Around the Belt Twice!

3 July, 2014

Lagos, Nigeria

"Clang! Clang! Clang! Went the Trolley!!"

The decade of the 1920's was the heyday of the trolley car. These iron-wheeled contraptions were everywhere - from the largest of cities to small towns and even in rural areas as well. In New Orleans, street railway lines criscrossed the city, serving nearly every neighborhood with fast, reliable public transit. 

At first, horse-drawn carriages on steel wheels plied the muddy streets, followed years later by horseless, electrically-powered trams that rocked and sparked their way along the dusty streets of the city. As the urban area grew, so did its need for reliable transportation, therefore, bigger streetcars began to haul larger numbers of passengers greater and greater distances. By the early 1920's, the streetcar had truly come of age. 

Born in 1905, my grandfather was, by 1923 or 1924 when this story took place, a handsome, dapper man-about-town. His father, a building contractor, built many houses around the city, and there was no tolerance for idleness: he soon put my grandfather and my great-uncle to work. Usually my grandfather would do the electrical wiring on the construction sites, while Babe, as my Uncle Gene was called, became a master carpenter.

Often enough, when the need arose, the two were often pressed into service as part of the labor gang, and there was no privilege here! Nothing was beneath these strapping lads - not even mixing concrete, which all too often they did. My grandfather used to tell me: " There's nothing to mixing concrete - nothing to it at all... BUT HARD WORK!!

THE BELT

 There was a special trolley route in New Orleans, affectionately known as "The Belt." So-called because it made a closed circuit, the Belt was one of the city's main streetcar lines.  Streetcars running one way bore the destination sign: "TULANE." Cars traveling in the opposite direction on the same route bore the "ST. CHARLES" sign. 

One day, as a joke, my grandfather made a bet with a good friend that he could and his friend could not walk the entire Tulane-St. Charles Belt - TWICE. 

The bet was made, and the day had arrived! After a day of hard work on the jobsite, It was still daylight when they boarded a car for the spot where this trek was to begin. They set out on their walk-a-thon, each one determined to out-walk the other. It was summertime, so the sun was still up - barely - as they proceeded down the downtown streets and avenues of the city. On and on they sauntered, long after dusk and sundown, putting one foot in front of the other. Occasionally a streetcar might rumble unheard past the parapetetic pair, and flivvers puttered by unnoticed. Although the temptation was strong just to hop on the next trolleycar and go home, neither had any intention whatsoever of losing a bet. 

A dim, white headlamp burned in the distance, in the center of the avenue, framed at the bottom by a pair of shining steel rails. It was the "Owl Car" that rocked along the streets of the slumbering city. This was the very last and certainly the only streetcar on the line at this hour. It ground and clattered past the two weary boys, breaking the silence, rocking and swaying as the car rumbled down the rails, leaving a slight scent of ozone in the air. It hissed and clattered to a stop, and let off a few weary passengers - its lights illuminating an otherwise very dark area. The chug-chug-chug of the streetcar's air compressor was the only sound heard, save for the occasional rustling of leaves from the oak trees that lined the avenue. 

When it had disappeared into the night, and its passengers had gone home, the boys were left alone in the gloom of the night.  It was a moonless night. and the darkness was not broken except for an occasional dim, white incandescent light that only illuminated the area immediately beneath it. 

The other boy began to tire quickly, turning gradually to severe fatigue. With no help in sight - no cars, trolleys, or taxis - there was no option but to carry the lad. He was smaller and lighter than my grandfather, but he was by no means light. My grandfather, too, was tiring. Eventually the two boys made it back to the friend's house at the walk's end. My Grandpaw bid his buddy a good night, even though it was the wee hours of the morning. He then had to walk home - it was not too far: only a MILE! He plodded along, wearied beyond belief. 

He cut across the silent streetcar tracks of the Cream Cheese Barn - s small streetcar storage facility that used to be a dairy. Arriving at Lapeyrouse Street, he stopped to wait for some early-riser to putter by in his car. 

A voice came into his head that got louder and louder: "Sir! Hey, mister: are you OK?"

My grandfather opened his eyes and saw a policeman standing in front of him. 

It seems as though he was so tired he actually fell asleep at that corner, standing up!!

He told the officer what happened and went home to get about one hour's shut eye… before going to work at his father's construction site… MIXING CONCRETE!!!

He finished his day, went home and went straight to bed, and slept very soundly indeed! 

Needless to say, he never made a bet like that again!