There’s an old story that used to make the rounds at family gatherings, probably more true in spirit than in fact. When James was still working the railway in upstate New York, he was known for singing old Northumbrian ballads while laying down track.
One afternoon, deep in the summer heat, a foreman came storming down the line, looking agitated. Apparently, someone from a nearby farm had sent a note saying that their cow had stopped giving milk and their chickens were off their feed—all because of the “howling from the hills.”
James, unfazed, tipped his cap and said, “Well sir, tell the beasts they’ll be hearing the chorus again come morning.” And sure enough, the next day, he sang louder. The animals eventually adjusted, but the story stuck—“James the Barn-Singer,” they used to call him, half in jest.
