You’ve heard the refrain. It’s that rolling, rhythmic "Good morning, America, how are you?" that feels like a warm cup of coffee in a plastic cup on a vibrating train table. But if you look closely at the song lyrics City of New Orleans, you aren't just looking at a catchy folk tune. You’re looking at a eulogy for a version of the United States that was literally being dismantled as the ink was drying on the page.
Honestly, it’s kinda wild how a song about a failing train line became one of the most recognizable anthems in music history. It wasn’t written by a legend like Arlo Guthrie or Willie Nelson, even though they’re the ones who made it famous. It was penned by a scrappy Chicago songwriter named Steve Goodman. He wasn't trying to write a chart-topper. He was just trying to keep himself busy on a long ride to visit his wife's family.
The Morning Rail That Almost Wasn't
The year was 1970. Steve Goodman and his wife, Nancy, boarded the Illinois Central’s City of New Orleans at Central Station in Chicago. They weren't actually going all the way to the Big Easy. They were headed to Mattoon, Illinois, to see Nancy’s grandmother.
Nancy fell asleep. Steve didn't.
Instead, he pulled out a sketch pad and started writing down exactly what he saw through the window. "Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders." "Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail." These aren't just poetic flourishes; they were the literal facts of a dying industry. At that time, passenger rail in the U.S. was in a tailspin. The government was pulling mail contracts from trains and giving them to trucks and planes. Without that mail revenue, the trains were ghosts.
When Goodman got back to Chicago, he heard the train was slated for decommissioning. He took those scattered notes and turned them into a "southbound odyssey."
Why Arlo Guthrie Grudgingly Listened
There’s a legendary story about how this song actually got out into the world. Steve Goodman saw Arlo Guthrie at a bar in Chicago called the Quiet Knight. He approached Arlo and asked if he could play him a song.
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Arlo wasn't interested. He was tired. He probably had a dozen people a night trying to hand him demos. But he made a deal: Goodman could play one song for as long as it took Arlo to finish a beer.
Goodman played "City of New Orleans."
Arlo didn't just finish the beer; he asked for the song. He eventually recorded it for his 1972 album Hobo’s Lullaby, slowing down Goodman’s jaunty, up-tempo original into the elegiac, piano-driven masterpiece we know today. Guthrie's version peaked at #18 on the Billboard Hot 100, basically cementing his career beyond "Alice's Restaurant."
Breaking Down the Lyrics: Fact vs. Fiction
The song lyrics City of New Orleans are famous for their vivid imagery, but they also contain some quirks that train buffs love to argue about.
The Mystery of the Three Conductors
In the first verse, Goodman mentions "three conductors." If you talk to anyone who worked the rails back then, they’ll tell you that having three conductors on a single train would be a massive waste of payroll. Usually, you’d have one conductor and a couple of brakemen.
So, was Goodman wrong? Sorta. He was a songwriter, not a railroad auditor. Most people think he just used "conductors" as a catch-all term for the train crew. Or, more likely, he was counting the crew members he saw walking through the cars and "three conductors" just fit the meter of the line better than "one conductor and two brakemen."
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The Kankakee Stop
"The train pulls out at Kankakee." This line basically put that small Illinois city on the international map. In the original 1947 timetable, the City of New Orleans left Chicago at 8:00 AM and hit Kankakee at 8:50 AM. It was the first major stop on the southbound run. For Goodman, it was the moment the journey truly felt like it was beginning, leaving the "freight yards full of old black men" behind in the city.
The "Native Son" Identity
The chorus is where the song gets deep. "Don't you know me, I'm your native son?"
Goodman isn't talking about himself here. He’s personifying the train. The train is the native son. It’s a product of the American industrial spirit, born of steel and steam, and now it’s being forgotten by the country it helped build. When he sings, "I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done," he’s literally tracking the progress of the daytime run toward Memphis.
The Willie Nelson Version and the Grammy
Fast forward to 1984. Willie Nelson covers the song. It’s a massive hit, reaching #1 on the Hot Country Singles chart.
Tragically, Steve Goodman died of leukemia in September 1984, just as Willie's version was taking over the airwaves. He was only 36. In 1985, Goodman was posthumously awarded the Grammy for Best Country Song. It’s a bittersweet ending to the story of a man who wrote about a "disappearing railroad" and ended up leaving us far too soon himself.
The Song Actually Saved the Train
This is the part that sounds like a movie script but is actually true.
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When Amtrak took over passenger rail in 1971, they actually dropped the City of New Orleans name. They replaced it with the Panama Limited, which was an overnight service. But the song was so popular—and people kept asking for the "City of New Orleans"—that Amtrak eventually gave in.
In 1981, they officially brought the name back to capitalize on the song's fame. Today, you can still book a ticket on the City of New Orleans. It still runs from Chicago to the Big Easy, though it’s an overnight trip now rather than the daytime odyssey Goodman described.
How to Experience the Song Today
If you really want to understand the song lyrics City of New Orleans, you have to do more than just listen to the track. You have to see the geography.
- Take the Amtrak Route: You can board at Union Station in Chicago. Look out for the "graveyards of the rusted automobiles" (though they’re mostly gone now) as you pass through the South Side.
- Visit the Kankakee Depot: There’s a sense of pride there that stems directly from that one line in the song.
- Compare the Versions: Listen to Steve Goodman’s original recording first. It’s faster, almost nervous. Then listen to Arlo Guthrie’s version to hear the sadness. Finally, listen to Willie Nelson’s version to hear the weary, traveling-man wisdom.
The song is a snapshot of 1970 America, caught between the industrial past and a high-speed future that hadn't quite arrived yet. It’s about the "disappearing railroad blues," but because of these lyrics, the train—and the memory of Steve Goodman—never truly disappeared.
To get the most out of your next listen, try tracking the journey on a map. Start in Chicago, find Kankakee, trace the line down to Memphis, and follow the Mississippi River all the way to the sea. You’ll find that the "steel rails" still have plenty of news to tell if you’re willing to listen.