Every city has their own myths, their own legends of ghosts and haunted buildings. San Antonio is no different. And while it may not be the hotels here in San Antonio that are misty with transparent figures or loud bumps in the night, the city roads, train tracks and bridges more than make up for it, giving thrills and late night chills to all those who may be lucky enough, or not depending on your stance, to catch sight of one of these legendary figures. One particular area in the city that has been attracting ghost hunters from around the world for years, is a set of tracks at a railroad crossing near Highway Loop 410, at the corner of Villamain and Shane. It is easy to locate the site, all you have to do is ask anyone in town where it is and they will point you directly to it, although depending on their own superstitions, they most likely will not be taking you there.

This is a legend that was born out of a factual event that occurred in the 1940’s. A school bus filled with children was making its way across the tracks when the bus stalled. A train was moving at high speed and was not able to stop in time. The driver and all of the children were killed instantaneously. It is said that not only are the tracks haunted by the driver and by the children, but the surrounding neighborhood seems to be as well.

Folks in town will swear that if you pull your car just up to the tracks and put it in neutral, the ghosts of the children will push you and your car across safely to the other side, even when going in the uphill direction of the road. Some folks will even say that just before they did this, they sprinkled powder on the bumper, and once they were on the other side, inspected that bumper and found the tiny hand prints of the tiny spirits. Although some report terrible weeping and moaning, all the stories told are of the children helping the drivers to safety. So next time your in San Antonio, stop your vehicle the tracks on Villamain and Shane, don’t forget to powder the bumper, and let me know what happens…

2009 saw a lot of loss in the world of celebrities.  It’s nothing new, of course, as every year brings its own toll to the weight of the world, balancing another set of souls on the scales of the angel of time.  Between all the promotions and speculations concerning the deaths of superstars, the life of Jim Carroll went out in September, and some of the elegy music was lost in the shuffle.  Even some of his diehard fans wouldn’t know about the passing until weeks, or even months, after, but it does weigh in now as a tremendous loss, as well as a remarkable opportunity to mark his incredible contributions to culture.

New York just wouldn’t look the same without the echo of his words and music.  At its best, Manhattan hotel life was seen in a spectacularly poetic light, full of all the gritty realism and exceptional observations of human nature that characterizes a true visionary.  He was old before he was old, discovered and even nominated for major literary prizes before his 23rd birthday, and had all the sensibilities necessary to survive the mean streets.  He also did very well at negotiating that particularly perilous road of fame, maintaining an integrity and a voice that never gave in to the temporary demands of the moment.

Jim Carroll was also eternally young.  Even at 60, when he had the heart attack while he was writing at his desk, he still had the same boyish good looks, with a generous patina of hard edge, to make him interesting to watch when he was performing.  He wrote punk rock lyrics that were every bit as good as his poetry, and he was able to go back and forth between forms with a deftness that was stunning to behold.  I remember being taken to another world when he was performing poetry with Patti Smith in the 90s, speaking about wars that no one else dared talk about in public, and there was a sense that the world had become much more deep, and our commitment to living in it, much more necessary, than the moment just before.