the train takes me home
My husband Bob took this photograph at the train station in Newton, Kansas. I am pointing towards Chicago.
Kansas Story #2
My dad loved our Mennonite Anabaptist heritage and its history. He collected stories, photos, artwork, letters and other items for historical value and stored them in bedroom closets or dusty file cabinets in the garage. After dad died, my family had to decide what to do with his files. I discovered a ten page story typed, single spaced, about a Mennonite family immigrating from Southern Russia to Kansas. I kept this story both in my heart and in my dusty closet.
This harrowing story has similarities to many present day immigrant stories. In 1910, David and Anna Reimer and their 8 children boarded a ship to the U.S. headed for a Galveston, Texas, the closest port to Hillsboro, Kansas. The Reimer family sold their property in Southern Russia, and were joining other Mennonite families, including my relatives, already settled in Kansas.
When the ship arrived at Galveston, every immigrant had to be examined by a doctor before they were allowed to leave the ship. Three of the youngest Reimer children, Anna, 8, Elizabeth, 6 and Cornelius, 4 contracted severe cases of the measles and were sent to a local hospital to recover. Three of the older sons were diagnosed with trachoma and had to remain on the ship. Mr. Reimer and the two remaining children were free to leave.
Trachoma is still the leading cause of blindness worldwide and is especially contagious among the young. Any immigrant found to have trachoma was not allowed to enter the country.
I am guessing Mr. Reimer didn’t fully understand the ramifications of leaving the ship with his sons still onboard, and he was busy caring for other family members as well. Then, the unimaginable happened. Without warning, his three young sons still onboard, the ship slowly left port to return to Europe. Mr. Reimer witnessed Issac, 14, Peter, 12, and Jacob,10, waving to him from the ship’s railing as it departed. It must have been heart breaking.
It took several months for the three young boys on their own to find relatives still in Russia. Upon their arrival, they learned that tragically their sister, Elizabeth, 6, had died of the measles.
In the U.S., the Reimer family settled in Kansas. The Mennonite community wanted to help the grieving family desperate to reunite with their young sons. There were no telephone calls. They could only send telegraphs, letters and lots of prayers. Eventually, a church member was hired and sent to Russia to locate and accompany the boys on a second trip to the U.S. This second trip, with many delays, also took months. At least, they had a chaperone.
Finally, in November of 1912, the three boys arrived by ship in the U.S. for the second time. Unfortunately, the boys were again found to have trachoma. This time, because the Reimer family was already residing in the U.S. and had applied for citizenship, the boys were allowed to recover at a U.S. hospital.
The long awaited reunion with their parents was so close. Peter was the first to be released from the hospital and reunite with his parents. Finally, on April 6, 1912, eighteen months since separated in Texas, mom and dad waited at the Newton train station for Jacob and Issac, and with great relief, they were finally home.
Almost hundred years later, my Mennonite dad waited at the Newton train station for my train from Chicago to arrive. For many years, I took Amtrak’s passenger train, the Southwest Chief, leaving at 2:30 p.m. from Chicago’s Union Station to Kansas.
My trips home would begin with me walking to the nearest elevated train station, dragging my suitcase behind me. While waiting for the train on the platform above the street, I would always take a last look over the urban neighborhood below: apartment buildings, stores, advertisements, graffiti, traffic and the parade of pedestrians always walking the sidewalks.
In Newton, my dad was always waiting for me, sitting in his 4-door green Ford parked just feet from the train tracks. We didn’t say much on the short thirty mile trip home to Hillsboro, maybe because it was 3:30 a.m.
As the sun started rising, Dad turned off the two lane highway onto a thirteen mile country road lined with wheat fields and a dozen familiar farms with some cattle grazing. On the horizon, I could see Hillsboro’s grain elevator and water tower. The town is quiet and there is no traffic. I am finally home.
My story of immigration from a rural community to an urban community is vastly different than the Reimer boys. However, I am delighted that I met my dad at the same station. The train tracks connect me to my past. I kept this story and it’s now in my file cabinet.
Please note: I want to give credit to Cornelius Reimer who typed his name at the end of the story. This story may have been published at one time but I was unable to find it.
Take it or leave it suggestion #17 Look through dusty file cabinets
The train takes me back to Chicago.