Train Tales #3

 

I enjoy riding the MAX train. The bus always seems to have the odor of diesel, sweat & a slight hint of wet wool, & the MAX train is electrically powered & clean. I find the sound of the train pleasing. There is an on-going fantasy that I live in Westchester County & work in Manhattan, with the wife & kids picking me up at the station, in reality the wife is a husband & the kids are canine & my life is not Mad Men.

Living a life with low grade Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is not for the faint hearted. I feel a driving need to have “my seat” on the MAX: right hand side, very front behind the driver, the only single seat on the train. If I don’t get this spot I can become grouchier than usual. I start my trip in either direction just one stop from the beginning of the line; I stand a good chance of securing my favorite place. 

On a cool, rainy, spring weekday, I boarded the train & found my seat occupied by a hipster. I took a moment to center myself & breath, & then sat close to my favorite place in case it should become vacant.  I was joined in my seat at the next stop by a beautiful African-American woman of an indecipherable age, chic in her hat & gloves. 

With my nose in my book so that I would not have to engage in conversation, this woman dared to ask me: “What is that you are reading?”  I showed her the cover of Just Kids by Patti Smith & prayed that this elegant lady would not ask me to explain Robert Mapplethorpe & Patti Smith.

I have always held that everyone’s story is interesting if you can get them to open up. I told my seat partner how lovely she looked. She introduced herself as Coral.

10 year old Coral moved to Portland, from Texas, with her parents in 1945. They lived in Vanport, at the time, the largest public housing project in the USA. It was home to 40,000 people, mostly African-American, who worked in the Kaiser Shipyards. In a dramatic parallel to Hurricane Katrina & New Orleans, on May 30, 1948, at 4:05pm, a dike holding back the Columbia River collapsed during a flood, killing 15. The city was underwater by nightfall leaving its inhabitants homeless. Like Katrina, the government misled the population into believing that the damage would be slight. Many have attributed the poor response, in both cases, to the racist attitudes of officials, who neglected to respond appropriately to the destruction of a mostly black community. Amazingly, I now live in walking distance of what was once Vanport, now named Delta Park. 

Vanport before & after the flood

Coral spent 4 days searching for her parents. She was eventually reunited with her mother & father at a church shelter in NE Portland's Mississippi neighborhood. They settled in that part of Portland,  still a stubbornly segregated city. 

Coral would eventually graduate from high school & attend beauty college. She found employment at a downtown Portland salon that catered to colored ladies. She worked her way up to manager & when the owner retired in 1965, Coral bought the place & gave it the name- Coral’s House Of Hair.  

Even more impressive in racist Portland of the late 1960s, Coral & The House Of Hair became illustrious enough that she was approached to have her own 15 minute local TV show giving beauty tips to women of color. True Colors Of Beauty aired at 3:15pm, Monday- Thursday on KPTV. The show lasted 5 years. 

I was close to my stop. I told Coral that I had not expected to have such an enchanting & engaging ride into downtown. I gave her my card & offered to buy her lunch sometime. She has yet to take me up on the offer, but on the Max train yesterday, I glanced up from my book & outside of the window, & there was Coral, chic in hat & gloves. She smiled & gave me a wave.