I learned to read as a young child, not because my parents sat me down and systematically taught me or drilled me on words or sounds, but because I was surrounded by books. I was read to constantly and had access to books both at my home and also at the local library where we visited at least weekly.
When we couldn’t have stories read to us by our parents, we knew how to put records on the record player and have access to even more books by listening to records that had books accompanying them. My mother even added to this pleasure by tape recording herself reading books so that we could listen to more when she needed to be taking care of something.
I was also fortunate to be a child when the wonderful programs of “Sesame Street” and “The Electric Company” were first produced. These showed me how letters worked together to form words. I was soon reading right along with the letters appearing on the screen and then taking this knowledge to read the books that I had in my home.
My first grade teacher was surprised that I knew how to read and actually paired me with classmates to have me help them learn to read. I had no idea how to teach someone because the process had been so organic for me. I just knew that I loved reading and could hardly get my hands on enough books.
It was during this school year that a friend introduced me to one of her favorite books, “The Boxcar Children,” by Gertrude Chandler Warner. I was nervous when she handed it to me because I had never read a chapter book before and I didn’t want Christine to think that I wasn’t as smart as her.
I was quickly drawn into the wonderful story of Jessie, Benny, Henry, and Violet, four orphaned children who strike out on their own because they mistakenly think their grandfather is unkind and doesn’t want them. They find shelter in the woods in an abandoned boxcar and turn it into their home, and yes, everything works out in the end.
Not only was I thrilled to be reading my first chapter book, but I loved the story of these children. I loved playing outside and creating shelters out of whatever I could find, so I felt a real affinity for these siblings. I liked how they worked together and were independent, even in such difficult circumstances.
Once I finished the book, I was ecstatic to find out that this was part of a series and that the author was currently writing the 19th book. I couldn’t believe my luck. Every trip to my school and public library had me heading to the shelves to see what books were available, since almost every other child I knew was also reading the books.
When my daughters were young, I read aloud to them “The Boxcar Children” and they also became enthralled with the story. They would “play Boxcar Children” as one of their pastimes, which involved setting up a shelter, making beds, finding food, etc. They loved, as I did, taking the story and turning it into an activity of survival and togetherness.
When Warner wrote the book, she used her own experiences of living near the train station in Putnam, Conn., and imagining what it would be like to set up a home inside a boxcar. She was surprised how many adults thought that the book was giving children the wrong idea about being “proper” children. She wrote to a friend, “Perhaps you know that the original Boxcar Children raised a storm of protest from librarians who thought the children were having too good a time without any parental control! That is exactly why children like it! Most of my own childhood exploits, such as living in a freight car, received very little cooperation from my parents.”
In Putnam there is a Boxcar Children Museum. I heard about it years ago and decided that if I ever had the chance, I would visit this place that honors not only the book series, but also the author that brought such delight and imagination to so many children. As luck would have it, my husband had a business conference in Hartford, Connecticut a few weeks ago and it worked out for me and our daughter, Margaret, to accompany him.
When I discovered that Putnam was only an hour from Hartford, I knew we had to make the pilgrimage to the museum. We drove through the countryside, passing through towns founded in the 1700s. When we arrived at the museum we discovered that it was closed due to the pandemic, but I was just glad to be there.
A book that I first read 46 years ago ignited my love of reading. I realized that reading books could enhance my already robust imagination. As an adult, I’ve come to see the power in the written word that can’t be found on the screen. I am forever grateful for Gertrude Chandler Warner and so many other authors who have inspired me and countless others to read. Walking around Putnam that day was a dream come true for me.

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This boxcar is part of the Gertrude Chandler Warner museum in Putnam, Conn.