Since I had a few comments on the last missive about the strike I thought I’d use the power of the pen to write one more, even though I promised I wouldn’t. These comments made me so enraged I think I need once more to explain the Midwestern values. Two of thee comments were “How much did you get paid to work in the plant during the work stoppage?” I took this as a personal affront. For over 25 years the company had treated me with dignity and respect. I felt it was my place to help them anyway I could in their time of need. Money was the furthest thing from my mind. We were salary employees and were used to working extra hours.. The time away from the family, the golf course or the bar was of no concern. Let’s win one for the company. Now if you believe any of that shit please reply to me as I also have a bridge I want to sell. But on with the story. The first 5 days or so were hell. Trying to do things you really had very little idea of what to do. Operating a locomotive with awesome power and I didn’t even realize until it was over. Hell, my dad used to shudder when I took his little 350 horsepower car. But after 10 days we had it pretty much had it in hand and the boredom began to set in. But then we had a little change of heart on payday. Everyone that worked in the plant, no matter it be a mail room person or a guy at the top, got his regular pay for the first 40 hours plus an additional $40 dollars for each hour over 40. That’s when the true value system kicked in. If you were still in the office and knew anyone in the plant that may have the power to get you a job in the plant, he got a call. I even got calls that were like “I know you must have a cushy job, is the any way I can get there to help you?” The answers were always no. My group had been haphazardly put together. Day one there was 4 or 5 of us. Afterward there was me and 1 or two others regular plant people and I never knew which one to expect they both had regular jobs in the plant that had to be attended to. The only person I knew that got to the plant was a friend named Steve. He was the Director of Transportation. He somehow convinced the powers to be that he should take this opportunity to learn how the railcars were handled in the plant because it was ultimately his responsibility. At about 8:15 one morning he announced to my partner and me that I should teach him how to drive the track-mobile. Needless to say his presentation went over like a fart in church. My partner that day was the head plant electrician who immediately said “ Well since you here I’ll take this opportunity to help with the electrical problem in 9 building” and left. I had played softball for years with Steve and had always expected he was a little light in the loafers. He was in his 40’s and single which supported my belief, but this last bit of conniving was enough in my mind to seal the deal. We had been on our way to break, but this would be a good opportunity to train him. So, I continued on and made up work in between calls. The next day my original helper didn’t show up for work, which was arranged in the breakfast line. I got even better at make up work and damn I didn’t have time to train him that day either. The third day was even better. I was doing make up work in the East End of the plant as the thunderclouds rolled in. They finally burst open in late afternoon and Steve headed for shelter in the track-mobile with me. I explained we had a lot more to get done and this rain may last a while. I handed him some rain clothes from the back of the track-mobile and did the rain or snow ………. Thing and said we got to go. It rained like last Friday. Steve got grease on his gloves and then an itch on his face. By the end of the day he looked like death warmed over. Steve never came back. Don’t know why, I told him we could probably have time for training this weekend when things were slow. After the strike Steve surprisingly announced he was getting married to a fine younger looking girl in his department. About a year later she delivered a set of twins. In my bigoted way of thinking I am still wondering if somebody else had it in for him.

Henry and Alice have been married for 58 years, and they still hold hands like teenagers. They met at a church picnic in 1965 when Alice accidentally spilled lemonade on Henry's shoes. He smiled and told her, "You just gave me the perfect reason to talk to you." They built a life full of love, raising four children, and traveling across the country in their RV. Today, they enjoy slow mornings, old love songs, and sharing stories with their grandchildren. For them, growing old together is not just a blessing — it's the greatest adventure.

In the heart of rural Georgia during the spring of 1942, two seventeen-year-olds met for the first time in a small, segregated church basement. The place smelled faintly of wood polish and hymnals, and the air was filled with the harmonies of a community choir practice. Malcolm, quiet and thoughtful, had a voice that resonated like a warm baritone saxophone. Evelyn, graceful and radiant, sang soprano like the morning sun breaking through clouds. After rehearsal, Malcolm, clutching his hat in nervous hands, asked if he could walk Evelyn home. She smiled — soft, but sure — and said yes. That walk home would become the first step in a journey of love that would last more than eight decades. Their early courtship was marked by Sunday strolls, handwritten letters, and shy glances across the church pews. But the world was changing fast. America was deep in World War II, and Malcolm was drafted into the Army. He kissed Evelyn goodbye at the train station with a promise: “If God brings me back, I’ll never leave your side again.” While he served overseas, Evelyn kept herself busy — working as a teacher's assistant, helping care for her siblings, and leading the youth choir at church. But every night, she sat by the oil lamp and read Malcolm’s letters — full of longing, love, and hope. In return, she wrote pages filled with faith and quiet strength. Malcolm came home in 1946. He had seen war, hardship, and loss, but when he saw Evelyn again, smiling in her Sunday best under the Georgia sun, he knew peace. They married that fall, in the same church where they first met. Over the next twenty years, they built a life from scratch. They bought a small wooden house with green shutters, raised three children, and worked tirelessly — Malcolm as a school janitor by day and night student in engineering, Evelyn as a teacher and community choir leader. They lived through the civil rights movement not as distant observers, but as participants. They marched in protests, hosted meetings in their home, and taught their children to stand tall in the face of injustice. Life wasn’t always easy — money was tight, racism was everywhere, and sometimes the burdens felt too heavy. But through it all, they leaned on each other. Every morning began with prayer and black coffee. Every night ended with shared laughter or a quiet moment on the porch. As the years passed, their children grew up and had children of their own. Malcolm and Evelyn, now grandparents, found new joy in watching their legacy bloom. They traveled when they could, explored jazz clubs in New Orleans, walked through civil rights museums in Birmingham, and danced slow to Billie Holiday in their living room. By their 70s and 80s, they had grown old together in the truest sense. Wrinkles etched their hands, but they still held them tightly. Their voices were softer, but their love had only deepened. Every afternoon, they sat on rocking chairs on their porch, telling stories to neighborhood kids who came just to listen — stories about love, faith, and history. On their 80th wedding anniversary, surrounded by five generations of family, they renewed their vows. Evelyn, dressed in lavender, held Malcolm’s trembling hands as he whispered, “Evelyn, every breath since I met you has been a blessing.” She replied, voice cracking with emotion, “And every day with you has been pure grace.” Now, at 100 and 98 years old, Malcolm and Evelyn remain side by side. Their minds are sharp, their eyes full of light. Theirs is not just a love story, but a life story — one of resilience, friendship, faith, and unbreakable connection. They proved that true love isn’t found in grand gestures, but in the quiet, steady choice to keep showing up — year after year, decade after decade. Their story lives on, not just in memory, but in the lives they've touched and the love they've shown.