Submitted by Marveen Allen Minish
I was just enjoying the items in the Journal Archives when I read the item from January 1, 1942 about the little girl who was given a train for Christmas, which her father was playing with “after office hours.”
The thought instantly jumped in my mind — “That was me!” If I was not that little girl, there is another girl from St. Ansgar with an identical story.
My story goes like this: On January 1, 1942, I was almost 2 years old, much too young to enjoy a train. However, according to the story my parents told me when I was grown, for the Christmas of 1941 my father, Dr. E. K. Allen, bought me a Lionel train with cars and caboose and lots of track. Het set it up in the living room and showed me how it ran.
All was well until he blew the whistle. I leaped over the back of the davenport and refused to come out until the train was gone. I can still recall the sound of that whistle in my memory.
That was the first and last voyage of the train. When I married, I told my husband he could be the owner of the train because he never had one. One was given to his older brother, who was told to share it with my husband. I’m sure you know how that went!
The train now resides behind the glass on a set of shelves and the track is in boxes in our storage room. Neither our daughter or granddaughter played with it.
Thanks for the memory. The story is a lot funnier when I am adult than it was when the shrieking whistle sent me over the couch.