After walking away that night, I approached my cousin who graciously took me in for the winter. During that time, I continued with my food foraging trips but now the bounty was going to my cousin's table. I guess this was my way of paying for a place to stay even though it was never asked for.
It was during the winter that I started to develop a desire to travel. I knew there was nothing in Council Bluff for me except more hard times. There was also nothing to keep me there. I decided that I would go to Arizona and visit my Uncle John. I had never met my Uncle but had heard lots of stories about him from my Dad. He was an outlaw in the Oklahoma Territory but he felt compelled to leave Oklahoma as statehood grew near. He made his way to Arizona where he served as a U.S. Marshall. He finally bought a farm for 50 cents an acre. He was a quiet and humble man but when he spoke, you listened. He was also a man not to be trifled with, which proved later not to have been an exageration.
Back in Iowa, I was telling a friend of mine about my plans to take off. He got to thinking about it and decided that it would be fun to see some of the country but he was concerned that his Mother would have the law looking for him. I suggested that we could make up a story about going to the Chicago World's Fair and spread the story around before we left. That way, we could have a head start before anybody started looking for him. I knew nobody would be looking for me. So, that's what we did. For several weeks before we took off, we told all our friends about our intentions to go to the World's Fair. The farce worked.
On the day we left, I had a couple of dollars in my pocket and one change of clothes. My ultimate destination was Uncle John's but on the way I wanted to stop and visit my Aunt in Witchita, Kansas. So, off we went---hitching rides when we could and walking when we had to. I distinctly remember that as I walked away from Council Bluff, I literally never looked back. Not even a casual glance over my shoulder. There was nothing there for me. I was walking into day one of the rest of my life. My past was just that. Past history. It didn't mean nothing. I felt as if a big weight had been lifted and I was free to wander.
I do admit to feeling a bit apprehensive about where I was going or what I would do. But this was because I was walking into the realm of the unknown, the one and only true fear. I was not afraid of anything or anybody, I could manage, control or survive against anything or anybody (so I felt). I never spent much time thinking ahead or in the long term. I don't think I really knew how. I spent my time looking to today and just figured that tomorrow would take care of it's self ( really a 13 year olds logic and mentality).
You know, as I re-read those words and think of my four sons and all the generations that I have watched grow into maturity including the ones I mentored, tutored and ran rough shod over in my years in the Navy, I realize that in regards to thinking short term, I was no different than any 13 or 14 year old. I imagine that if I could develop a pill that a young person could take and forever cause them to think of their future in the long term, it would probably be considered the 8th wonder of the world. At the very least, it would probably be considered as being as important as finding the cure for cancer. Just imagine, having a 13 or 14 year old son or daughter who was goal oriented and devoted to their efforts towards reaching that goal. What a beautiful thought! What a Eutopian concept!
Meanwhile, back on the road, I remember that each new sunrise was met with a sense of excitement. I was free. I was in control and the master of my destiny. I was living an adventure, on a journey, which had no clearly marked destinations, besides a couple of planned stops. I was alive with excitement. Finally, after a couple of weeks, we arrived in Witchita, Kansas. When I found my Aunt and her family, with whom I'd had a very good relationship all my life, she was glad to see me. She was also aware of my situation at home. She treated me and my buddy well, but I found out rather quickly that she was not happy about my running away. Daily, she tried talking both of us into returning home. After about two weeks, I led her to believe that I would head back home. When we were ready to go, my Aunt drove us to the east side of Witchita city limits and bade us farewell. It was a pleasant visit and in the spirit of keeping my Aunt happy we stood on the east side of the road waving goodbye. When she was out of sight, we waited a short time, then crossed the street and caught the first west bound ride we could, which took us to the west side of the city. We probably spooked the people giving us the ride because we maintained a low profile all the way through Witchita. I didn't want to take the chance of passing my Aunt westbound, while she was so pleased with herself for talking us into heading home. It was actually kind of comical..I was more afraid of getting through Witchita than I was of leaving home.
Once we were outside Witchita city limits, we got our first real break. We were picked up by a man and his wife. As it turned out, the man was on his annual 2 week vacation. The couple would take off for the 2 weeks and he would stay drunk the entire time. The rest of the year he would not touch a drop of alchol. He was a train engineer for the Santa Fe railroad.
When he picked us up he asked if either of us could drive. Being that I had about 1 hours worth of driving experience with an old Model A, I spoke right up confidently and said: "Sure". So, there I was; a thirteen year old runaway with no license being a chauffer for a man and his wife for 2 weeks while they enjoyed their annual drunken sabbatical. It was a good two weeks. Not only were we fed regularly and treated well but we were seeing alot of the country and at the end of the trip---I was a fairly good driver.
Upon reflection, it seems rather ironic that a drunken train engineer was the individual who turned me on to the idea of hopping rides on freight trains as a primary and more reliable mode of travel than hitch-hiking. He explained to us that hitch-hiking was a risky gamble at best. He told us about hobo's riding the rails all the time and going virtually anywhere. He explained that freight trains were faster and more reliable than automobiles and best of all, they ran on a regular time schedule. I believe that was the first time I ever heard the term: hobo. It sounded good to us and we had the beginnings of a plan. He told us not to try and get on the trains in the rail yards because the railroad bulls (detectives) would be there and we didn't want to get caught by them. He didn't tell us why. It didn't take me long to figure that one out. There was one important point he failed to mention and we didn't think to ask. How do you get on a moving train?
We finally arrived in La Juanta, Colorado and we said goodbye to our benefactors. After making our way to the outskirts of the railroad yard it didn't take long at all to notice we had a wee bit of a problem. The trains coming out of the yard were moving at a pretty fast clip. As I was later to learn, the trains engineers tried to get up speed before they left the yards so as to make it more difficult for people to jump onboard. I said difficult, not impossible. So, I did what I always did when I faced a difficult task or problem. I sat for a spell and studied the situation until I figured it out in my head. It was simple. There it was right in front of me. It was an overpass that the train had to pass under. No problem. Me and my buddy got on the overpass and waited for the train that would take us to the junction to catch the Santa Fe to El Paso, Texas.
When she came, we got ready. As a gondola car came underneath the overpass, we jumped. No problem, except for two minor factors that I forgot to include in my equation. First, there was a 20 foot drop and second, the train was going about 20 mph or more. Talk about a hard fall. But, we were on the train and on our way. Once I was able to clear the stars from my head, I was watching the world wiz by, deep in thought. There definitely had to be an easier way to get on one of these things. I think it might have been this incident that instilled in me a character trait that I never lost sight of : I would never again make the same mistake twice.
We were not alone on this train. In fact, I don't ever remember riding a freight train by myself. There was always 30-40 men and a few women. Bear in mind that these were the depression years. There were more hobo's riding freight cars than there were cutomers paying on passenger trains. In these years, trains were still one of the primary means of travel in this country. From my personal experiences, I would say that a conservative estimate would be for every one paying passenger there would be 5 people riding the rails on freight trains.
We were climbing a steep grade, which was close to 8,000 feet up. (Actually it was 7,834 feet...I had to look that one up!) The train slowed to a crawl as those three locomotives worked hard trying to get to the top of that pass. It was kind of interesting for us until the train made it to the top and started the downhill leg. That's when things went form interesting to being a bit hairy. I can't tell you how fast we were travelling but I do remember that everything passing by was a blur and I had a white knuckle death grip to keep from being thrown to the rear of the boxcar. It wasn't a pleasant memory.
We rode this rail to a place called Belen, New Mexico where we got off near one of the numerous "Hobo Jungles" so we could get something to eat. Hobo jungles were located virtually everywhere at this time. They were usually quite close to the rails outside the city limits where a railroad yard was located. This kept the local police from bothering us. They were basically a layover spot, where you could get a square meal and have a quiet peaceful night sleep.
Populations would range from 6 to 8 on up to 20 or more indivuals at a time. There was generally a communal cook pot and everyone would fan out on a search for food and then...everything went into the pot. Since I was a natural when it came to finding food, I never came back empty handed and I was usually treated with a level of respect. This was a new and novel phenomenon for me and I liked it.
I think this would be a good time to get something off my chest about hobo's. You see, except on a few occasions where the hobo and his lifestyle was romantisized, for the most part, history has presented a negative image about them. They were shown as bums, freeloaders, derelicts, drunks or criminals. Nothing and I mean nothing could be further from the truth. Like any branch of our society, there were a few that fit the above description but these were the exception to the rule. The vast majority of the hobo population were honorable people. Many were religious and most had a high standard of morals. If you stayed in a hobo jungle, you abided by the rules or you would be ejected. Your value to the clan was based on your worth. Being that I was a natural and constant supplier of food, I was always treated well. I actually felt accepted and that I belonged. This too, felt good. The best way to describe this group and the fairest would be to say------they were displaced, desparate people living in desparate times with little hope. They endured with a sense of humor and a belief that times would get better. I can say today that I have always been proud to have been a member of the clan and I learned many lessons in those years that I've carried with me all my life.
The best and most exciting times for me was when I was on the rails. I predominently rode during day light because I didn't want to miss any of the sights.. It was also a very soothing ride. It's hard to describe the feelings when you are on the rails. There was always a constant rhythym of sounds and motion, where you could just feel at peace with yourself, relax and enjoy the world as it passed by. Maybe it was different for me because I was so young and my motivation for being on the rails had to be different than the adults I travelled with. I felt desparate and I didn't think much about the hard times as my fellow hobos did. Everyday of my life at that time was met with a jittery excitement. I was free as a bird and my only worry was that I might miss seeing something. The only real concern, I had to be constantly aware of, was the imfamous railroad bulls. I did have one close contact with them where I was forced to witness their brutality. About 6 or 8 of us had been flushed out and the bull put us in a line. He started at one end of the line and beat each man, one at a time, working his way down the line towards me. I was shocked! Not only because I could see in his face how much he was enjoying his job but also I was stunned by my fellow hobs that just submitted to the beating with no thought of resistence( or none that I could see). It was total submission on their part. I was confused and scared. From what I could see there was 8 of us and only one of him. Was this a rule of the rails that no one had taught me? My turn was coming and I didn't know what I was going to do. I had submitted to too many beatings in my life but it was always family: my mother/my older brother. This was a total stranger who was enjoying his job too much. If I resisted, would I be breaking one of the many unwritten rules of the hobo society? At the same time, I knew I couldn't stand there and let some total stranger beat me at will. I was in a state of chaos. It was right about this time that I caught some movement in my perifial vision. The bull had missed one of us. A huge black man had been hiding in a coal car and he was holding a large block of coal. He waited for the bull to move down and he dropped the coal on top of him. The bull went down hard and he was out cold. He was alive but that man had rung his bell quite effectively and we all scattered. To this day I have appreciated this man's timely intervention because I truly believe I would have fought back and in doing so I could have been banned from the hobo clan.
THE HOBO YEARS PART 2
THE BEGINNING
THE EARLY YEARS
HOMEPAGE...so you can sign the "GuestBook"
� 1997 [email protected]
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