Robert W. Willaford Railroad Museum volunteer Evan Gales uses trains to cope with his Landau-Kleffner syndrome.
In Historic Downtown Plant City, cars pump the brakes at the first sound of a screeching train horn.
As the crossings slowly come down over the tracks and the safety warning lights flash, commuters are brought to a stop. They grumble, leaning against the car headrests as they wait for the train — the nuisance — to pass.
Evan Gales is waiting, too.
Perched on a bench at the viewing platform of the Robert W. Willaford Railroad Museum, the 23-year-old museum volunteer is donned in denim overalls, thick brown boots and a neon safety vest. A wooden whistle is cupped in his hand. When a train horn bellows, Evan Gales giddily responds.
“Toot, toot for me!” Evan says. “All aboard!”
Locomotives are more than a hobby for Evan — they’re a way he copes with his Landau-Kleffner syndrome.
Occasionally misdiagnosed as autism, the rare neurological order can cause delayed speech, delayed development and seizures.
It also causes obsessions. Massive, roaring, freight-toting obsessions.
Evan quit talking as an infant and didn’t begin again until he was 6 years old. It was a train that got him started anew.
“I’m going to be an Amtrak conductor one day,” Evan says to his mother, Susan Gales, who is beside him on the viewing platform.
Susan Gales has heard this before. She asks him her usual question:
“Do you want to be a conductor or an engineer?”
“Both,” Evan says.
Susan Gales smiles. Next to her, Evan opens a small camcorder and flips through train clips he’s recorded.
The depot’s concrete viewing platform is raised above the adjacent tracks and protected with a guard rail and a canopy roof. Here, Evan has the best seat in the house.
Here, Evan is safe.
Finding His Station
When Evan was 1, he had a seizure — his first of many.
“He almost died, and it resulted in brain damage,” Susan Gales says. “Then a couple of years later, he stopped talking and walking.”
That same year, Evan was diagnosed with Landau-Kleffner syndrome.
“He would just make sounds of rage,” Evan’s father, Frank Gales, says.
The trains got Evan started again. And he doesn’t quit now.
“I like the Union Pacific Challenger,” Evan says. “They get lots and lots and lots of smoke. I like CSX and diesel trains and steamers.”
Evan has been the most recognizable face at the local train depot since he was a child, coming at least three times
per week to visit.
In 2013, retired train engineer Robert W. Willaford donated hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of memorabilia to the train station, subsequently forming the depot into the Robert W. Willaford Railroad Museum.
Immediately, Susan Gales made calls to the City of Plant City about volunteering.
“I asked them if I could volunteer, and they said, ‘We’ll call if we need you,’” Susan Gales says. “Then I told them I was Evan Gales’ mother, and they said, ‘OK, we’ve got a place for you.’”
It was a place for her.
More importantly, it was a place for her son, whom the community has come to love as its own.
A Track For His Heart
Evan works as a tour guide at the museum. Susan Gales is the museum’s tour director. She uses her banking background to serve as the nonprofit’s treasurer.
“We try to make his life as best as possible,” she says. “I didn’t want him sitting around the house with nothing to do.”
When Evan shares his passion with others, he lights up. He leads guests through the museum’s vintage red caboose, reciting “The Little Engine That Could.” Alongside his mom, the duo runs tours for children, the elderly, daycares, church groups, special needs groups and the Scouts.
“The children are fascinated by him because he’s an adult in a big body, but he acts like them,” Susan Gales says. “He loves people. I think the main thing is that it’s helped him become engrained. It’s made him more social. People see him, and they understand.”
When Evan is not conducting tours, he fills his time with homework, drawing and listening to bluegrass music. He’s involved in a Special Olympics bowling team and enjoys visiting his old school teachers. He learned American Sign Language to communicate with one of his old school friends. His parents set goals for him, and Evan regularly surpasses them.
“He is the way he is, and we accept it,” Frank Gales says. “We set goals for him and people say, ‘Maybe (that’s) too much.’ But that’s what we’re trying to do with him. We want him to have a place and be able to take care of himself and be a productive member of society.”
At the museum, in the heart of Plant City, Evan has found that place.
“He’s established,” Frank Gales says. “It’s a place in society for him. Long after we’re not around, he’ll have his niche. In the community, everybody has helped us and loved us.”
In return, Evan has loved the community. He showers people who visit the museum with compliments, calling them “beautiful.” He greets guests from the viewing platform as they wander through downtown.
As people leave the museum, Evan guides them to the front door, their final stop on the tour before they head to the parking lot.
“You have a great day and good luck,” Evan says. It’s the same message, every time. “God bless!”
His heart belongs to the tracks.
“He’ll stay up (on the viewing platform) for hours,” Susan Gales says. “I have to drive over there and threaten to leave if he doesn’t get in the car.”
Finally, Evan does climb down. He tucks away his vest and whistle and goes home.
He knows he’ll be back. In a world that revolves around locomotives, his life lessons are learned in his own language of bellowing horns and screeching tracks.
“It doesn’t matter where trains are going,” Evan said. “What matters is deciding to get on.”
Contact Emily Topper at etopper@plantcityobserver.com.
