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BY STEVE BARRY PHOTOS BY THE AUTHOR


RAIN. What was a shower has in- tensified into a full-fledged down- pour. Off in the distance the sound of a steam whistle is heard, but any echo it might make along the Connecticut River is swallowed by the pounding precipitation. Still, not to be outdone by Mother Na- ture, the distant locomotive in- creases its labors until its drenched exhaust can be heard. A glow appears on the rails around a curve, and suddenly the warning bell at the grade crossing comes to life, red lights flashing. A lone car — an Edsel at that — rolls up just as the engineer pulls down the whistle cord. Two longs, a short and a long warn anyone within earshot, then the engine passes, its short freight in tow. A red caboose, made even redder by the dark sur- roundings, punctuates the local, then it’s gone. The Edsel moves on and all that is left is the rain...


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