Zephyr

The west wind is known as a zephyr.  It is a gentle breeze that carries seeds in its hands and drops them along its way.  What a great name for a train.  

Beginning on the first of February, 1953, the CB&Q Railroad began the Kansas City Zephyr.  It took advantage of the Kansas City shortcut, a new section of track that trimmed two hours off the trip from Chicago to Kansas City designed to compete directly with the AT&F’s California Zephyr.  The KCZ was often sold out and getting a ticket took planning ahead.  The final run of the Kansas City Zephyr was in April of 1968, signaling a milestone in how we traveled that might have been a major event had it not occurred in such a tumultuous time.

Situated west of the Chicago River between Jackson and Adams Streets was Union Station with the main entrance into the Great Hall located on South Canal just outside the Loop.  Most of the station was below ground beneath the skyscrapers that became the recognizable skyline of Second City.  From Union Station it was a short taxi ride to Wesley Memorial Hospital in the Streeterville community.  For those years, from the early 50’s until the mid 1960’s, my trips to Chicago were always about one surgery or another to correct the effects of being born with spina bifida.

But these trips were adventures laced with excitement and fun.  I knew that before we headed to catch the KC Zephyr, westbound #35, that we would make a visit to Marshall Fields on the miracle mile of Michigan Avenue.  Frequently our trips occurred during the Christmas break from school and that meant that the city was festooned with the decorations right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  Street lights held bells and ivy and every street side window was dressed with an animated Christmas scene.  They were the idealized Christmas of magazines and sentimental stories accompanied by music played in the streets and in every department store.  Even when the wind was crisp and in your face, you just had to hum along as you leaned into the wind and walked.

Marshall Fields had a huge clock near the front entrance that chimed every quarter hour.  Inside the revolving door the smells of women’s perfume and baked goods blended into a mixture that seemed to make the crowds of people smile and walk a little slower.  The center of the store was an atrium that was at least four stories high - the perfect spot for a Christmas tree that must have been fifty feet or more.  On each floor you could see it from a different perspective until from the fourth floor you could look slightly down upon the star at its top.

My favorite place in the store was the magician’s shop.  There was always a magician performing new tricks.  He’d find a nickel behind my ear or pick the queen of hearts right out of a deck of cards.  He could make the plumes on a small rope jump as if they were connected and then move in sequence like two separate dancers.  Treasures were plucked from an empty hat only to disappear from his hand into thin air.  Each trip there was my chance to add a magic trick to my repertoire that I’d practice on the train so I could mystify Dad.   

On the fourth floor we’d get in line to eat in the cafe and would always ask for a table that overlooked the Christmas tree.  This part of the day usually marked the time when the Chicago stay was ending.  The meal was simple but it allowed a short rest because I was often using crutches to get around.  By mid-afternoon we would need to be out on Michigan Ave hailing a cab to Union Station.  

In the Great Hall were wooden benches much larger than the pews at church - and a lot more comfortable too.  Here we sat and listened - listened until our train was called, usually on track #8 in the south half of the station.  When the announcement came it sounded like a cantor singing a slow madrigal tune listing the direction, departure and some of the stops (Kansas City Zephyr, departing rack #8 at 5:05 for LaGrange Road, Kewanee, Galesburg, Quincy, and points west) for the westbound #36.  

Mom and I would find seats in a chair car close to the Vista Dome car.  After the double click of getting our ticket punched, we could go up and watch the city disappear as we headed toward the setting sun.  After dark and back in our seats, we’d play cribbage and eat crackers and candy bars before falling asleep to the rhythm of the wheels on rails.  This gentle breeze, our zephyr, carried us to Kansas City where Dad was waiting on the platform as the westbound #36 rolled to its stop.  He’d carry the bags, and sometimes me, out to the car that had no name but was the zephyr that carried us home.

--td