My story goes back to the Steam Age in a little town in the hills of Southern Illinois. It is a railroad town. It is Reevesville.

The time is late, both for the steam engines that pass through and for the town itself, for the era of the small town is ending. The railroad is the Illinois Central, noted for the Panama Limited and Harry Nave, agent, columnist, poet, philosopher and my maternal grandfather. The town knows not the comings and goings of the Panama, as the main passenger line runs some miles to the west; but Reevesville is well aware of the gray-haired man in the small frame depot next to the tracks.

Reevesville lies in a rural setting of high wooded bluffs, winding creeks and gravel roads. It boasts of two churches, two general stores, a school, a restaurant ( the I C Café, what else! ) , a scattering of homes and the depot. It is a friendly, sleepy town, having no tavern, theatre, drug store, doctor or lawyer.
The first sounds of the morning are a local rooster and a northbound banana run up from the docks of New Orleans, running hard for Markham Yard. If it is summer, Harry Nave probably will have his breakfast out on the small porch to the rear of his house, before taking up his duties as first trick operator.

Frank Marberry, next door, will also be up, preparing to pilot the Golconda District local on its daily except Sunday_ excursion. A few minutes hence he will back old No. 764, with its small string of cars and quaint caboose, down to the depot to pick up any LCL and receive a clearance from my grandfather.

The morning proceeds with a succession of fast freights and coal drags, the latter up from western Kentucky. But the highlight of the day is the arrival of No. 341 from the main line at Carbondale. It will swing into town at about 11 o'clock, give or take a couple of hours, and pull up on the southbound main opposite the depot, there to exchange a few parcels of freight and let folks catch up on local gossip. This is one of my very favorite runs, since it carries directly behind the engine an old faded green express car, which in this otherwise freight-only region gives me visions of fast flying "limiteds".

The glory of the solitary express car fades somewhat, however, when it is learned that the most important articles aboard are milk cans and crates of chickens. But the express messenger does pack a small pistol, and for myself and companions, this is quite sufficient to discourage an intended holdup of the "Carbondale Limited" in true Jesse James style. The milk and chickens are safe.

As the day progresses, the sun rises higher and the temperature rises correspondingly. Perhaps the best way to cool off is to turn the spigot of the water faucet next to the depot skyward, and direct the flow over everyone.

Late afternoon is a sleepy time in Reevesville, with the sun just beginning its descent over the bluff to the west. It is a good time to climb up into the cab of old 764 and imagine one is bringing the Limited throgh on time.

Now Pappy has turned his duties over to the second trick man, and is slowly walking up the small rise to the house that has the Nave name on the mailbox for as long as most people can remember. It is late not only in the day, but late also for him, for with his less- than- perfect heart, he must stop sometimes to rest during the half-block trip. However, he has no intention of retiring, and only he and the Lord know how he has managed to pass the railroad physical examination.

If it happens to be a Sunday, Grandfather Nave will exchange his secular duties as agent for the more sacred ones of Methodist Sunday School superintendent. Yours truly is also escorted to the little white frame church, and although the congregation singing lustily may at times be slightly off key, the company is good.
Anyway, in summertime the windows are always wide open, and if a boy can manage a seat with a view of the tracks, he can concentrate on the passing freights if the lesson is unusually dull.

The most memorable event of the day is the Sunday dinner, with the really important part being my grandfather's own wry blessing of " Good bread, good meat, good Lord let's eat", and my grandmother's ensuing frown and sigh of exasperation. I am sure that the local clergy and Ladies' Aid must at times look upon some of Pappy's antics askance; but no one will ever convince me that Harry Nave was not one of the Lord's right hand men.

All this and much more was Reevesville, but today such a story could never happen, for the town that I knew is no more. The name on the mailbox has changed, as has the house itself. No. 764 now rests in a museum in St. Louis, and the "Carbondale Limited" could not run now even if the dispatcher so ordered, for the tracks have been ripped up almost as far north as Marion.
The IC Café is closed, and the school no longer imparts knowledge to the village young. Even the Methodists have pulled up stakes for the greener pastures of a new consolidated church a few miles away. Perhaps the most tragic evidence of change is the absence of the depot. No longer does the old semaphore lamp send its comforting beams through the still Illinois night. No longer do train crews stop for a leisurely lunch, but instead whiz past with scarcely a toot on their diesel air horns for the town that once was heaven.

The hurrying world no longer seems to have time for the Reevesvilles, and perhaps progress, whatever that is is necessary. And yet I know of one person who at times becomes terribly lonesome for the sight of a gray-haired old man handing up the orders for a fast freight, with its 2400 Class monster breathing hard and whistling for the crossing.

The above story was first published in the Illinois Central Railroad magazine. It was written by Stephen Nave Brannon, a grandson of the late Harry Nave. He will be remembered by thousands of people. In earlier days, he wrote a column which was published in the Vienna Times, The Metropolis News and the Golconda Herald-Enterprise."

I found this newspaper clipping in my Mother's scrapbook. I estimate the date of printing about 1967-68.
Note: Reevesville is located in Johnson County near Massac County line to the south and Pope County line toward the east.