ANOTHER SENIOR MOMENT
When Hoboes Came To Dine
by Jim Sponseller

Most Silver Citizens dating back to the Depression days still recall this scene. Your family is seated around the table having lunch or dinner. There comes a knock at the back door. In our family, we're pretty sure we know what that means. So Mom, who's in charge of cooking and dishing out the food, answers the door.

Standing there, with beat-up hat in hand, is a hobo. "Could you spare me something to eat ma'am?" was the usual question. Sometimes they would first offer to perform work to earn the handout. But Mom was always leery about hoboes so she would quickly feed them in order to get them on their way without hanging around the house to work.

Like in many households, she had a special plate, some third-hand silverware and cup reserved for the wandering visitors. They would sit on the back porch step while eating and perhaps knock on the door again to return the eating utensils and offer a "thank you ma'am." Mom, however, didn't call them hoboes. She called them bums or tramps. Most of us never knew there was a difference.

Here was one definition. "A hobo is a man who travels and is willing to work. A tramp is a man who travels but won't work. A bum will neither travel nor work." A former hobo also observed that "A hobo, tramp and bum all use newspaper for insulation under their clothes. The difference is a hobo READS it first." Which all means that the hobo was considered at the top of the social ladder among the homeless.

All of their traveling, of course, was performed by riding the rails. In my hometown which had three railroads running through, hardly a freight train passed by when we didn't see "brothers of the road" aboard. Several dozen were often visible on one train. They preferred riding in empty boxcars with the door ajar, but flatcars and coal cars were also used. Many carried railroad track spikes with them. A spike not only provided protection, but were used to keep railroad yardmen from completely closing the door on him. A closed door could result in freezing or suffocation since some cars were often left sitting in rail-yards for weeks at a time.

Although hoboes appeared back in the 1800s, they reached their peak during the Depression years of the 1930s. It's believed that more than two million men and perhaps 8,000 women (some with children) became hoboes. Riding the rails was an extremely dangerous way to save travel fare. From 1929 to 1939, a government report showed 24,600 trespassers were killed and over 27,000 injured on railroad property alone.

Most were due to accidents but some were clubbed by railroad "bulls." The bulls were guards hired by the railroad to keep non-paying customers off the trains. Hoboes would hide along the tracks outside the yard and jump aboard as the train gained speed. Upon reaching their destination, they had to jump off before a new set of bulls arrested them. Sometimes they were turned over to local police. Rather than throwing them into jail where they had to be fed, local police usually escorted the hoboes to the edge of town and told them to "keep moving on and never come back." But others always followed.

When hoboes drifted from town to town, they lived somewhat near the railroad tracks in what everyone called "hobo jungles." The jungles were temporary social centers for visitors as they awaited their next "train to somewhere." One day my best friend Eugene and I were hiking along a river where a railroad passed nearby. We suddenly found ourselves walking smack into the midst of a hobo jungle. We had been told wild stories of how hoboes kidnapped children and held them for ransom, just like the infamous Charles Lindbergh baby kidnapping of a few years earlier. The jungle was just as I had imagined. There were perhaps a dozen seedy looking men sitting around a campfire with something cooking in a large pot and several tin cans. A few bedrolls lay on the ground. I muttered "Howdy" as Eugene and I briskly walked through the camp…and then took off on a dead run toward home.

Riders of the rails seldom used their real names. Instead, they went by such colorful monikers as Frypan Jack, Slow Motion Shorty, Flatcar Frank and Boxcar Willy. Some of the hoboes who later became famous were Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas, folk singer Burl Ives, comedian Red Skelton, author James Michener and country artist Roger Miller.

Hoboes developed a system of symbols to advise their brethren what to look for in a community. They would scratch these symbols on fences and telephone poles. I'm sure there was a symbol to direct them to my grandfather's house where there was assured a meal. He was a minister and men of the cloth were considered a sure thing for a handout. The hobo symbol, of course, was in the form of a cross.

The heyday of hoboes came to an end as World War II arrived and the Depression faded. Many of the hoboes who served in the military took advantage of the GI Bill, graduated from college and became solid citizens. There still are some hoboes on the road, who old hoboes call "yoho's" or "kid-bos" because they are considered merely thrill-seekers.

If you were once a certified hobo, you likely already have August 7-12 marked on your calendar. Those are the dates for the 2006 National Hobo Association convention in Britt, Iowa. The tiny town of 2,000 swells to some 20,000 for the annual event. Hoboes are welcomed with open arms… quite a change from their welcome in railroad towns of the early 20th century. Attendees will chow down on mulligan stew, sleep under the stars in the hobo jungle and elect a King and Queen of the Hobos (whose crowns are made of Folger's coffee cans.)

The "bo's" will sit around camp singing and telling stories while creating their campfire-cooked meals. The real and wood-be hoboes will be enjoying some modern styles of living too. For instance, their picnic day will be at a church hall, not in a woods. The hall will also be the scene of a ladies tea. Back at the jungle there will be reading of hobo poetry. The pride of Britt is the new Hobo Museum that attracts tourists the year round. Be forewarned: Some of the hoboes imbibe a little too much and barroom brawls usually result in some incarcerations.

So you've decided to attend? Here's how to get there. Simply head to your nearest railroad and hop a boxcar heading toward Iowa. (Allow extra time in case you end up in someplace like New Jersey.) Switch to the Soo Line Railroad, which will take you directly into downtown Britt. Hop off there and head to the old boxcar sitting in the nearby town park, site of the hobo jungle. Unless one of those nasty railroad bulls catches me first, I'll see you there in August. Just ask for "Jungle Jim."

Jim can be emailed at: sponcom@ameritech.net.