I remember the cover most. The blue locomotive with a bright smiling face on the stack. The boy in overalls next to a girl in a dress and bonnet, the little dog running to get ahead of the train. And the toy clown with the pointy hat waving at them from the coal box, the car behind him filled with a menagerie of toy animals. The image, as was intended, was quite appealing to a child of four. It has stuck with me the many years since, and become emblematic in a way, as it is always the first thing to come to mind when I think of trains.
Even more appealing were the contents of this train. Talking toys, candy and fruit, the cabins were brimming with such wonderful stuff. Upon re-reading the story I found there was also spinach for some reason. I wonder why I forgot about that? Re-reading it also left a farcical impression of this train. Why are there no people on this train? Who is the conductor? Why do the good little boys and girls on the other side of the mountain need candy, fruit, and spinach so much? Are they vegans?
The meat of the story involves the three engines that happen upon the troubled train. The first, a fancy passenger engine, refuses to help out of arrogance. The second, a large freight engine, believes the job is beneath him. And the third, rusty and old, is too tired. All of these engines are trapped in their roles, trapped by their perceptions of themselves, and indeed trapped by the reader's perceptions. They are rigidly defined constructs, their existence focused under a narrow lens. All three exist for a single purpose, and anything outside that is beyond their comprehension. They don't even wonder about it, and neither should the reader.
The hero, or rather heroine, of the story is the fourth and final engine that shows up. Luckily for the toys and their haul of candy and spinach, this engine is used to switch trains in the yard. That's right, this is an engine that specializes in pulling other engines; a tow train. Fortunately this task doesn't fall too far outside the blue engine's realm of experience. She hasn't been over the mountain before, but she has pulled an engine or two in her day. So she agrees to help. Then comes the titular “I think I can,” up the hill refrain, ending in the “I thought I could” down the hill segment. End story. Presumably the good vegan boys and girls on the other side of the mountain get their talking toys, fruit, candy, and delicious spinach.
The odd part of the story is that the toys mention the need to deliver the train's fantastic cargo before the children on the other side of the mountain awaken. I guess this would imply that it was nighttime. The illustrations are quite bright and sunny though. I'm not really sure what's going on here. Is it a simple mistake? Are we peering into some dream world? Do the vegan children have an aversion to sunlight? Are they vampires? Vegan vampires? There doesn't seem to be enough information even to infer. The original 1930 publication of the story doesn't include any mention of a deadline. It just takes for granted that there are talking toys and trains in the world of the story. I kinda like that better. Logic be damned just tell me a good story. You're apt to get me talking about vegan vampire children and possessed toys if you don't allow me suspend my disbelief naturally.
So what's the takeaway for a 29-year-old me after reading this story again? For one thing, I think there should have been bacon in addition to everything else on that train. Also, as I try to apply logic to hypothetical situations the undead start popping up. That's a bit strange really. But most of all, I'm left thinking about roles in society, and how they are used to define an individual or even groups of individuals. How so very much is lost when you choose your definition or when one is chosen for you.
One thing that bothered me about the story is how rigidly defined the characters are. We know everything about them within a few sentences. I realize this is a children's book, but where are all the real people? Where are vibrant and delightfully flawed creatures that share existence with me? Those represented in the story are robotic by comparison. They don't have dreams or aspirations. They don't have real emotions. They can never know failure, so they can't know triumph. Even the little blue engine, our heroine, doesn't truthfully excel. She is just finishing a job that someone else started. She's working overtime, and her only payment is a sense of accomplishment. And though there isn't anything wrong with that, it hardly inspires greatness. At the end of the story she is still who she was at the beginning, her journey a distraction and anything but transforming. It is admirable that she helped the needy. But when she gets back to the yard there are still trains that need to be switched. And in the end that is who she is.
An industrial society values individuals that conform to the roles imposed by industry and it's organization. A machine does enjoy it's cogs, gears, and levers. But our society is post-industrial. We don't strive for conformity as individuals any longer. We value the unique, the innovative, and the progressive now. People are not expected to fill one role, they are expected to fill many. A bartender is also an assistant football coach and a musician. An artist is also a writer and a waitress. An actor is also a director and a producer. A teacher is also a veterinarian and a gardener. Information flows much more freely in this era. Entire libraries of knowledge are at our fingertips. I found both editions of, “The Little Engine That Could,” in less than five minutes on Google, while simultaneously reading about the election and looking at funny pictures of cats. You can't just be a little engine anymore. You have to be the little engine, the freight engine, and the toy clown.
Try it. Ask someone young what they do. They'll answer in several sentences. Press them further and they'll tell you even more. But you will never hear them say that they are one thing. You'll never hear one answer.
I guess to further elaborate on this I'll say that I was asked to do this as a sanction for Drug Court in Socorro NM a year or more past. So that was the intended audience. I was arrested for growing marijuana in 2010. Court ordered addiction counseling is difficult when you manage kick your habit on your own after all of two weeks cold turkey. Suffice to say I wanted to create something meaningful out of a meaningless assignment.
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