No, don’t believe it ever has.”
Then Corky asked, “Anyone ever rob a train in Oregon?”
“Yes, they call it the ‘Last Great Train Robbery”. On October 11, 1923, the D’Atremont brothers robbed a train traveling south toward California. They stopped it just north of the California border in Tunnel Number 13. They didn’t use grease; they stopped the train with guns. They blew up the mail car but used too much explosive and blew all the money into little pieces. A man, Elvyn Dougherty, was killed in the blast. In their attempt to avoid getting caught, they killed the only two witnesses — a fireman and an engineer. However, they were caught four years later. The twin brothers, Ray and Roy, and their younger brother Hugh were convicted and given life sentences. Law enforcement and prison officials brought those three to the Oregon State Prison on horseback and they are still there, serving their life sentences.”
Corky continued, to our disappointment, “Were you there?”
Brown laughed, “No, son, I wasn’t there. Once more, I read about it and have listened to a few of those that were there. Reading is the greatest part of learning. We get to read about all the interesting things that have happened to other people. Learning from other people’s mistakes is much easier than learning by making our own mistakes. As you boys are doing now. Yes, everyone makes mistakes, but don’t attempt to build a life on mistakes, or your old age will be spent inside of a prison — same as the D’Atremont boys — or sitting all alone in an insane ward of some hospital.” He stopped to look at Corky and then back to Monte and me. nodded his head, “You boys better get back to class.”
Walking down the hall we weren’t thinking about our probation, the problems we had caused the railroad, or the time those FBI agents had wasted talking with us. We were talking and thinking about that train robbery from 1923 and those robbers still sitting in prison, right here in Salem and only a few blocks away. I knew I was going to talk with dad about that. Since he worked there, he would know more about that than those FBI guys.
Speaking of trouble, it was like ‘hell’ turned upside down and shaking like a major earthquake. My mom was furious with me. She was so disappointed I thought she might have a stroke. From what she was saying, I knew dad would kill me. She said someone called her from the FBI telling her I was under ‘House Arrest’ and they were holding me at school until they could determine if I should go to JDH or MacLaren. She was so angry she told me to take a seat. Then she ran my brothers off, telling them to take a two-hour ride and not to come back until supper time. I was told to sit, not say a word or she would kill me before dad got a chance to beat me to death.
Well, by the time dad got home she was somewhat calm. Dad understood the childish act of putting a spike on the train track. When I told dad, it was all over, we got a lecture and were told to stay away from the tracks. Oh, no, I didn’t explain everything but I did what was best for me. At the right moment, I told him the story about Oregon’s great train robbery. After that, dad did a lot of talking. He boasted of knowing all three of the D’Atremont brothers. He supervised two of them at various times and once worked in the same block with Ray, who ran the prison print shop. He explained that those boys didn’t get a dime from the train robbery. They were in trouble for the cold-blooded murder of two men, in their effort to avoid being caught.
[This would not be my last encounter with the FBI. Eventually (1968), the drug cartel — which I would be affiliated with — would engage in a gun battle with both the FBI and the DEA in Laguna Beach, California.]
