Hobo stories

[pastorp]

When I was a young man I worked as a meat dept. manager for a grocery store in Wildwood Florida. At that time the main industry in Wildwood was the railroad. They had a large switching yard and trains came and went continually. Of course this attracted many hobos.

The other industries in this area were farming and ranching. This meant that during a lot of the year there were crops in the fields for the asking. It was a time of good living for the hobos. Warm weather, abundant food sources, good fellowship with other travelers in the hobo camp on the edge of town.

The only down side was "the Pot" as they called it filled with corn, beans, peas, greens, or what ever was available needed a little "seasoning". This is where I came in, I had acess to unlimited seasoning as the meat dept. manager.

My official policy was if I caught you stealing, you went to jail. But if you conducted yourself in and honest manner and asked for something to eat I never sent you away empty handed. Of course I did not pass out T-Bone steaks, but there is always something that will probably not sell but is still good  to eat in a meat market.

Soon  every hobo that traveled through Wildwood knew that I was their friend and was good for a contribution to "the pot" if they only asked. All I asked in return was to be treated the same way I treated them, with didigenty and respect.

Many were interesting and talented people, who chose a "way less traveled" of course there were the drunks who were put there by their addictions. I met former recording executives, artists, college professors, and many who just either got tired of living in the grid or could not function in mainstream America. They for the most part led simple, hard, outdoor lives. But were free of many of our worries, like electric bills and house payments.

One of the hazards was they were fair game for almost anyone, with little protection from the law. But they were free to come and go as they pleased with little need for societys greatest ill, "the love of money". Instead their greatest movation was usually survival.

I've often wondered, as perhaps many of you have, What if?? I had no family, job, responsibility, etc. What if. Would I choose this road less traveled?

Well I want to hear your stories, thoughts, on this subject. Regards, Byron

[Rustyinfla]

Byron,
   It's funny you should mention Wildwood. I started driving a truck in 1980 for a company that used to deliver to Wildwood. We were out of Tampa, called Affiliated of Florida. One time when I was making a delivery there I heard something in the dumpster and walked over to see what it was. There was a young man in the dumpster who was about 30 years old. He jumped out of the dumpster with a carton of eggs in his hand. I said are you going to eat those? He said I sure am... I just jumped off of a freight train and I'm starved. As I watched he broke egg after egg down his throat and swallowed hard downing the raw eggs.
   As an aside we also used to deliver to another store in Leesburg . Would you believe that all these years later, I'm working for a different grocery company and I'm still delivering to that Leesburg store. The fellow that used to own the store and run it still owns the building but now it is a Save A Lot grocery store.

   Rusty <><

[quigleysharps4570]

I've known a couple of old men that were hobo's in their day. Both called hopping those trains "riding ole dirty face". Also heard the panhandling stories and about the "pot". Had forgotten all about it til this thread. Thanks for bringing back old memories.

[pastorp]

Rustyinfla, good to meet you it is possible we could have met before. I moved to New Mexico from Wildwood in august of 1982. Lived in Wildwood about 10 years. St. Petersburg is my home town. I worked for Winn Dixie Food Stores. Last time I came back to visit was 2 yrs ago. I saw they had built and even bigger store in Wildwood. Thanks for sharing, Byron

[Rustyinfla]

By the way for what it's worth, as I under stand it the term hobo came from hoe boy which is what they used to do when they were traveling around. A hobo would actually work for his keep while a tramp would not.
  I heard a story once about a man that was recalling his childhood. He said that his mother would never turn someone away hungry and he never could figure why hobos kept coming to his house. One day as a hobo was sitting at his kitchen table finishing a sandwich he talked to him. He asked him how it was that he had come to find his house to get a meal. The hobo finished his sandwich and thanked the boy's mom then turned back to the boy and said come here and I'll show you something. They walked outside and in the dirt in front of his house was scratched a strange looking figure. The hobo said, you see that sign? It's a message to all of us in hobo language that there's friendly folks here and you can get fed. The young boy was fascinated. He said that there was a trail of the signs leading from the train depot all the way to his house.
  When the hobo left the young boy took a rake and smoothed out the dirt in front of his house in effect erasing the figure scratched in the dirt. He then sat down on the front porch to see what would happen next. Sure enough in about an hour along came another hobo. He watched as the hobo looked at the ground and looked around as if trying to think something over. The hobo took off his hat and scratched his head and looked up and down the street. When he couldn't figure out what to do next, he put his hat back on and walked down the street. That was the last time they saw any hobos comming around for a handout.
 
  Pastorp,

    I guess you've seen the news of late about Winn Dixie. It doesn't look too good for them. Last week I went to pick up a load of charcoal for my company. I saw rows and rows of Winn Dixie product in their warehouse there. I asked them what they were going to do with all that "stuff" in a kind of joking manner. The shiping clerk told me that they didn't know what they would do with it. there was a WD truck that came by there earlier that morning and they turned him away and wouldn't load him. The WD driver had told them that he had already been to three other places that morning trying to make pick ups and every place had turned him away empty.

  E-mail me direct at rleee AT earthlink.net if you get a chance we'll talk

[Shorty]

Todays hobos are called wet-backs.  
They also have a sign system for isolated houses that will neither turn them away or turn then in.  
When my wife was a girl in Sierra Blanca, Tx the practice was to leave your house unlocked when you were away.  Wets traveling through might take a few cans of beans, but if you locked up, THAT was an affront and they might take more than they needed!  
I suppose it's different now.
 

[SAWgunner]

Todays Hobos are also druggies and lost teenagers.  I hate walking back into a trailing Motor and have them scare the feces out of me!!!  It is even worse walking a train in a remote location and hear, "Hey!!!  Why is this train stopped?".  "Boy, do you want to be beaten to death in nowhere Wyoming?"  I feel sorry for some of the guys, and I let them ride in a trailing motor when it is nasty outside.


SAW

[Glanceblamm]

Knew of a guy named Stafford...I think his first name was Jim. Excellent guy to listen to and at one point in his life spent most of his days on freight trains and most of his nights in jail.
He was in the county jail one night and met a man who he would never forget. Said his name was Bojangles.

[bullet maker]

Todays Hobos are also druggies and lost teenagers.  I hate walking back into a trailing Motor and have them scare the feces out of me!!!  It is even worse walking a train in a remote location and hear, "Hey!!!  Why is this train stopped?".  "Boy, do you want to be beaten to death in nowhere Wyoming?"  I feel sorry for some of the guys, and I let them ride in a trailing motor when it is nasty outside.


SAW

You got that right SAWgunner. One cold and snowy night, at about 02:00A.M. we were on a train out of Ft. Scott Kansas, going to our home terminal, (Cherokee yards, ) in Tulsa, Okla. We were about 50 miles out of Ft. Scott, and I was getting the engineer some water, when I realized we ain`t got no water. Well I got up and walked down the gang planks to the second unit, to get some water off it. "Now when we take a train out of Ft. Scott, that train has come from Kansas, city, and them Kansas boys, dont drink water :gulp: if you get my drift,     " Well as I got into the dark compartment of the second unit or engine. I stumbled over a body in the dark  :eek: , I turned on the light of the engine and there layed drunk to the world was one of the biggest, drunkest, mexicans, i ever did see. He stood up to get out of my way, and he must have been 6ft 7in tall. He couldn`t speak two words of english. After my eyes got use to the dark, I had noticed there were 12 of them in that tiny cab of the engine. It scared the  :bye: out of me. Fortunately, for me they were nice drunks, and friendly. We left them along, and let them ride on though. It was really cold that night, and I guess they made in on to Texas.
    Them dang Kansas boys, never check their engines out, and we get the surprises when they bring the trains to us.  :twisted:

bullet maker