Railroad Raiders and Train Hoppers, by John Miller

During the late ‘70s, I was 13 years old and had a passion for the railroad yards. My friends and I spent all our free time at the tracks. That’s what we called them back then. “Let’s go to the tracks,” was uttered when we were bored or had free time. Wintertime, we would head to the railroad yard and wait for a slow train to ride to the pines. The pines were five miles west of Plymouth, behind the old Detroit House of Corrections.

Jumping a moving train took skills and guts and a lot of 13-year-old stupidity. We would look for trains carrying automobiles because we could climb inside and listen to the radio. Once we arrived at our destination, we would jump off the train or, if it was slow enough, just run next to it while hanging on and letting go. Hopefully, we were not rewarded with a face full of snow.

We would collect ourselves and head into the pines, which consisted of about 100 acres of pine trees. The lower branches of the pine trees were dead, so collecting wood and starting fire was easy. Then we would tell stories about ourselves and our family lives. They went from fun to depressing as hell.

Young boys excel at poking fun at each other. I made the mistake of telling my buddy Greg I was afraid of bears and sharks, which I felt were reasonable fears. My friends would point out there were no bears in Plymouth Township and very few sharks.

Along the railroad tracks, there were many large woods and fields where we built our forts. As any young boy will tell you, his fort is his castle. We did not just build any lean-to fort with boards leaning on each other—we built castles. One such underground castle had electric lights and switches. The biggest castle was actually a log cabin made from 72 trees. The cabin was 30’ by 20’ and had a bunk bed and fireplace and locking front door.

The trip home from train-catching was cold and wet, and catching a train was not always in the cards. No train meant walking the five miles home after a long day of cold-to-freezing temperatures. Arriving home by 5 p.m. was essential so I wouldn’t get into trouble with my parents. Arriving home was the end of the trail, and then we looked forward to the next train adventure.

My friends and I have grown up and moved on with families, house payments and the first of us to die way too young, Larry Pappler. He passed away days after I wrote this story at age 50. I have made new friends and buddies since those childhood adventures, but none that have helped me become the man I am today like those railroad raiders and train hoppers.