JUDY LUTZ / Daily News

Gil Cameron navigates the train at Naples Depot Thursday afternoon. Cameron started driving steam engine trains after World War 11 and has carried on his love for trains by volunteering at Naples Depot.

JUDY LUTZ / Daily News

While waiting for riders to show up volunteer Gil Cameron, left, converses with Volunteer Roger Marx at the Naples Depot in a sunny spot.

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Palm trees sway under cobalt skies. Birds sing. And bells ring and red lights flash in sequence as the train approaches its intersection with 10th Street South. Two safety gates drop, stopping traffic as a purple and gray train chugs around a 1,500-foot track surrounding Naples Depot.

Engineer Gil Cameron tugs on the whistle. Whoo. Whoo. You can hear the ta-tack, ta-tack signature sound of a passing train as The Atlantic Coast Line rounds the bend. Cameron slows the scale-sized train to a stop and he signals to passengers that it’s safe to exit.

He climbs off a locomotive the size of a riding lawn mower and strolls over to a black wooden bench shaded by an oak tree and a sable palm.

Steve Nolas is one of a handful of Naples Depot volunteers hanging out at what they call “the breezy bench,” which sports a small sign that reads “train crew only.”

“You know my wife got me that pin,” Nolas says of the New Jersey Transit button, this afternoon’s topic of note.

Nolas is wearing a pair of faded blue shorts, a white polo shirt, a pair of auburn tented sunglasses and a pair of red suspenders, both of which are decorated with old button pins from the Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Company and Museum and the New Jersey Transit. Nolas’ wife, Betty Nolas, died in 2003. She was a train buff, too, and they worked at the Naples Depot for years together.

This isn’t just a collection of churning steel wheels, steam engines and toy trains. For Nolas, it’s a refuge, kind of like a home away, where he spends time with friends and remembers his wife.

“We built a caboose for her. It’s in repair now, but it will eventually be like a memorial. All train cars have numbers, and her’s is going to be 4503. She was born in ’45 and died in ’03.”

Nolas isn’t the only widower here. Cameron’s wife — Hazel Sherman was her maiden name — died several years ago.

“You don’t find many women that are train buffs. She collected 1,800 pieces of tin plate trains,” Nolas continues. “They were made during the Depression and went for $1.50 apiece. ...That right, Gil,” Nolas says rhetorically, looking to Cameron.

Cameron nods his head in a gesture that satisfies the group. If he says that’s what the collectable train sets cost then, that’s what they cost. At 86, Cameron is the elder statesman of the group. He’s a World War II hero and a seasoned railroad engineer who worked for 36 years at New York’s famed Grand Central Terminal (often called Grand Central Station).

Cameron is a slim guy, about 5 foot 7 inches with piercing blue eyes and large, round bifocals. He volunteers at the depot on Thursdays, running the train for visitors and talking railroads and life with the guys.

Cameron grew up in Pennsylvania, joined the Air Force when he was 18 and was then sent to boot camp in Virginia. From there he was shipped to England aboard the Queen Elizabeth with tens of thousands of other soldiers.

“The first night I was on the ship I slept in a bathtub because I couldn’t find my quarters. There were 22,000 men on that ship,” Cameron says while sitting on a black wooden bench.

“How many missions did you fly, Gil,” Bill Bolles asks while Nolas and Mohammed Latif listen.

“About 40,” Cameron replies.

“You know, there weren’t too many people who lived through that,” Bolles says. “After 25 flights you were allowed to retire, right Gil?”

Cameron again shakes his head.

Bolles graduated from Purdue University with a degree in engineering. He’s one of the history buffs of the group and one of the volunteers who’s in charge of keeping the 35 Lionel engines, passenger cars and freighters in good working order.

The Naples Depot Lionel display is a massive train town the size of a small swimming pool. Nine trains can run at a time. Some go through mountains, others through industrial districts complete with a tiny airport and a helicopter. There’s a fairground with a Ferris wheel turning, and a swing set with doll replicas of children.

“Running a train for eight hours is like putting 10,000 miles on your car,” Bolles says.

There’s a series of doorbell buttons about belt high along the display. They’re all rigged to various Lionel toys, like a news stand that has a dog and a paper boy out front. Push the button and the stand lights up, the dog runs around a fire hydrant and the paper boy starts waving the paper as if to draw attention to the headlines of they day.

The Lionel town looks like the biggest Christmas ever exploded. Lights, bells and whistles are everywhere.

You walk up a set of concrete stairs and into the display room, where about 300 people gaze at the collection each month during the tourist season. To the left is the display-train storage rack. It’s really several layers of train tracks, 6-inch black shelves on which Lionel trains from decades past sit.

Some pieces match and make a set. Others advertise products like the Baby Ruth candy bars on a single car. One piece carries refrigerated milk. At least it says so on the side.

The makeshift office-workshop in the back is nearly as colorful.

There’s a red metal Craftsman tool box the size of a suitcase on a shelf behind a large desk, and a crumpled Quiznos sandwich wrap in the trash can near the work station. There’s also an empty bag of Ruffles — sour cream and onion flavor.

This is where Bolles cranks on screwdrivers and uses voltage meters to check for current. All the trains and the corresponding towns and moving vehicles run on electricity.

It’s also where Bolles takes breaks and thinks about how lucky he is to work alongside these volunteers.

“These guys here, you just can’t find a better group,” Bolles says. “The camaraderie here is just amazing.”

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If you go

The Naples Depot Museum

• Where: 1051 Fifth Ave., Naples

• Hours: 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays through April, and 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Saturdays starting in May.; closed on national and county holidays

• Admission: Donations accepted

• Information: 262-6525