In his entire life my Dad was never fooled.

But every now and then he “sure got a foolin’.”

That was his farm boy way of saying something didn’t turn out the way he’d expected. If someone told him about a great fishing hole, for example, and he came home empty handed he’d say, “Boy, we sure got a foolin’ that time.”

I can picture him saying to me following Game 7 of the 1968 World Series when the Detroit Tigers beat my beloved St. Louis Cardinals, “Boy, you sure got a foolin’ that time.”

I didn’t like him very much that day.

Or in a game of double-deck pinochle when I would have sworn all four aces of trump had been played and so I led with a ten only to have him take it with the ace I didn’t know he still had, “Boy,” he’d say, grinning as he slid the cards toward him, “you …”

And in all my frustration I’d interrupt “… sure got a foolin’ that time. I know, Dad.”

I didn’t like him very much on those occasions, either.

There are other examples, but I think you get the point.

My dad, and even more so his dad, were on my mind last Sunday as I joined in the train excursion to Jim Thorpe (see photos on pages 28 and 29).

I thought about my grandfather, my Grampy Ackerman, because my friend Ed Philbin practically ordered me to.

Ed is a newspaper guy turned train guy. He worked with me for some time as managing editor of the Dispatch but departed a few years ago for a job on the railroad, his first love.

Ed left several messages on my phone encouraging – perhaps even hounding – me to take the train trip and called the day before to tell me to be sure to remember my grandfather as the train pulled out of Coxton Yards.

Ed knows my grandfather worked for the Lehigh Valley Railroad.

He’s heard me say my grandfather had all four fingers missing from his left hand, the result of a railroad accident.

Ed also knows the train I’d be taking goes right through White Haven, where my dad grew up and my grandfather is buried. Ed’s told me many times there is a spot along the line that old-timers still call “Ackerman.”

“When that train pulls out,” he lectured, “you’d better be thinking of your grandfather.”

Ed appreciates that railroading is in my blood. And I know he believes I don’t appreciate it nearly enough.

But I took Ed’s advice and made sure I thought of my grandfather and I must say it felt good. And right.

I thought about my grandfather and I also found myself thinking of one of the lines from the Arlo Guthrie song “The City of New Orleans”.

It goes like this:

And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers ride their father’s magic carpets made of steel.

In this case, it was my grandfather’s magic carpet, but a magic carpet nonetheless. It was just how that train felt and just what it turned out to be.

And because of that, everyone on the train last Sunday was sure going to get a foolin’.

See, we all thought we were taking a trip to Jim Thorpe. What we really were doing was taking a trip back in time.

The old passenger cars should have been our first hint. No air conditioning meant we had to open the windows and experience – are you ready? – fresh air.

And no video screens meant we had to amuse ourselves with – are you ready? – conversation.

Fresh air and conversation is not what you expect in today’s day and age.

But like our ancestors, that’s all we had. So we rode and we talked, just the way our parents, grandparents and great grandparents might have. And it was marvelous. Who knew?

And when we got to Jim Thorpe, we did something else our parents, grandparents and great grandparents might have done. We walked.

And as we walked we kept bumping into people we knew, our friends and neighbors we didn’t even know were on the train with us. And we talked some more.

We rode and we talked and we walked and we talked and without our realizing it, it was no longer 2009.

It was 1949.

Or maybe even 1909.

It didn’t matter and we didn’t care. It was all perfect.

I have no idea what the other train passengers expected out of last Sunday’s trip but I know that I, for one, sure got a foolin’.

And I learned something.

Unlike the ’68 Series or those old games of pinochle, sometimes getting a foolin’ can be a good thing.

About the Author

Ed Ackerman is the editor of the Pittston Sunday Dispatch. He can be reached at 602-0175.

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We sure got a foolin’