The Chicken-Bone Express!
The journey of life is like a train ride! I have taken Amtrak’s City of New Orleans numerous times between Chicago and Memphis and once from Chicago to Jackson, Mississippi. People board and people deboard just as people come into our lives and leave out of our lives. As in life, some stay for the entire trip and others are present for shorter periods of time.
They bring their own wares with them and quite like meeting passengers on a train, some bring joy and laughter. Some drop pearls of wisdom and some crack jokes to lighten everybody’s load. And some, unfortunately, bring darkness and the heavy curtains of doom.
Most people on the City of New Orleans are on a mission. For me, it was to visit family for leisure, attend a funeral of a loved one or go back to the college campus to complete my studies. There were a few stops along the way where sleepy college students boarded the train with pillows and backpacks at some ungodly hour to get on or off at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign or Southern Illinois University- Carbondale. The routes have been altered over the years. They were generally knocked out and caught some Z’s and often they had cars away from the others.
But we, The Chicken-Bone Expressers, had our own section and it was generally more lively as people chatted or comforted each other because many had gone deep into their pockets and were traveling to bury their relatives. It was called The Chicken-Bone Express because black people fried up some chicken, wrapped their Coca Colas in tin foil (aluminum foil) to keep them cool and placed their treasures in a shoe box. (Their magic lunch boxes.)
And when hunger hit, they could simply lift the lid of the box and chow down during the long ten or eleven- hour journey either heading North or South. It was the BYO (Bring Your Own) before the phrase was even coined. It was probably born decades ago to be cost-effective and/or black folks could not eat in the dining car or use the eating area on the segregated trains. And, the BYO stuck and was passed down to the next several generations.
People were generally kind, well-mannered and again, they were often going to visit a sick one, go bury someone or just visit family, in general. I do not recall anyone being rude or trying to pilfer others’ possessions while they were sleeping though I am certain there were some low-lifes around. Thank goodness for that Invisible Divine Protection that shielded us from the unblinking eyes of the wolves in sheep’s clothing.
Years ago, The Chicken Bone Express, I mean the City of New Orleans used to stop at 63rd Street in Chicago. It was a whistle stop before heading on to The Loop, so our cousins knew that they’d better jump off in time. But that was a long time ago and now the train goes all the way into The Loop unless family is getting off in the South Suburbs at the Homewood Station.
The last time my aunt and cousins came up in 2010, we drove to Union Station in The Loop to get them. They had upgraded to a First Class Ride! It was a joyous reunion and the minute we saw them being driven on one of the little trolley-like carts, we all burst out in laughter. We knew that it would be just a matter of time before the stories rolled out about who they saw, who they laughed at or who got on their nerves during their long ride on The Chicken Bone Express.
Lynn M.
October 7, 2023
