SEYMOUR, Ind. – I found myself standing at the intersection of two railroads.
No more than 2 minutes ago, a train whizzed by, splitting the center of town for a minute. It seems that cities such as Seymour are a step back in time – a time when the railroad ruled and when the train passed through town, everything stopped.
As I was standing at the cross roads, a man approached. He asked, “Are you waiting for a train.” How could he tell? Perhaps, it was the camera around my neck, the police scanner clipped to my belt and the notebook I was holding. I responded, “I am. How often do they come by?”
It turns out, a train passing through town only happens about twice a day. Although, not a railfan haven, I could tell Seymour had a rich railroad history.
It turns out the man I was conversing with worked at the local paper. And he had me pegged – he could tell I was a newspaperman myself. I responded with, “I’m glad I’ve got the look down.”
I wasn’t in Seymour long. It was just a brief stop on my destination. Much like the rail lines running in town, I was just passing through.
