"Don't trump my ace," grandpa stated half-disgustingly. After we had won the match against grandma and my mom, he changed expressions and asked, "Have I told you the story of how your mother took my legs right out from under me?"

"Nope, I said, but I'm thinking you're going to."

Grandpa went on with the following 'Believe It or Not!'

He was a 'line conductor' for the railroad and it happened sometime in late July, late 1930's. As a kid my mom was the star baseball pitcher and she had a game shortly after the noon whistle. Grandpa couldn't wait. Mom and her brother Arvie were finishing up a morning paper route. Arvie pedaled and mom rode shotgun on the handlebars delivering the paper with pin-point accuracy. Once the route finished the only thing left was crossing the tracks and getting to the baseball diamond. That day as grandpa explained, there was a longer than normal freight train coming through town just as the kids were wrapping up their paper route. Mom and Arvie had to beat that train to the crossing or a game was to be missed, Arvie pedaled like a mad man.

As grandpa explained it, he was sitting in the tower watching his two children bent on out-running a freight train just to play baseball.

It was all he could do to stumble down the tower stairs, grieve stricken, with Arvie, the only one visible as the train rumbled through the crossing. A short moment later, having felt like forever, the last train car had crossed and through his tear-filled eyes there in front of him on the other side of the tracks was my mom. She had made it. At the last minute, Arvie had propelled her forward with a sudden burst of energy. He had fallen off the back of the bike and mom, still on the handlebars, zoomed just out of harm's way. Grandpa, barely able to walk at that point, took kids in hand and went home. A game wasn't played that day.

After grandpa had finished his story, I carefully responded, "Anybody for another game of Pinochle?"