--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Bramwell, E. Ernest collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 30 number: 3 published: 1927-01 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Bramwell, E. Ernest, “Why Did the Train Stop?,” *Improvement Era* 30, no. 3 (January 1927): 252–253." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3003unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3003unse start_page: 252 end_page: 253 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1927-01) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3003unse publication_year: 1927 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1927, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Why Did the Train Stop? WHY DID THE TRAIN STOP? By E. Ernest Bramwell, Granite Stake Seminary The following remarkable incident happened on a certain Satur- day morning, late in the Fall of 1922. The writer, at that time, was principal of the American Fork Seminary. As such principal I was called upon to deliver* three gospel lectures at Storrs, a mining camp high up in the mountains of Carbon county. In order to reach Storrs on time, J had planned to leave American Fork on the 9:45 o'clo'ck east-bound train. This train, on schedule, would arrive at Castle Gate just in time to connect with the only train running from Castle Gate to Storrs. In answer to my call for a ticket, the agent asked: "What train do you expect to take?" "The 9:45, of course," I answered. "But that train," he replied, "doesn't stop at American Fork. It hasn't, in fact, come to a full stop here for more than two years. However," he continued, "once in a while the local mail carrier fails to throw the sack of mail into the mail car, and then the train slows down long enough to get the mail." What could I do? I simply had to keep my appointment with the miners. And, in order to do so, I must catch this 9:45 train, then almost due to arrive. Just at this moment, the local mail carrier drove up. To him I ventured to suggest that he might miss his throw this once, just to help me out. Laughingly, he answered that, in case I depended upon him to "miss my throw," as he put it, then I would not be able to catch "that train." What could be done? I began to grow desperate. So, rushing back into the ticket office, I asked the agent if he could not, under the circumstances, flag the oncoming train. "Yes," he answered; "I can flag it, all right, and then I'll get discharged." I sat down, disheartened. Then a voice seemed to whisper, "Why not pray?" I did so at once. Yes, just a short, simple prayer. Would the Lord, if he saw fit, please stop that train — that was all. And then I waited. Soon thereafter, the onrushing train whistled. I jumped up and ran out of the waiting room; overcoat on one arm, and suitcase in hand. Would the train stop? The engineer saw me — but the train sped on. The local mail carrier, unerring in his aim, threw the mail pouch into the mail car. Alas! this one hope fled. And then what? WHY DID THE TRAIN STOP? 253 The train began to slow down. And so it continued to do, until, happy thought, it came to a full stop. However, it had gone some distance beyond the station. Hastily, I ran to a point immediately in front of the chair-car door. The brakeman, undoing the vestibule door, looked out, at the same time he angrily shouted, "Why did this train stop?" Then he looked at me. I asked him to let me get on. This, however, he refused to do, answering me curtly, "We don't pick up passengers at American Fork." "Yes, but I've got to get on," I answered. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, still continuing to be angry. "To Storrs," I answered. "Well, come on — get on," he snapped. And I got on, as happy as could be. On the train I met a Brother Davis whom I had known in England. He, during all this time, had been an interested observer of all that had just gone on; and so he and I sat in the chair-car, chatting, both of us happy at what had just taken place. Presently, the brakeman joined us. Turning to Brother Davis, whom he seemed to know quite well, he said, "Say, I know what stopped this train." "And what?" asked Brother Davis. "Why, it was your faith inside, and that fellow's faith outside — that's what stopped this train." And with this simple remark he passed on. Why did the train stop? Shadows Within the shining orbit of the sun, In far-flung spaces, misty shadows run. On earth, at eve, the gathering darkness lay — ■ For night is but the shadow of the day, As day is but the brightness of the sun. The drifting clouds, the towering summits cast A penciled outline of the light gone past — Yet, speak of glories that behind them play. So darkened hearts, the blackness of despair, Are but mists that pass before the stars; The far-flung shadows of those endless bars That fret the eager soul with earthly care — Until, like mists, the shadows roll away, And bring, once more, the glory of the day. Salt Lake City. HENRY F. KlRKHAM.