The Little Train That Couldn’t

I know Joel Lugavere to be a decent, amiable man capable of maintaining equanimity under the most trying circumstances, an ability that no doubt goes along with his profession as a news photographer.

I remember seeing an example of this at Disneyland once during the height of the teeming summer crowds.

Joel was accompanied by a group of young people, each of whom seemed to want to go in a different direction at the same time, a situation that could destroy the self control of even those who aspired to sainthood among fathers.

By double coincidence, I saw him both as we entered Disneyland and as we left Disneyland, and while I wilted from the day’s wonderfulness, Lugavere remained as placid at the end as he had been at the beginning.

Which found him therefore well-suited for the role of assistant Cub Scout master on the day Pack 246 boarded (shudder) Amtrak.

I am a good listener and as such occasionally play the part of counselor to those who, like pilgrims, pass my way.

When Joel dropped by with a tale of woe I was therefore prepared to listen patiently, console him accordingly and forget the whole thing. Instead I was caught up in a day of calamity that would test the patience of a nun.

It occurred last Sunday. The adults of Pack 246 had planned a surprise train trip for their boys to San Juan Capistrano, about 60 miles south of Los Angeles.

“It was two months in the works,” Joel said, his gaze to the middle-distance, remembering. “For some of the kids, it was their first train ride. We would arrive at noon, have a picnic lunch, take time for recreation and then tour the mission at 2. Nothing was left to chance.”

But fate, as a Frenchman once observed, “is not an eagle. It creeps like a rat.” And as a rat, it crept up on Pack 246.

All began well enough. The train left L.A. only six minutes late. Aboard were Joel’s group of 80 Cub Scouts, their leaders, parents and other family members. The sun shone. The kids laughed. Joel hummed.

Santa Ana slipped by and then Fullerton . . . and then as a town called Tustin hove into view, the train came to an abrupt stop.

“Conductors were running through the car,” Joel said. “We could see them outside looking under the train. We were told there had been a mechanical failure.”

Indeed. A man had been run over, and while that was certainly a failure, it was hardly mechanical. A voice over the public address system finally told them what had happened and said there would be a delay of about 2 hours.

The accident dampened the trip for most of the adults, but the children accepted the tragedy, as children will. It was, after all, the first train ride for many, and who was to say that running over someone on the way to San Juan Capistrano was not part of the package?

The picnic lunch was opened aboard the train. A parents meeting was held. The boys sang. Two p.m. came and went. They had missed their appointment for the mission tour.

“Another train finally came,” Joel said. Strain crept into his voice. “We got to the mission at 2:45. A 90-minute tour had to be cut to a half-hour so we could catch the train to L.A. at 4:12. We rushed back to the station, but there was no 4:12.”

The 4:12 had broken down in San Diego. The next train was due at 5:40. It came at 6:30. By then night had fallen . . . both outside and inside the train.

Joel: “When the train rolled up it was dark inside but I just figured everyone was sleeping. Then as we started to board, the conductor said be careful because there were no lights. The generator had gone out.

“We walked through five cars in blackness. I led with a cigarette lighter. I remember looking down the aisle and seeing an assistant Cub master. He had two little lights on either side of his glasses that he uses for reading. All I could see were the two tiny dots of light. It looked like an insect in a cave.”

But still the group remained hopeful. They were alive. They were upbeat. And they were heading home.

At a stop in Fullerton, the lights came on again. Everyone cheered. The rat called fate was creeping back into its hole.

Then, over the P.A. system: There would be a delay due to the fact that the train crew had worked 12 hours and, under federal regulations, had to be replaced by another crew, which was on its way from L.A.

Forty-five minutes later the new crew arrived and the group got home. They had spent a total of nine hours waiting inside and outside the train on a trip jammed with delays and disasters that had cost almost $1,200.

Yet the Cub pack remains intact and its outlook positive.

“Everyone,” Joel said, “still has a smile.”

Although I noticed as he said it, Joel wasn’t smiling.