On a sunny day in the summer of 1958, a nice young man headed out to ride his motorcycle in a Poker Run.  A Poker Run is where participants are given playing cards at five to seven checkpoints, competing to have the best poker hand at the end of a 50-plus-mile event.  On this day, the young man would take a shortcut between two checkpoints, using a dirt road through the woods.

In our neighborhood, that same day, everyone was enjoying the outdoors.  A group of seven of us always played baseball, rode bicycles, or just hung out together.  At the end of our street, where the pavement stopped, a dirt road led down a slight hill, past the railroad tracks and into the woods.  Another 50 yards or so past the tracks, my brother Mike, age 11 ½, was catching frogs at the pond next to the road.  Mike loved the woods.

While Mike was at the pond, the young motorcyclist rode out of the woods on the dirt road behind him.  He was about halfway through the Poker Run and nearly finished with his shortcut.  When he saw Mike, he decided to take a short break.  They talked for a while about motorcycles, their love of the woods, and probably frogs.  Soon the young man decided to go on his way and offered Mike a ride home.  Mike had told him he lived just up the road past the tracks.  But, Mike declined the ride, remembering what our mom had taught us.  The young man thanked Mike for his time, then started his motorcycle and took off.

Sometimes sounds, such as a motorcycle, can be much louder among the trees.  As the young man approached the tracks he didn’t hear the train and headed right into its path.  The loud sound of a train frantically trying to stop and then a sudden crash echoed throughout our neighborhood.  Everyone began running toward the tracks.  I remember seeing the young man lying there covered with dirt from being dragged by the train.  There was blood on the side of his head; however, his helmet was still mostly intact.  His motorcycle was several yards further down the tracks and the train, now stopped, could be seen in the distance.

That evening our group sat around trying to justify what we had seen and tried to understand why these things happened.  It was the first time any of us had seen a dead person and there was no way to change that.  It was very disturbing and sad but, for my brother Mike, it was the loss of a friend.  The adults said that he wouldn’t be alive if he had taken that ride.  However, Mike believed the train would have already passed and they would both still be alive.  He told me once that he hated train horns; the last sound he had heard as he waved goodbye to his new friend.

It’s been said that nothing good ever comes from tragedy.  I guess I believe that, but throughout his life, Mike had several motorcycles, Jeeps, etc., and never had an accident.  And although he passed from diabetes in 2018 at age 71, the other six members of our group are still alive and in their 70s.  Perhaps, a sense of caution and appreciation for life was unconsciously instilled in all of us on that sunny summer day in 1958.