CHRISTMAS PRESENTS ON THE FORUM

[tree68]

Norm48327

We in SE Michigan must not have been nice. Santa's present was about six inches of snow and very slick roads.

We had a "drive by" snowfall here at the house this morning.  The wind changed rather abruptly, swing a lake effect band through the area.  Managed to leave five inches of the stuff in my driveway.

[Norm48327]

We in SE Michigan must not have been nice. Santa's present was about six inches of snow and very slick roads.

[tree68]

This isn't up to Ed's standard, but here goes:

Twas the morning of Christmas

And all through the house

Torn wrapping paper and toys were strewn about.

The stockings were empty, the tree skirt was bare

Though the kids looked once more, lest more gifts hid there.

Sweaters and socks lay all in a heap

Awaiting thank yous to be written next week.

The oven was hot

The turkey was roasting

The potatoes were peeled

And the pies were reposing

The kids were engrossed with their new games and toys

While the grownups sat ‘round and complained of the noise

The breakfast was brief – save room for your dinner

For grandma’s bean casserole was always a winner.

After a while, all the newness wore off

Conversations tailed off, with the occasional cough

But everyone knew what they wanted awaited

As they waited impatiently with breath nearly bated.

From the kitchen it came, dishes clanging and clinking

The days main event – of which everyone was thinking

Of the turkey and stuffing and potatoes and maybe

Mom had finally figured out unlumpy gravy.

The conversations ended as the chairs were slid in

The anticipation meant you could hear the drop of a pin.

Ma lead us in grace, then Pa rose from his chair

Carving knife in his hand, making ready to share

The huge Christmas turkey – dark meat or light?

I’m telling you now that it was quite the sight.

The dishes were passed and the plates were all filled

And the kids competed to see how high they could build

Their volcano of spuds, with its lava of gravy

You’d better eat all that, said Aunt Dorothy to Davy.

Once the plates were all cleaned and the pies were all served

Someone patted their tummy, and slyly observed

That this was the best meal they ever had eaten

A record that surely would never be beaten.

Soon enough, the table was cleared,

And Pa and Grandpa then disappeared

To sleep off that meal, their snoring soon heard

As the young’uns watched football (they’re tied in the third)

And so has passed Christmas, and another year, too.

And we hope that that also applies to you.

 

[blue streak 1]

We can testify to the loyalty of sheep dogs. Ours is a border collie mix If we do not sneak away while he is inside  and instead he observes us driving away we find him waiting for us no matter how long at the driveway gate when we return .  Weather makes no difference but we do know he takes breaks if our absence is longer than an hour but when he hears the car come up its all over !

[lenzfamily]

edblysard

And you and yours!

Ed

Peace, to you and yours. Snow tonight here. 

Charlie

Chilliwack, BC

[edblysard]

And you and yours!

[samfp1943]

edblysard

 

locomutt

Maybe Ed Blysard will "Chime In" with a couple of his stories, that have become Favorites for some of us over the years........

 

 

 

Balt beat me to it!

 

 

[/quote]     It is good to hear from you ED! 

         Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to the Blysard Family! 

          We wish you, and yours a Prosperous New Year!  

[edblysard]

[/quote]

locomutt

Maybe Ed Blysard will "Chime In" with a couple of his stories, that have become Favorites for some of us over the years........

 

Balt beat me to it!

[samfp1943]

Thanks, Geared Steam!  I am sure many here were unaware of the 'rest of the story'.  Shep had quite a run. as he lived at the Ft. Benton station. His 'master' passed in 1936, and Shep died in 1942; after slipping on icy tracks. My curiosity extended to the story mentioned about Senator George Graham Vest's "Eulogy on the dog". That story can be found at this linked site: 

@ https://www.senate.gov/artandhistory/history/resources/pdf/VestDog.pdf

"George G.Vest "EULOGY OF THE DOG" 

         September23,1870    (Warrensburg,Missouri)"

 It is somewhat amazing, and fitting that, the final thoughts delivered by Lawyer Vest's pleading in that Missouri Courtroom describe the fate of another dog, almost 70+ years later.

[Geared Steam]

Just to add to Sams post, Sheps memorial in downtown FT Benton.

 

[BaltACD]

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the yard,
All the switchmen were switching, some working quite hard.

The grips were all hung by the shanty with care,
In the hopes that a time slip would soon show up there.

The trainmasters were nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of test failures danced in their heads.

The hogger in his kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a sneakey quick nap.

When out in the yard there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from our motor to see "what's the matter?"

Away from the cab, I flew in a flash,
To line all the switches, and stop a bad crash.

The moon on the field of new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a worn out SD40, dragging eight old reindeer.

Run by an old hogger, who looked like St. Nick,
I knew in a moment, I had to act quick.

At yard speed the 40 down my lead he now came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

"To the top of the yard, we'll cross over them all,
Now drag away drag away, drag away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the top end the old 40 flew,
With a gon full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too!

And then in a twinkling, I heard an old horn,
Blowing for the brakes, soft and forlorn.

As I threw down my lantern and was turning around,
Down the old 40s steps the old hogger bound.

He was twitchy and wormy, from his head to his feet,
His yard list all folded and sorted, quite neat.

A bundle of time slips he had flung on his back,
He looked like a peddler opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
He filled all those grips, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, to the seat box he rose,
He notched out his 40, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

[locomutt]

Maybe Ed Blysard will "Chime In" with a couple of his stories, that have become Favorites for some of us over the years........

[samfp1943]

 We are drawing near to almost everyone's favorite time of year. 

     Presents, and good cheer flow in almost every corner! 

                                    SEASON'S GREETINGS TO ALL! 

          Hopefully, Other Poster's here can share their favorite tales, as well!  

Some years back {Canadian Pacific 2816, Ray Loftesness II}

Shared a wonderful story about a man's faithful companion:    

                              THE STORY OF SHEP"   

   It IMHO is a story worth the retelling!   

[Link to whole story: http://cs.trains.com/TRCCS/forums/p/184033/2013102.aspx#2013102  ]

So I am going to let Ray introduce the story:

"...I have a story to tell, and in it's nature it is true, for it happened on the Great Northern Railway in Montana. This is my way of wishing everyone who reads the forums of Trains Magazine a Merry Christmas. I will preface this by saying that my Dad, Ray Loftesness Sr. was a well known radio broadcaster and musicologist who had a career in radio and television which spanned 55 years. In 1938 Dad went on the air at KSOO in Sioux Falls, South Dakota with a Christmas Radio show he called "Holiday Inn" And the story you are about to read is something he told every year over the air during the Christmas season.

     Fort Benton is a picturesque town of about 2000 nestled in the bluffs of the looping, Missouri River in north central Montana. There, one day in August 1936 a funeral car bearing the body of a sheep herder arrived at the Great Northern depot.Only one mourner was at hand to see the sheep herder off on his last journey. For behind the funeral car trotted a big, shaggy cross breed, collie dog. As the casket was lifted onto the train, the dog whined pathetically and attempted to follow. The station agent restrained him, and as the train puffed away, the dog stood for a few moments looking disconsolately along the steel rails. And And then, he laid down beside the empty tracks. That night, he burrowed under the station's platform to await his master's return. And that big dog was to maintain an unbroken vigil there, for five and a half years. And at the end of that time his passing would produce some remarkable consequences..."

   In the beginning, the dog trotted out to meet Fort Benton's four trains a day, rain or shine. He eyed the passengers as they alighted, sniffed at the baggage car doors, mutely questioned each passerby, and then he would stand wistfully, watching the train until it disappeared in the distance. Someday, surely his master would return.

     Station employees soon found that the dog answered to the name "Shep". But in general, he remained aloof, as if reluctant to be distracted from his patient waiting. He would watch until the last train of the day had departed before he would eat of the meat scraps that the station agent, Tony Sanche left by his burrow. And then, in the black of night, he would trot lonesomely over the three-quarter mile trail down to the Missouri to drink. But, even dogs can stand utter lonliness only so long. And one night, during a thunderstorm, section foreman Pat McSwennie found the lonely, frightened dog crouching at the door of the station. He coaxed him inside, and when the bitter Montana winter came, Pat fixed him warm quarters in the freight house. But  first the big Irishman had to stretch out on a pad which he placed by the big dog, and that seemed to reassure Shep.

     Months passed, and news of Shep's vigil traveled beyond Fort Benton. News papers and radio of that day picked up the story and in time mail began arriving for Shep. Dozens of dog lovers sent him cash gifts, and one Christmas a woman in England sent him a bone and a suet cake. Pet fanciers from Florida to California offered to give him a home. Sheep ranchers in many states wanted to adopt the dog as well. Eventually so much mail for Shep piled up that Superintendent Dixon detailed a secretary to devote part of a week to handling it, and it alone. And then Shep was featured in Bob Rippley's "Belielve it or Not" newspaper column. And that triggered an avalanche of mail. And during the summer tourists stopped at Fort Benton just to view the dog.

   Months passed, and news of Shep's vigil traveled beyond Fort Benton. News papers and radio of that day picked up the story and in time mail began arriving for Shep. Dozens of dog lovers sent him cash gifts, and one Christmas a woman in England sent him a bone and a suet cake. Pet fanciers from Florida to California offered to give him a home. Sheep ranchers in many states wanted to adopt the dog as well. Eventually so much mail for Shep piled up that Superintendent Dixon detailed a secretary to devote part of a week to handling it, and it alone. And then Shep was featured in Bob Rippley's "Belielve it or Not" newspaper column. And that triggered an avalanche of mail. And during the summer tourists stopped at Fort Benton just to view the dog.

     All this affection mattered very little to Shep, from the moment his master was taken away until the day Shep himself died, his sole purpose in life remained unchanged. His master, it would seem, would someday return, and he, Shep, would be there to meet him. But there came a day when Shep could no longer bound out of his quarters and trot along the tracks. Instead he padded slowly, and his hearing and sight began to fail. On occassion when sub-zero whether stiffened his aging legs, he would simply limp out to the trains. And it was on such a day in January 1942 when Shep started down the track to meet the 1017. Grown old, and perhaps a little careless, he stood between the rails waiting. As the train approached, bystanders expected him to jump to safety, he always did, but this time, a second too late. And Shep's long vigil was over.

     Well, as the news of Shep's death spread, thousands mourned for him, if only briefly. And trainmen selected a grave site for the big dog at the top of the bluff overlooking the depot. And the station agent fashioned a black casket with glass handles, and members of Boy Scout troop #47 in Fort Benton volunteered to be Shep's pall bearers. Schools were dismissed and townspeople along the tracks with many ranch families from miles around, all attended the funeral, held approprately enough at the Great Northern depot. The Reverend Ral Underwood of the town's church delivered Graham Vest's eulogy on the dog, the one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in a selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.

  Months passed, and news of Shep's vigil traveled beyond Fort Benton. News papers and radio of that day picked up the story and in time mail began arriving for Shep. Dozens of dog lovers sent him cash gifts, and one Christmas a woman in England sent him a bone and a suet cake. Pet fanciers from Florida to California offered to give him a home. Sheep ranchers in many states wanted to adopt the dog as well. Eventually so much mail for Shep piled up that Superintendent Dixon detailed a secretary to devote part of a week to handling it, and it alone. And then Shep was featured in Bob Rippley's "Belielve it or Not" newspaper column. And that triggered an avalanche of mail. And during the summer tourists stopped at Fort Benton just to view the dog.

     All this affection mattered very little to Shep, from the moment his master was taken away until the day Shep himself died, his sole purpose in life remained unchanged. His master, it would seem, would someday return, and he, Shep, would be there to meet him. But there came a day when Shep could no longer bound out of his quarters and trot along the tracks. Instead he padded slowly, and his hearing and sight began to fail. On occassion when sub-zero whether stiffened his aging legs, he would simply limp out to the trains. And it was on such a day in January 1942 when Shep started down the track to meet the 1017. Grown old, and perhaps a little careless, he stood between the rails waiting. As the train approached, bystanders expected him to jump to safety, he always did, but this time, a second too late. And Shep's long vigil was over.

     Well, as the news of Shep's death spread, thousands mourned for him, if only briefly. And trainmen selected a grave site for the big dog at the top of the bluff overlooking the depot. And the station agent fashioned a black casket with glass handles, and members of Boy Scout troop #47 in Fort Benton volunteered to be Shep's pall bearers. Schools were dismissed and townspeople along the tracks with many ranch families from miles around, all attended the funeral, held approprately enough at the Great Northern depot. The Reverend Ral Underwood of the town's church delivered Graham Vest's eulogy on the dog, the one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in a selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.

And then as the Boy Scout bugler, Ken Vinion sounded taps on the wintery air, the casket was carried up the bluffs and Shep was buried. And I suppose that should have ended this story. But as I accidently discovered while visiting Fort Benton with Fred Waring and the Pennsylvanians, Shep's story really began from that seemingly final moment. Indeed, until that day I had somehow missed everything that I had told you up until now. You see, when Shep died in 1942, passenger trains were still running full tilt across this country. In what was to be a final act of homage, the people of Fort Benton erected a stone monument on top of the bluff, and below it they lettered the name "Shep", S.H.E.P. in whitewashed boulders. And trainmen installed a spotlight on that bluff to illuminate it night.

     And as the Great Northern sped through the Montana hamlet, conductors, stewards and porters recited to curious train passengers the story of the dog's long wait. And the conductor, Roy Shields wrote a short booklet about Shep, and the Great Northern sold the book for fifty cents aboard the western trains. And soon the book sales had netted five thousand dollars, and then eight thousand dollars and then ten thousand dollars. And as the book was passed on to thousands of other folks, money rolled into the railroad depot in memorials totaling more than twenty-five thousand dollars. Nearly five years passed, and one day on his day off, conductor Shields swung down off the train in search of a "living" memorial to Shep.

     And he found it. He found it at the Montana School for the Deaf and the Blind at Great Falls, Montana. By now, conductor Shields had been put in charge of the Shep fund, you see. Well, Glen Harris was the superintendent of the school in 1946, and when conductor Shields offered to give him the money, he also asked what the 100 or so kids at the school needed the most. "Something that says "We love you.", replied superintendent Harris. "These kids come here off lonely ranches, from broken homes, the poor from lonely reservations. They need toys, candy and skates, luxuries that no state legislature can buy for them."

And so, Shep played Santa that year, and a little blind girl cuddled her very first doll and cried, "She's mine, she's all mine!" And there was ice skating on the pond behind the school and boys and girls received the toys they asked for. "Shep gave us something we've never had before.", Glen Harris told me. "It isn't just the things you see, but the knowledge that someone wanted to, and cared to, and was able to do something for these youngsters." And I can tell you this, that Shep's gifts have multiplied a hundred fold since that first memorable Christmas, they have changed life absolutely altogether at the Montana Institution for the Deaf and the Blind, for the money, you see it not only provided for Christmas, but for a whole new year-round program of extra love and care and therapy. "People on the outside", Glen Harris told me, "don't seem to realize that institutions like these need more than food, soap and heat. The Shep fund has helped us to make up for the love and security these kids have missed." He said, "Take Tina. A thirteen-year old, mixed up girl with spells of depression and headaches." After a doctor had pronounced the child in sound health, Harris called in her housemother. "You know what ails that thirteen-year old girl the most?" He said, "It's something that no medicine can cure. Here's ten dollars, take her downtown, and for heaven's sake, spend it foolishly!" And so, Shep bought new hosiery and jewelry and a dresser set for Tina that day, and Tina's problems simply disappeared. And she went on to sweep the sewing and dress making contest at the Montana state fair that year.

     When I was at that Great Falls School making that visit, a sharp looking, deaf youngster came up to show off his brand-new Shep-bought shoes. And aftward, Harris told me, "You know, that kid broke thirteen windows the very first day he was here. And quite often institutional children are destructive when they arrive. But it's simply hard to believe that these gifts have done something for boys and girls that we wouldn't have believed. Why, we figure that the Shep fund saves us three thousand dollars a year in breakage and vandalism alone.", he said with a smile. And, the Shep fund pays extras too; field trips to the state capital at  Helena, visits to dude ranches in Montana, camp-outs in Yellowstone. And friends, look at the record. Ordinarily fewer than ten percent of the graduates of the state school were able to enter college before Shep came along, Montana would only send one student per year to Galudet for the Handicapped in Washington, D.C., and yet recently, the entire Montana graduating class qualified, and everyone went to college.

So, since 1942 when Shep was struck down by that train, his fund, through continued contributions and interest has grown to well over a hundred thousand dollars now and while some of it is constantly retained, the interest money and some of the principle is spent, and spent lavishly on lonely, and hurting children.

     Superintendent Harris and I raced down the Montana Highway in his car to the airport and to a plane that would take me thousands of miles in just a few hours. It rose up over the bowl that is Fort Benton, and down below me the Missouri looped around the high bluff. And I could see dimly in the late afternoon light, the whitewashed boulders the citizens of Fort Benton had placed on top of that mountain. They lettered simply "S.H.E.P." on the hillside. And Glen Harris's final words  echoed across the miles, he said, "There's a potential in every boy and girl here and everywhere. But first, we must unlock their hearts. And we've always said that Shep's Christmas present did that, and continues to do so to this day."

     Strange, isn't it? That the love of a dog can tap the underlying love of people so deeply.

                             

                            Merry Christmas, everyone!

                                   Ray Loftesness II