He might have been on time for the 7:am Detroit Urban Railway heading north from Marine City toward St. Clair for his winter job in the ship yard that cold December day in 1912 but he couldn’t resist a conversation with an eight year old boy petting a cat on the walkway.
Each time Henry’s hand slid down the cat’s back, the tail would shoot straight up in the air.
“Hey Mister, do ya know why Bootsie’s tail goes up when I pet her?”
With a generous, good-humored smile, he encouraged Henry to continue.
“So my hand won’t fall off.”
“Oh Henry, you are one smart boy, I always wondered that myself and now I know.” It was never hard to get a smile out of this gentleman known by his friends as Happy.
With his hands in his pants pockets and coat, open and flapping in the breeze, he headed toward his destination. Still a couple of blocks away he heard the whistle signaling the eminent departure of the red electric street cars that serviced the loop of the Detroit Urban Railway going from Algonac to Port Huron traveling along the St. Clair River. He began to sprint and then a full speed run as the cars clattered away from the station. With a final burst of speed, he lunges forward to grab the handrail and jump on board. His foot hits ice, his hand grabs air and the momentum carries his body under the train. Those who witnessed assumed the worst…death or dismemberment. The squeamish hid their eyes another ran for Doc Degursey. As the last car clicked past the place where the man had disappeared, Chester Bell’s body became visible, lying horizontal to the tracks. He jumped up, smiled and waved at the people gathered. “I guess I am a lucky man,” Would be his refrain whenever anyone asked for a recounting of his brush with death.
Grandpa Bell was always good natured. One time when he was at Medilodge behind River District Hospital I as him if he would like to go down to the mess hall. He said , No, Officier's eat in the dining room. so we went to the dining room, because he was a Chief Engineer.
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