At 17, I was dating nurses and selling bootleg whiskey from the trunk of my mother's car at my very posh prep school, in Minnesota. Mother didn't want me to be going out late which put a cramp in my style; so, I arranged to have a few anarchist friends drive me close to the Canadian border.
I was amazed how easy it was to cross the border without anyone knowing. Thinking my mother just may have had a premonition, as she was proven capable in the past, I wanted to avoid her perhaps alerting the border guards so I walked across a farmer's field about half a mile from the border post and in the midst of a woods further on, there was a gold painted post stuck in the ground 'USA' - 'Canada' on each side.
I spent my first week in Winnipeg working in a chicken and turkey hatchery, while staying in a loft room for a dollar a day. With the money I made, I travelled to Toronto; then returned to the States via Buffalo, NY, where I began working in Manpower agencies and staying nights in Missions or the Salvation Army.
I had hitchhiked close to the Pennsylvania border where I found a freight train headed due west. It was twilight. I wiggled the flimsy metal seal on the door bolt till it broke off and opened the door with great effort; then hopped aboard feeling very chuffed with myself. Just as though it had been scripted for a film the cars began to slowly move - gratifyingly in the the desired direction.
After tiring of watching the scenery from my private coach, I went off to sleep. When I awoke, it was to a nightmare.
I was in a dark cabin permeated by what looked like the laser beams in vaults you see in modern day bank robbery movies. They were caused by sunlight penetrating the pin prick holes in the freight car. The car wasn't moving. Evidently all the cars were being shifted around and the concussion of being hit by a new car from behind slammed the door shut while I was sleeping. With all the strength I could muster, I couldn't budge the heavy steel door.
I had a half pack of cigarettes, a small box of Sun Maid Raisins, and tooth paste to sustain me as I prayed and shouted for three days. On the third day, I was startled by what appeared to be a bolt of lightening within my box car. Because my eyes were so unaccustomed to the light, it was understandable. It took a few seconds to realise the car had been hit again from behind opening and then shutting the heavy door in a split second. I searched for a piece of wood and leaned against the door hoping another hit would give me the chance to insert the wood preventing the door from jamming again.
In the space of 2 minutes, it happened again; yet, so violently the stick of wood was unnecessary as the door flew wide open as I fell backwards ass over tea kettle into the gravel and tracks. I was fine and had a good look around realising why no one could hear me all the time I was shouting - all the cars were manoeuvred by a guy way up in a tower about a football's pitch up in the air.
I was hungry and thirsty and clambered up the steep slope towards the highway where across the road was a bar diner. I saddled up on the red Naugahyde swivell stool and asked for a Bud draught and a double cheeseburger. Heaven!
I hadn't spoken to anyone in 3 days and spilled out the entire ordeal to the bartender. He said "did you hear about the two boys who got stuck in a freight car for 22 days? They survived off the dregs of empty beer bottles which were being shipped in their car. 22 days".
Who was the luckiest?