My Ticket Was Paid

"I kept my head down and read a lot."

• My friend and train companion
  

My Ticket Was Paid

There was a huge swarm of people all around me as I walked toward the platform where my train was to arrive. I couldn't ever remember being in the midst of so many people and remember thinking how grateful I was to have purchased a ticket that provided me with a reserved seat. I nervously looked next to the person who was accompanying me and was immediately calmed since I could detect no angst from him at all.

He was a quiet man and I had never seen him become agitated in the very least. Perhaps it was his demeanor, but I suspected it was more than that. Since he was in his fifties I had the feeling that beneath this immovable shell was a depth of wisdom and knowledge that if tapped could turn into a well-spring of acumen that would be of great benefit to me. And, at that moment I heard the whistle of a train and felt the rush of humanity around me thrust forward in one uncontrollable mass.

The train was not the picture of what I expected. The locomotive was of vintage design. It was black and used coal for its propulsion. While this was a larger version, it reminded me of the only other working trains of its type that I had seen working. There are two of them and they are housed at the Golden Spike National Historic Site at Promontory Summit in Northern Utah. They were there to remind everyone of the completion of the first Transcontinental Railway in the United States in 1869. But this was not the United States and it was far from 1869. I was in Shanghai traveling to Wuxi, China.

The air was thick as we boarded the train and I was grateful to slide into my designated seat. It signaled the end of my feeling of being a fish in a huge school of fish fleeing from a predator. It was a large comfortable seat. The window on one side was open and my companion sat in the seat next to me on the other side. It gave us a chance to talk.

Our conversation was slight in the beginning as the train pulled out of the station. But it was a long train ride and we had lots of time to get to know each other better. He was a college professor and was well read. In China, he was known as an "intellectual." This, combined with his age, meant that he had some direct experience with Mao's Cultural Revolution. In order to know what that experience was I knew that we would have to have careful conversations in such an open environment.

I am remembering this particular conversation today because it seems so relevant and so right that I do so. It's Memorial Day and I'm feeling grateful for those who have paid for my ticket to ride the freedom train I've enjoyed for my entire life. I don't know hardly any of them but, when I rode a different train every day to work past Arlington National Cemetery, I would see their brilliant white markers shooting out of the ground acting as bookmarks in the book of life. This conversation is another such bookmark that reminds me of the precious nature of freedom.

During the Cultural Revolution intellectuals we killed if they did not teach the party line. In quiet tones I asked my companion to tell me how he dealt with this; how he survived these many years of oppression. He shyly said, "I kept my head down and read a lot."

We spent a few days together. He was the teacher. I was his eager student. We had a strong bond because I knew then as I know now that I would not be free today if others had not given their all so that I could be free today. I express my quiet and thoughtful gratitude to those that have paid for my ticket. My commitment to them and to you is that I will work to make sure that I express that gratitude by paying for the ticket of freedom for others to come.