Dispatches from Home – A Train Full of Memories.

“Look, Mom, look! The train’s flying over the water!” As the Louisville and Nashville train, the Hummingbird, sprinted across the Bay St. Louis Bridge, a wide-eyed ten-year-old boy could see no land, only the early morning sunlight glistening across the waters of the Bay. To that imaginative child, the train was airborne, flying along toward its destination—New Orleans.

That child was me, of course, and I can still vividly recall the aromas of the dining car: sizzling bacon and eggs, steaming coffee, and the distinct scents of Evening in Paris perfume and Aqua Velva aftershave. The dining car, a relic from the 1940s, was a sight to behold—abundant etched glass panels, deep navy-blue carpet, and silver, art-deco light fixtures. The tables were adorned with crisp, white tablecloths, clinking silverware, and elegant blue and white restaurant china. A silver vase graced the table, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers. Sixty-three years later, last Wednesday, October 1, 2025, I took another train ride to New Orleans aboard Amtrak’s Mardi Gras. Sitting in the train’s dining car, I could not help but notice that gone were the smells of a freshly cooked breakfast. Gone, too, were the tablecloths, the china, the silver, and the flowers.

The train car was typical of Amtrak’s current décor—clean, sleek, with no embellishments and a rubber-tile floor. However, despite the change in aesthetics, the train still offered a comfortable and enjoyable journey, with modern amenities such as Wi-Fi and a variety of snacks, hamburgers, and hot dogs. But there was one thing that hadn’t changed in sixty-three years: the glistening sunlit waters across the Bay and the mesmerizing, steady rhythm of steel wheels atop miles of steel track.

My dear friend, Shannon Arzola, invited me to accompany her and her ten-year-old granddaughter, Fallon, to ride the train and then enjoy the Titanic Exhibition in the old Scottish Rite Temple on Carondelet Street. The exhibition, a comprehensive display of artifacts and information about the ill-fated ship, was a dream come true for Fallon, who shares my profound love of all things Titanic. We were met at the train depot by another dear friend, Jody Bailey. We then rode to the Hilton Hotel. He gave the car keys to a valet, and into the hotel we sauntered for a delightful lunch at Lukes. The restaurant is Creole-inspired, with a touch of the French, which warmed us with its warm, energetic ambiance. The food and the service were excellent! However, the ambiance and the food were the least of Fallon’s interests—the Titanic was!

Having already experienced the exhibition in April, I was excited to see it anew through the eyes of a child, who, like me, was captivated by the Titanic. She was full of questions, some of which I could answer, and others we had to look up. Her fascination peaked when I shared the fact that the iconic images of the Grand Staircase are not from the Titanic, but its sister ship, Olympic. There are no known photographs of the Titanic’s grand staircase.

She was saddened when I told her about Sidney Goodwin, the 19-month-old British toddler whose body was recovered by the Mackay-Bennett after the sinking. For almost a century, the child’s gravestone in Halifax’s Fairview Cemetery read “Erected to the memory of an unknown child whose remains were recovered after the disaster to the Titanic, April 15, 1912”. Because the child’s baby shoes had been passed down through the years, though, in 2007, DNA testing conclusively identified the child’s remains as those of the little toddler.

As the afternoon sun sank low in the sky, we went to visit Jody’s lovely home. A designer’s masterpiece it was! Thick, heavy brocade velvet drapes hung at the windows, imported hand-blocked French wallpaper graced the dining room walls, and crystal chandeliers sparkled in the sunshine. Shannon and I were most impressed by the huge paintings that adorned his house. Splashes of just color jumped out of one; another was that of a gauzy-looking figure, awash in grey, white, and black, a gilded crown atop its head. Another painting held court in the living room. It was draped in strange clothing, and like the other painting, a scarlet crown sat at a rakish angle atop the figure’s head. The artist certainly had a “crown” fetish. ()

Dashing back to the depot, we hugged Jody goodbye and boarded the Mardi Gras for home. As the train slowly cleared the train yard around five o’clock, little did we know that it would be after ten o’clock before we got home. The rail lines between Mobile and New Orleans are owned by the CSX Railroad, which operates freight service between those two cities. Amtrak, therefore, must rent rail times from CSX, and its freight trains always have the right of way. Going to New Orleans, we were only sidelined once, letting the slower freight trains pass. Coming home was another story.

Our troubles began once the tangerine sun started to settle in the west. Rumbling along through the swamps and down through the Rigolets, the waterways were lush with Bald Cypress trees crowned with Spanish moss. Huge white swamp lilies floated in the tawny-brown water, as purplish milkweed flowers stood sentinel on the banks. Alas, no alligators were to be seen. We noticed our train slowing, and we were sidetracked again. You could feel the pull of the freight train as it dashed by us. We continued along our way, the passengers lively, laughing, and having a good time. However, as the evening progressed, our train was further delayed due to a technical issue on one of the freight trains in front of us, adding an unexpected twist to our journey.

After her long day, Fallon was in and out of sleep as our train gently swayed back and forth. Shannon and I talked away the evening, but were eventually interrupted by an announcement from the Conductor. “Ladies and Gentlemen, there’s a bit of trouble on the track ahead. That’s why we’re slowing down. We’ll be on our way soon.” We could hear additional information being relayed over his walkie-talkie. (More on his walkie-talkie below.)

About thirty minutes later, he made another announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve been informed that the first train in front of us has a hot wheel, which must be repaired and then inspected. Settle back, get some snacks in the dining car, and get comfortable. We may be here for a while.” A hot wheel refers to the overheating of a train car’s wheel due to the brakes and brake shoes rubbing against the wheel tread. That can result in thermal cracking if severe. Hummmm. Not good!

Needless to say, the Conductor’s words were not the ones that Shannon and I wanted to hear. The sun eventually set, and darkness surrounded us. The lights on the train blazed, the A/C purred, and we sat. You could see only the darkness of the night looking back at you through the windows. Occasionally, we would inch forward. I’m assuming the two trains in front of us were able to do the same. Once, we moved forward for about ten minutes. Little by little, occasional streetlights came into view, and I knew our next stop, Bay St. Louis, was not far away. I told Shannon that if we ever got to the Bay, we were getting off the train. There was no guarantee we’d make it to Gulfport, and we couldn’t get off the train until we did.

When we arrived in the Bay, it was after 9:00. There is no station there, so we were left on the train platform with a few other passengers, wondering how we’d get home. I called my taxi service, but all were closed. Thankfully, a friendly police lady rode up and got us a cab. It took almost an hour for it to arrive, but finally we made it home. Now, you might be wondering, will I take the train to New Orleans again? You can bet your sweet Maltese bibby I will, my friends! A few words of advice, though:

1. When making plans, keep your dance card free for your evening return, ’cause you might miss the ball, Cinderella.

2. If you’re traveling Business Class, as we did, upon entering the train, walk past the dining car. The car behind it is for Business Class passengers. Failure to establish your “class” by the dining car attendant may result in you being charged for a service that is included in the price of your ticket. I didn’t know to do that, so I paid for food/drinks that were included in my ticket.

3. Don’t sit in the dining car near the Conductor. We did and lived to regret it. His walkie-talkie was loud and obnoxious; there were times when we could not hear. Others around him were visibly annoyed, as well. Shannon asked one of the Service Crew what could be done. He said, “Nothing really. That’s the Conductor, and he can sit where he wants to, and pretty much do what he wants to, ’cause he’s the Conductor.”

Well, my dear friends, there you have it—A Train Full of Memories. I’m happy for the arrival of the Mardi Gras in dear old Gulfport, and I wish it well. If more people ride it, perhaps more departures and arrivals will be added to the train’s schedule. It would be wonderful to take the train to New Orleans, have lunch, see a show at the Saenger, and then come home by train. The scenery is serene, the sway of the train peaceful, and the clickety-clack of the rails alluring. I love to travel by train! Perhaps if you board the Mardi Gras, you will, too.

Big hug, y’all!