via All aboard Amtrak fever in Bristol | Opinion | heraldcourier.com

I’ve always been proud of the fact that my family is anchored in our own small way to Bristol’s locomotive history. I have an old photograph of my grandfather, a man I never met. In the picture, he is standing alongside a train engine, clad in overalls — no doubt Pointer Brand. He is grinning from ear to ear, covered by what appears to be a thin layer of coal dust. My grandfather worked as a fireman on a steam train that ran out of Bristol, shoveling heaps of coal into the furnace to keep the train moving.

Trains have been coming and going into Bristol since the 19th century. Early on, they brought people and, for a time, wounded soldiers fresh from Civil War battles.

Of course, it has been a long time since anyone caught the train from Bristol — but there is hope that it may soon happen again.

Over the last few years, a lot of people have been at work to entice Amtrak to include Bristol as one of its connecting points. In fact, a delegation of folks from Bristol made their way up to Roanoke last week to make sure Amtrak executives know we are very much on board with getting passenger service back here. I, for one, was glad to hear that.

However, I mentioned it to someone and I got an answer that, well, frankly highlights an attitude in our community that needs to take the first train out. When I mentioned the possibility of Amtrak in Bristol, she laughed and said, “Nothing like that is ever going to happen here. Why would they pick Bristol?” Ugh.

I can think of a lot of reasons why Amtrak ought to make this a hub. For one thing, our station is ready to go, and we are perfectly situated to connect the eastern corridor with the rest of the south. I know a few people who are ready to use Amtrak out of Bristol to commute to their offices in D.C. and New York.

But, our community isn’t a jumping-off point; we are becoming more of a destination, too. We’ve got two new hotels coming on, an amazing museum, great restaurants, pubs, a top-notch bakery and Rhythm and Roots. Plus, the natural beauty here is a huge draw, especially when combined with riding on a train. In other words, a lot of people will take the train out of the hustle of, for example, D.C. to enjoy long weekends in our region.

And the majority of people here will welcome it with open arms, even the handful of naysayers. Some folks have been through a lot over the years, and sometimes it is easier to think nothing good will ever happen here than it is to risk getting their hopes up. Every so often, though, we have to be reminded that hope can make great things happen.

This is an interesting and crucial time in Bristol’s history — not because we are looking back but because we are looking forward and putting the pieces together for what can be a pretty amazing future. And somehow, it is right that trains have the possibility of factoring into that story of our community.

If enough people want to make passenger trains in Bristol a reality, we can make it happen. I do not think that Amtrak officials are likely to ignore a community that offers as much as we do as well as the potential for future growth. Every chance we get, we ought to make them aware of what they are missing here in Bristol.

Who knows? Maybe one day, one of your grandkids will look at a photograph of you boarding an Amtrak train at the Bristol Train Station.

Mark Hutton is an award-winning writer, ordained minister and adjunct faculty member for the Philosophy and Religion Department at King University. He is a member of the Bristol Herald Courier’s Board of Contributors. Board members are regular Opinion page contributors, and opinions expressed do not necessarily represent those of this newspaper staff and management.

Source: Mischief on All Hallow’s Eve | Opinion | heraldcourier.com

It was close to 10 p.m. when there came a gentle knocking, almost a tapping on our front door. At first, I thought it was the wind, but then they rang the bell, and I knew it was much more. Nothing good can come from a knock on the door so late in the evening. I half expected something wicked to come our way when I opened up the door, but all that was there was a Halloween bag — just that and nothing more. The bag itself was filled with treats, candy and a note that read, “You’ve been booed! Now you go and boo someone, too.”

Getting booed is fairly new to the lineup of Halloween mischief-making traditions. I’m not sure where it started, but I think it is awesome. After all, Halloween needs a bit of harmless fun to be, well, Halloween. But I must emphasize the word “little,” which in this case means “not scary.”

For years, Halloween brought out the joker in me, which is why the idea of booing a neighbor seems like fun. Back in the day, I was known to have fun at another’s expense. In fact, I probably owe a few people an apology for the gross (yes, gross) of eggs that were lobbed from a certain golf course toward a certain house every Halloween.

I also knew a few places around Bristol that offered opportunities to scare the unsuspecting and all-too-trusting. There was a long-abandoned house not far from Exit 7 that once provided the perfect setting to scare the beegeebers out of folks — lured there by an accomplice who will go unnamed. There was also a secluded campsite on the lake that allowed for the sort of surprise no one wants when they are camping. All of that was a lot of fun — well, for me.

But there was one Halloween when a dark and curvy stretch of road and a plan to scare my wife backfired in a way that made me appreciate harmless, less scary mischief.

If you are a long-time resident of Bristol, you may remember the gloomy train trestle that once stood in the bend of Benham Road. Even in the daylight, the trestle was unnerving. It was constructed of massive, creosote-laden posts that seemed medieval. The trestle spanned the road at the bottom of a curving slope. It appeared in an instant. If the sight of it wasn’t enough to chill you, then the stories about it would.

The best one I heard involved a soldier who was hung there during the Civil War. Some said that, at night, if you parked underneath it, you could hear his body swaying on the rope. Creepy, right? Just the perfect setup to scare a date — or so I thought.

One Halloween night, I drove my wife out to the trestle. Along the way, I told her those stories, and I made up a few more. I pulled up underneath the trestle, cut the engine and suggested we get out to find if we could hear the soldier swing. She, wisely, wanted no part in my foolish plan. Undeterred, I clamored out of the car and went to sit on the hood, hoping she’d join me.

All of a sudden, from out of nowhere, a white, feral cat jumped on the hood of my car. It is difficult to remain calm in a moment like that. The only reason I did not scream was because I lost the ability to speak. And while my heart was exploding and my knees buckling, I noticed that my wife was in hysterics, laughing. She had seen the cat as soon as we pulled up and thought I had, too.

After that night, I started to reflect upon the error of my ways. While I realize the great value of a little mischief on Halloween, I also recognize the goodness of simply booing someone rather than trying to scare the life out of them. After all, the night the cat jumped on the car, the only person laughing was my wife. But the night that we got booed, well, we all got candy bars and really liked whoever it was that gently rapped on our front door — it was all in fun and nothing more. May your Halloween be filled with treats and not tricks.

I’ve been told by more than a few of my friends that I am a coffee snob, and I’m OK with that. (Of course, I could quit drinking it anytime,

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