By Donald H. Harrison

SAN DIEGO—My grandson, Shor Masori, came over to the house on his fifth birthday on Thursday, April 20,  to spend a few hours with me before the family got together for a celebratory dinner. "Well, Shor, shall I read you a book?" I inquired.  "Yes," he said, although more and more he likes to read them to me.  I reached for one of our favorites about Noah and the ark, and he made a face.  "That was one we read when I was four," he said.  "I want a new one for a five-year-old!"

Well, okay, I thought, the image of a sinking ark crossing my mind.  I went to a bookshelf and searched for children's books, and found one that I had purchased in Marshall, Texas, when I was researching the biography I wrote, Louis Rose: San Diego's First Jewish Settler and Entrepreneur.  Rose had been one of  those city fathers in the 19th century who actively promoted the idea of San Diego becoming the West Coast terminus of a transcontinental railroad running along our nation's southern border.  On March 3, 1871, Congress authorized the Texas and Pacific Railroad to acquire the right of way and to begin construction  between Marshall, Texas, which is near the Texas-Louisiana state line, and San Diego, which, of course, is on a wonderful bay on the Pacific Ocean.

Had it not been for the rough topography lying to the east of San Diego—and a few nationwide financial panics—San Diego, rather than Los Angeles, might have been the terminus for a transcontinental route, and who knows how the history of those two cities might have flip-flopped.  The children's book I had purchased and then had laid away for such a day as this was Bluebonnet at the Marshall Train Depot by Mary Brooke Casad. 

In the tale illustrated by Benjamin Vincent, an armadillo named Bluebonnet wanders into Marshall and is met by TP the cat, who keeps watch over the Texas & Pacific Depot.  TP then takes Bluebonnet on a tour of the train station, reciting more history than Shor really wanted to know, but the armadillo seemed downright interested. Shor's interest quickened however when TP and Bluebonnet decided to take a train ride together—neither of them having ever taken one before. The two animal friends got on the train just in the nick of time  What happened next was left to the readers' imagination, perhaps to be answered in a sequel.

As we read, Shor learned important words like "conductor," "locomotive," and "caboose."  When we completed reading the book, we went into his room—yes, he has his own room at his grandparents' house, the same room that once belonged to his mother, Sandi Masori—and retrieved his small train set.  We pieced together the circular railroad tracks and identified which car in the train set was the caboose.  We pushed the train around the tracks and made the sounds of steam whistles together, probably driving grandma, who was in a nearby room, close to distraction until it was time to get ready for the birthday dinner.

On Friday, Shor came for another visit, and I had a surprise cooked up. We drove to Balboa Park, where we went first to the 28,000-square-foot San Diego Model Railroad Museum, located in the basement of the Casa de Balboa.  I knew the location well because on the same floor of this building are the archives of the San Diego Historical Society, where I had spent so much time researching the life of Rose. 

Shor circled twice, or perhaps three times, through the various model train exhibits including four major re-creations or conceptualizations: San Diego &  Arizona  Eastern, Tehachapi Pass, Cabrillo Southwestern and Pacific Desert Lines.  The latter conceptualizes the California portion of the route that Rose and other pioneers had envisioned as a stimulus for San Diego's economic destiny.  Occasionally, Shor climbed steps leading to vantage points providing better views of the model railroads, but mostly he was fascinated by the floor surrounding the exhibits on which had been laid simulated tracks bearing the names of donors to the museum.  He followed the tracks determinedly, occasionally whoo-whoo-ing as he imagined himself to be a runaway train.

Perhaps we will return on other occasions to examine the details of the model railroad more closely, this being simply an introductory visit. Leaving the museum, we walked up the Prado, to Balboa's giant fig tree, had an ice cream, walked through beautiful Spanish Village, to my next surprise for Shor—a ride on Balboa Park's Miniature Railroad.  The train was just leaving the station as we arrived, and unlike Bluebonnet and TP, we did not just make it.  While I bought tickets for the next run, Shor could hardly contain his excitement until the train completed its half-mile circuit about three minutes later.

Shor took the seat right behind the engineer, and I took the seat right behind him, holding his hand for safety.  Away we went, whistle blowing, and I don't think anything could have been better as far as Shor was concerned—but I was wrong.  The best part was when we went through a long tunnel and the conductor blew  the whistle again.  I'll have to admit, the echo was impressive.

We returned to the large fountain of Balboa Park where Shor made a wish and tossed a penny, and then headed for our car.  We talked over our adventure as we drove home.  "What kind of trip would you rather go on, a train or an ark?" I asked Shor.  He didn't hesitate for a moment.  "An ark!" he replied.  "That way, I'd meet Noah."

That's my grandson, I thought.  I don't know if Shor got what he wished for, but I certainly did!