On board were perhaps 40 soldiers of a battalion who were going home to Iowa after three years in England. They couldn't contain their joy and excitement and sleep was out of the question. They had brought plenty liquid refreshment to enhance their celebration, one had brought a guitar, and the party began before we cleared the St. Louis yards.
Our car was packed, and our family had turned one seat so that the four of us could face each other. There was laughing and visiting with soldiers going up and down the aisles visiting with passengers who were, for the most part, enjoying watching their fun and were friendly in response.
As the night wore on, and we started north in central Missouri, life was getting busy and noisy. The conductor turned down the light-level then retreated to be rarely seen thereafter. By the time we reached the Iowa border, snow covered the ground and a bright full moon showed us a frigid, beautiful landscape.
There was a small, dark soldier of perhaps Italian heritage, who had done his share of imbibing and became very social. He decided to begin at one end of the car and progress, kissing every female on board. The reactions of the victims was generally amused and cooperative. However, there was a white-haired little lady sitting behind us who was incensed. She sat rigid as a post, which didn't discourage her visitor as he sat on her lap and planted a kiss right on her mouth. Next was our turn! My mother and I were expecting who-knows-what. The little guy approached us, looked at me (age 15), looked at my father and said to him, "Sir, is this your daughter?" My father said, "Yes sir, she is." The soldier said, "She's a mighty fine-looking girl." And passed on! I didn't get kissed!
The MP's on board were tolerant, allowing generous leeway to happy men going home, speaking only occasionally to a troop who needed a little coaching as ties came off, some members became unsteady on their feet, hair became dishevelled, and eventually (some) fell asleep. In the early morning darkness, I made my way down the aisle to the restroom and saw, out in the vestibule at the end of our car, an MP standing watch over two young partyers whom he had ordered to take off their shirts, down to their underwear. He had dropped down the windows and the boys were standing in the freezing wind blowing through, getting a pretty sobering dose of Iowa air.
We left the boys, who were going to Des Moines, at Albia. Under the care of the MP's we assume they all made it home in good order. That special night was, thereafter, one of our favorite memories of riding the Wabash.
Janet