Page 7 - Demo

5Introductionor me, there%u2019s a difference between a trip and a journey. To use a photography analogy, it%u2019s like comparing a digital snapshot taken with a cell phone to an evocative and moving image by Ansel Adams. One is simple and basic; the other rich, memorable, satisfying.Yet, my dictionary defines journey matter-of-factly, as %u201cthe act of traveling from one place to another.%u201d In other words, getting from Point A to Point B. That may be fine for Webster, but I like to think of a journey as an experience that moves the psyche or affects the emotions, as well as gets us from A to B. So, I place journey alongside words like pilgrimage, odyssey, and expedition, each of which conjures up far more imagery than a mere trip.Of course, the ultimate journey is Life itself, and it often leads us in a direction that can%u2019t be foreseen. While we all start off at a personal Point A (our birth), there%u2019s no way to know precisely how, or when, we%u2019ll reach our ultimate Point B (our demise). Nor can we anticipate any of the detours and stops along the way.There%u2019s an old, faded, color photograph of me taken shortly after my own Point A. I%u2019m just a few months of age, cradled in my dad%u2019s arms, with my big sister, Marsha, standing next to us. We%u2019re posed in front of a 1946 Chevrolet sedan, which is a two-tone blue, and badly in need of a coat of wax. There%u2019s another photo, taken at the same time, showing Mom and Grandma Dowell standing in front of that same car, looking at it with obvious admiration. In those days, particularly in a small town like Fowler, Indiana, a car (even a three-year-old one, less-than-shiny) was something special%u2014almost as special as having a first son. It made the perfect backdrop for a photo of the new baby boy%u2014me.There%u2019s nothing about that early image that could predict photography in my future, but it is representative of how each of our lives is inextricably linked to transportation%u2014especially here in a state known officially as the Crossroads of America. All of us, as we grow, from infancy to old age, take countless trips%u2014riding a bus to and from school, commuting to work, driving to the grocery, traveling to meetings%u2014but most of these trips are forgotten. However, a few are remarkable enough to be called journeys%u2014and they stand out.I remember several journeys from my childhood. There was a first train ride%u2014behind a steam-belching, coal-burning locomotive%u2014while I was still in kindergarten. And a plane ride with a salesman friend of Dad%u2019s. Once airborne, he let me take controls. I was about 11, and felt just like Sky King. I don%u2019t recall any specifics about the locomotive, or the airplane, but I can still feel the emotion and excitement. That%u2019s what this book is about%u2014the journeys that stay with us because they were memorable%u2014sometimes, even extraordinary. A few years after our family moved to Lafayette, and ten years after my picture was taken in front of that %u201946 Chevy, Grandma Dowell gave me her Kodak box camera. It was a dinosaur%u2014decades old at the time%u2014but I was excited nevertheless. Right away, I rode my bicycle up to the J.B. Lische Drug Store, where I bought a roll of film. In two F