It was close to midnight the other evening when I heard it.

A train whistle. In the far-off distance.

I love the sound of a train, especially at night. It’s so comforting.

I asked my musical brother Dave if he knew exactly what chord the whistle plays. Here’s his reply: I’ve heard a lot of different chords from train whistles, but my favorite (which I’ve heard quite a bit) is a major chord with an added 6th, like F-A-C-D. The add-6 chord was a defining feature of swing music in the ’30s and ’40s, and trains with an add-6 whistle can sound like Count Basie or Glenn Miller’s brass section, especially when there’s a bit of note-bending (due to variations of air pressure?).

The only other time I remember hearing that sound in the night was at Grandma & Grandpa Cassidy’s house back in the 1960s and ’70s. I didn’t spend the night there in New Haven more than a handful of times, but I always listened for trains.

By morning, though, I’d forget to ask where the train came from and if it carried passengers or freight.

Here’s more from brother Dave: Funny, I have no recollection of train sounds at 33 Chatham Street. What I do recall (ca. 6 years old) is how loud I-95 was at night. I also remember listening to the radio on the bedside table: “I Fought the Law” and a Black preacher named Brother Al who asked listeners to put their hands on the radio, which I did.  

Dad took a train into New York every workday from 1970 through 1973. He often brought home stories about the interesting people he observed during his commute. I remember us laughing when he reinacted a passenger snacking on a jar of peanuts, shaking a handful like he was shooting craps in Vegas.

One more note from Dave: I remember well Dad’s story about the peanut man. He also talked about a seatmate who would tear articles out of newspapers in an extremely finicky, neurotic sort of way that made Dad want to tear his hair out by the time he got off.

Here’s a mystery train photo from Dad’s parents’ collection:

Maybe this traveling couple is part of the Plante family (Grandma Vayo‘s father was Achille Plante). It might be Achilles’ brother Jean Vincent Plante with his wife, Rosa Anna. I’m not sure which impresses me more, his moustache or her heels!

After Mom and Dad moved back to Connecticut from Indiana in 1977, they enjoyed taking a train into The City for dinner and a show.

I had a feeling at least one of Mom’s poems would capture her thoughts while riding a train.

From a train window

Something will start me

The engine drawing our train
leaves flying at the window
a friend asking for this poem

The tracks we leave follow
the way our old lives will
in time silver and straight

And still
the small towns touch us
the fields refuel

~ joan vayo 11/6/85

Back to the other evening … Farmer Gary had already hit the hay, so I waited until the next morning to ask him.

“Please don’t think I’m losing my mind, but could I have possibly heard a train whistle last night?”

Sure! What you heard was a Rain Train.

What’s a Rain Train, you ask? According to Gary, it’s a regular ol’ train that, when atmospheric conditions are just right, can be heard from farther away than any other night.

Gary says when you hear the Rain Train, expect precipitation within 48 hours.

You’ll have to excuse me now, as it’s been very warm this week and I need to go close some windows.

After all, it’s going to rain soon.

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“From a train window” © 1985  Joan Vayo. All rights reserved.

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