PREVIOUSLY: Wendell recounted graduating high school and being written off as “not college material” by his guidance counselor. But a series of random acts of kindness led him to take his first flight, to visit colleges like Oberlin, and to not settle for less…
As a child, I was fascinated by “choo choo” trains. It started with my parents taking us to see the window displays at the downtown department stores during the holidays featuring elaborate model train layouts. My dad took me to a co-worker’s house who had a wonderful HO-scale train layout designed like a miniature city. It had everything you could think of just down to scale. His friend gave me an engineer’s hat and he let me run the operation. The experience set in motion a life-long love affair with trains and things that moved.
Baby-boom boys received as gifts the coveted and highly collectible cast-iron Lionel train sets. We received one to share. We’d watch the engine and cars go round and round before our imaginations tired and got bored — but not me. Later I got my own, which allowed me to tap into my mind where I traveled the world and did the things I dreamed and read about, like Walter Mitty. I daydreamed about trains, planes and automobiles taking me places. I tried to build my own airplane once using electric fans. The Wright Brothers had nothing on me.
I felt alone and depressed as a child spending my time doing things that didn’t require partners. I learned to create fantasy friends and travels based on my love of the encyclopedias my parents purchased over the years. Companies World Book Encyclopedia and Encyclopedia Britannica competed for door-to-door sales. They marketed to young families allowing them to purchase books volume by volume. It was “educational child abuse” for upwardly mobile Black parents not having a encylopedia set.They were to help us bridge that gap between what we got in school and didn’t.
They were our internet and Google. During any disagreement, my parents would simply shout “Look it up!” I slept with a different volume each night: starting at A, going to “WXYZ” and over and over. When I read a newspaper, which was required in our house (Mom would remove the sports section), or saw a movie, I couldn’t wait to get to my encyclopedias for more background. They fueled my daydreams of traveling the world.
I loved the train yards in this area. Newcomers don’t realize that some of our neighborhoods were built and occupied by railroad company employees. Trains were routed through yards in now-trendy Ivy City or Alexandria’s Potomac Yards, which was one of the largest yards on the East Coast. It was once considered as a site for the new Skins stadium. The area that stretches from Old Town Alexandria to Crystal City today was that yard, including current shopping centers and housing from Route 1 to the parkway. As far as the eye could see were rows of rail cars and working yard engines. I used to count how many cars were in a particular grouping. All night in Del Ray you could hear the trains coupling, banging, pulling off, or coming through as clear as a bell.
I continue to be fascinated by trains. My bucket list even includes crossing the country by rail. I get to see them up close in areas like Hyattsville and Bladensburg where there are above-ground train crossings before they enter the tunnels. Sometimes you wait for almost 20 minutes for the train to pass and the gate to reopen. Not many knew trains were my passion growing up and I spent every dime I had or gift request on model trains and the accompanying paraphernalia needed to stock my layout in the corner of my family’s basement. I spent more money on trains than I did on dates, spending hours arranging and rearranging things.
My mom and I were not what I would call close, but bless her heart she was supportive of my interest in railroading. In one of the greatest random acts of kindness, on Dec. 4, 1961, my 11th birthday, she took me without notice on what was to be my first train ride. The details of that day are still embedded in my mind today because I never knew what it was like to have all her attention focused on me until that day.
We left Union Station headed to Baltimore which seemed hours away. We arrived at Penn Station and went straight to the B&O Train Museum where I saw all kinds of trains and trolleys. Then headed downtown for lunch, sightseeing, and a movie. While walking on Baltimore’s famous “The Block,” I remember her nervously trying to explain to me what burlesque was as “those” theaters lined the street along with “movie” theaters.I remember falling asleep to the click clack of the tracks next to her as we headed back late that evening. In a random act of kindness, she gave me a lasting memory and the greatest of her gifts, her undivided attention.
Later in my life a lonely train ride of shame started me down the tracks to a wonderful life. Early one morning after several days of bingeing on drugs and alcohol, I was penniless and walked from Ivy City to Gallery Place Metro, where I hoped to panhandle my way home to Virginia. It is only through the grace of God that nobody gave me cash or I may have turned around and missed the ride and the blessing of a lifetime.
Until that point I had been going through the same cycle. I’d get sober for a few years but would always hit a wall partly because I lacked fulfillment in employment. Having had a meaningful career the stumbling block was I sensed that there was something that I should be doing that would be impactful for others, not just making rich people richer, as I’d done in broadcasting.
That morning I posted up by the escalators as the commuters rushed in. They were walking with a sense of purpose that made it difficult to start a conversation or ask for their help as they rushed by. Fortunately a lieutenant colonel with starched fatigues approached me. “Good Morning, Colonel,” I said, and he paused for just a brief moment to engage me. He had that no-nonsense military look and strong sharp jaw that said “don’t waste my time.” So I got right to the point. I honestly told him why I was in the position to have to ask for help and he said “Roger that” and we rode down the escalator together. At the fare machine I showed him my SmarTrip card and he promptly loaded $10 on it and walked away. He got on the Yellow Line, probably headed to the Pentagon.
As my train pulled in, I watched cars full of people pass me on the platform. But the last car was sparsely populated so I chose it to continue my ride of shame home to Alexandria. I sat in an isolated seat at the rear and tried to close my eyes to crash and not be bothered. But before leaving the District a lady got on the train in my car. And with all the empty seats available she chose to come and sit right next to me. I’m thinking, “What the f***? Why is this woman sitting next to me?” She looked nothing like me.
That lady was Jeri Davis, a wonderful woman who would become a long-distance mentor and supporter from her base in Memphis. The funny thing about random acts of kindness is that sometimes you don’t get to keep those people in your daily life. They may be there for just a brief moment. In this case, I found hope and a friend on that ride of shame.
Over the years Ms. Davis and I have stayed in touch with calls and emails. That day she calmly sat down beside me, she could sense I was agitated by her seat selection but didn’t care. She immediately began to engage me in conversation. I’m thinking, “This lady has lost her mind. Can’t she see that I just want to be alone?” But she kept talking revealing to me why she was in town. She was looking for people to participate in a training film for mental health and substance abuse workers. She wanted to know if I’d be interested. I guess I looked so beaten up that I was right out of central casting for the part.
She then segued into into explaining that a person like me was perfectly suited to be a valuable asset in the war for America’s behavioral health. The whole time I was saying to myself, “What a crock of s***.” But I started to listen and by the time we got to the King Street Station, I was convinced. She stood up, gave me her card, some advice, and instructions on how to pursue the newest wave in behavioral health treatment and got off. That was my only face-to-face contact with the woman who changed my life.
A year or two later, I was seeing my therapist and right there on the board was an announcement that Virginia was looking for recovery coaches. A Richmond-based organization was conducting the training in an effort to get more coaches in service. I talked to my therapist about it and he agreed it seemed like it would be a good fit for me. So off I went to pursue how to enroll and find the money to pay for it.
With the help of my therapist Jonathan who led me to my caseworker Nadine from the Department of Aging and Rehabilitative Services, and my great Street Sense Media supporters, we found the money for the various trainings it required and two years later I was able to be one of the first in this area to acquire the certifications needed to start helping people with addictions fight for their lives in the opioid crisis.
Two random acts of kindness by strangers on a train ride of shame came together and gave new meaning to my love of trains and a chance to follow my dream of helping others.
To be continued.
