Where do the daydreams of little boys go when they become men? Some speculate they get left behind with other childhood things as we age. I wonder if we ever truly leave anything behind. At best we cover it up, and inadvertently drag it around with us when we think we left it behind. If not you, me then.

Perhaps one site in Iowa would invoke boyhood daydreams beyond all others. It sits near the town of Adair, a mile south of Interstate 80. Tomorrow, July 21st, is the anniversary of the 1873 day that gave it significance.

That year the town of Adair was celebrating it’s first birthday. Previously the site had been known as Summit Cut, a name it received by being the Iowa high point of the Rock Island Line. It sits on the Iowa Divide, leaving each raindrop in apprehension as to whether it would be going to the mighty Mississippi or the muddy, and less prestigious, Missouri.

All those drops will eventually end up in the Gulf of Mexico, but even when we know the destination, we have to fret on how we are going to get there.

Some speculate the town’s setting on the ridge was one of the reasons Jesse James and his brother, Frank, selected the area as the site of the first train robbery in the west and the first moving train robbery of all time. The theory is that the train would be going slower as it approached the ridge. In reality they selected the site in the belief that the engineer would be preoccupied gawking at the wind turbines.

If you find it curious that “the west” includes Iowa, you’re probably not alone. The site doesn’t even muster a sign on the interstate, where daydreaming boys and the fathers that supplanted them drive by in droves. It is as though most consider the event an accident of history, which should have happened elsewhere, and they are doing their best to pretend it did.

The train was to have $75,000 in its safe, the equivalent of 1.5 million dollars today. The gang camped outside of town, then bought pies from the wife of the section foreman of the railroad, while others raided an outbuilding in the backyard for the tools they would use to loosen a rail. Once the rail was loose, they tied a rope to it, and pulled it out of place when the engine approached.

The wreck killed the train’s engineer, John Rafferty, and would go on to kill its fireman, Dennis Foley. The guard, John Burgess, was forced to open the safe and hand over its contents: $2337.

No doubt the gang was disappointed. Burgess was likely pleased. He had achieved the fame of Rafferty and Foley, and he would get to tell others about it.

Jesse (25) and Frank (29) in 1872

Trying to bolster the loot, the gang passed the hat and managed to eek out another $700 from the passengers. In all my life I never knew the James’ were Catholic, but where else would they have got the idea for a second collection?

Burgess ran to Adair to raise the alarm, only to find the town hadn’t got around to putting it up yet. Local hero, Levi Clay, would run (since Adair was a one horse town, and that horse was out at the moment) to the neighboring town of Casey.

There he sent a telegraph, which should be reaching your smart phone one of these days. My best guess is that it will be between 3 and 4 am.

The James’ got away, but of course they had the advantage. Which ever direction they went was downhill, with the wind from the turbines pushing them along. Running along behind them was what they had hoped to leave behind. It would catch up to them, just as it always does.