The Greatest Conductor

Once upon a time, there was a great train conductor. The young lad proudly wore his blue hat, overalls and saggy, white shirt. T’was the mark of a train conductor. Such a fellow as he, knew the dangers of a railroad crossing; so he always made sure to sound his horn well before he arrived at a crossing. He was most certainly the safest train conductor to drive a train through a railroad crossing.

Though the train conductor respected the danger of incoming trains, not everyone was so cautious. One day, the train conductor was tooting his horn to alert those at the crossing of his incoming train (they didn’t have the lights or bars for railroad crossings at the time) when, suddenly, a big red ball bounced through the crossing. This was a normal occurrence, so the conductor didn’t pay it any mind. But what happened next was not so common an occurrence. A young boy chased after the ball through the railroad crossing.

The boy made it through safely, but it sure gave the conductor a fright. So much so that he honked his horn again, right then and there. The sound startled the boy, and he dropped his ball. The ball started rolling towards the tracks again. The boy, of course, ran after it. The train was still coming and was now near the crossing. It would arrive in only a few moments, and the boy was right next to the tracks. In a desperate attempt to scare the boy away from the tracks, the conductor rang his horn as hard as he could—which, unfortunately, was too hard for the train.

The train roared, a resounding thunder. So powerful was its bellow that it shook the ground and sky. All this quaking caused the little boy to stumble and fall, just aside the tracks. The kid was unharmed as the train passed through the railroad crossing. But the same cannot be said for his red ball, the conductor and his train.

The train ran over the ball, pulverizing it to dust. The remains of the ball stuck to the front of the train. The conductor, who was too busy yanking the horn to pay attention to where the kid and his ball were, thought he must have run over the child because the particles particles of the red ball seemed to him, stains of blood. To make matters worse, he had pulled the horn so hard that it no longer worked.

“Oh dear!” said the conductor, “whatever should I do? I’ve pulled the horn so hard, that now it cannot toot.” The conductor had two more railroad crossing until he could reach the station, where he could get his horn fixed.  But without a horn, he didn’t know how he was going to warn those at the crossing of his arrival. So he slowed his train to give him more time to think and act.

He looked around his conducting room for anything that could help him, but all he found was a bunch of levers, dials and broken train horn. He decided to check the passenger cars, where his customers were less than pleased at the reduced speed.

The conductor entreated the passengers for help: “Can anyone help? My train horn is broken. I need something to alert those at the crossing.” The passengers all shuffled uncomfortably and exchanged awkward glances until, finally, a young girl stood up. “I can help,” said the girl, as she reached out with closed fist. “Here, use this. It’s my grandma’s necklace.” The conductor was puzzled. H0ow could a silver necklace help him? Necklaces weren’t loud; they barely even rattle. But he was desperate, so he was willing to try anything.

The conductor thanked the girl and promised to return the necklace. He returned to the conductor car and examined the room and the necklace. “My horn is broken,” the conductor said with a sigh, “It’s been a good run, but I guess this is goodbye. Without a horn to warn people when they cross the railroad, their cars will block our path; we’ll die and explode.” So with his last thirty minutes of life he had left, he climbed to the top of the train car engine. Sitting and watching as the trees rolled on by, he noticed the sun above in the sky.

As he stared at the sun—his eyes turning blind—he had an idea of using the light. The necklace was reflective, like mirrors strung in a line. He’d reflect the light of the sun into their eyes. And surely enough, as his train drew near, he blinded them all with the sun and his mirror. He shined the light on the drivers, walkers, bikers and cats. Took by surprise, they all stopped in their tracks. The conductor passed through that crossing without casualty. And now he knew what to do; he had all he might need.

The necklace had helped him as an inspiration, but it’s use done. So he returned it. As he prepared to use mirrors again, he noticed some dark storm clouds rolling in. They blocked out the sun, leaving little light to reflect. The conductor was silent, as he awaited his death. “Surely,” said he, “There’s no way I can live. But what of the passengers? What else could they give?”

He returned to the passengers and explained the situation, and it started to rain as he asked for aid. “So who will help me?” asked the conductor, but nobody answered until somebody muttered, “I can, I guess. But I don’t have much, just my walking cane and umbrella. Could these be of use?” The conductor just shook his head and said “no” in reply. What use could a cane and umbrella provide?

But then he remembered that with the necklace he thought, similarly, that it was useless when it was not. So the conductor took them and said, “I don’t know what these will do, perhaps nothing at all. But I’ll try to prevent another event like that of the kid and his ball.” So he returned to his car and climbed to the roof. It was dangerous, yes, but what had he to lose?

Well, it no longer rained, for now it just poured. And he thought he heard thunder over the winds of the storm. He opened the umbrella, and upwards he soared in an updraft current. He was not at all aboard. Oh, the wind. How it raised him up into the sky, as he strained to hold on with all of his might. Though, only one arm held to the handle, for his second arm had a cane, it was small and it was metal. Around him in the air, he heard quite a commotion: thunder and wind roared, dropping rain from the ocean.

There seemed, to him, to be a certain music. A beating of sound that, though inconsistent, resembled a song in its own special way. As we watched, quivering from the cold blast of air, he realized this music had some potential there. If only, thought he, had they a conductor. They could with harmonious patterns sound much like a choir.

Then taking notice of his hands, himself and position. He realized that he was in the perfect situation. He was held aloft in wind by umbrella, and he held in his hands a cane-baton to lead the weather. And surely he was qualified to organize this force. He was a conductor after all. It’s just part of his work.

So he raised his right hand, which held the baton, and he swung it through the air as if leading a song. The storm paid no heed, for why should it care that a man dressed in blue was next to it there. So the conductor swung faster, aligned with the drops of rain as they hit the tree and roof-tops. And he wiggled his hand as water slid down the side of leaves and gutters, according to his guide.

The wind came next, barreling through the sky, falling to the ground. And in impact they cried, “Whoosh whoosh bang!” But there was no reprise, for how often it struck, it was different each time. So to unite them, the conductor waved his wand, as if casting spell to direct their song. The wayward winds resisted, they didn’t want to obey. They were chaotic, in frenzy and felt betrayed by the rain.

For the rain had harmonized. It all fell together. There was no “pitter-pat”, but instead a “splat… splat… splat!” But finally, the wind followed suit, and together it came, whistling through leaves, like that of a train. So the wind and the rain, as they acted in sync. Came sheets of water like waves of the deep. Then the thousand-gale gusts weaving between the leaves. But next came the thunder, and it was not pleased.

The thunder it roared, it would not be tamed. Something so bold could not be contained. It shouted it’s wrath, incomprehensible when it’s heard. But the conductor knew. The conductor understood. He lowered his baton. He could fight this beast. The thunder defied him, as a rebellious teen. So the conductor looked down, watching his train. And near to crossing, it slowly came. So he let out plea, but the thunder would not hear. The conductor called out about his struggles and his fears. This only enraged the beast, the thunderous sky. It cared not for the man, so it gave no reply. The man, helped by the wind, drew close to the clouds. But, thunder, agitated glowed bright with white light. Electricity sizzling as it passed through the cloud, threatening anyone who would be so proud as to dare come near this cumulus king.

The conductor feared not storm’s warning or light. He cared not for his safety but for others of his kind. Men and women, and children too. They depended on him to see them safely through. He trust towards the thunder and was struck by the light. The lightning was crackling through him, quite a guide. But conductor did what conductors do best and conducted away from his chest. He wrapped it around his baton, forming an electric whip, which he tied into lasso and waved above his head. The storm paused for a moment, taken aback. The conductor took this as an advantage and made his attack.

The conductor swing lasso loop around the dark cloud, and pulled it tight to restrain it’s howls. The thunder, in anger, bellowed and roared, so loud that the people way down on the floor. On the ground near the crossing all heard the loud echoes of thunder like siren-alarm. Kids ran indoors. Animals fled. Pedestrians stopped to find shelter instead of their travels or walks of the like. And bicycles dropped as they were left behind. But still cars and vehicles feared not the noise, as they were crossing the crossing too unaware to avoid.

So conductor, holding tightly to his lightning-lasso string, compelled the thunder and beckoned it sing. With great hesitation and reluctance it voiced, it song of rumbling and shaking noise. So together the pellets of the rain on the ground, with the whistling wind and the thunderous sounds all worked to make, or rather imitated, the sound of the warning of a coming train. Alerted and awake, the crossers did wait, for to train pass safely through the rough strait. And finally, at ease, the conductor relinquished the storm, softly lowered to his train once more. He returned the umbrella and electrified baton that was once a cane to the man he borrowed them from. And so reaching the station his journey came to an end, and the passengers left shaking their heads. For they were quite late and thought it the worst, but the conductor knew better to hold safety first.

So was the tale of the greatest conductor, the safest railroad crosser and the only storm tamer. And storms he did tame, and conduct to make song. As he still does today as his train goes along. So during a storm, when you thunder roar, you see lightning strike and water pour. Remember to listen carefully for the sound of the musical harmony that is found in every storm since the conductor became the storm warden of all railroads that day. As the crack of thunder as lightning whips through the sky is only the sound of the conductor forcing the storm to comply. Thus now, it holds true that all crossings are threats. They’re dangerous, so don’t you ever forget. You must listen and watch for trains coming near, for a train crash is deadly for everyone there.