Hobo Times

Steamtrain Maury

From "Tales Of The Iron Road" by "Steamtrain" Maury Graham:

"Hoboes are migratory workers who helped satisfy America's labor needs from the Civil War to the Great Depression; they lived in hobo camps, also known as "jungles". They were beside rivers and near railroad yards where hoboes slept, cooked, ate and socialized with one another while they were between jobs. Hoboes are not homeless. They work to travel and travel to work; their chief mode of transportation has always been freight train riding; they "ride the rails" from town to town in search of short term work to support their lifestyle and provide life’s necessities until they decide to move on. Hoboes are hardworking people; they insist on working for what they receive from others. Hoboes are honest people who are always willing to help others in need and share whatever they have with others.

At one time there were hundreds of thousands of individuals living this unique lifestyle. Today there are probably fewer than 500 true hoboes left in the United States; most are retired from the rails and now prefer to travel to hobo gatherings by more traditional modes of transportation like motor homes and cars, known as "rubber tramping". Some of the older hoboes do still ride freight trains; there are also a limited number of younger hoboes who have joined the hobo ranks since the depression, those few will keep the hobo traditions alive along with a growing number of "friends of the hoboes" who also are trying to preserve the history of the hobo culture.

One town in America has dedicated itself to preserving the hobo culture and history, Britt Iowa; Every August this small farming community is host to a week long "National Hobo Convention", attracting retired and active hoboes from all over the country. The hoboes that attend in any given year come to socialize with their hobo brothers, to share their music, and share tales of their hobo adventures with the thousands of tourists and local visitors that also attend. Also in Britt Iowa is a permanent Hobo Museum supported by the "Hobo Foundation", local folks trying to preserve hobo history and culture.

People sometimes confuse hoboes with other, less wholesome people: Hoboes are not tramps. Tramps travel, either by walking or by hitchhiking and may or may not work for what they receive. Hoboes are not bums. Bums rarely work, they would rather receive a handout.

Further information about hoboes and hobo history can be found in most public libraries; a good book on the subject is "Tales Of The Iron Road" by "Steamtrain" Maury Graham."

1997 Hobo King Frog

" I've recently read an autobiography of a hobo named Jim Tully.  He refers to himself as being a hobo/ tramp.

I Frog, King of Hobos 97, am a hobo/tramp--not a bum.  Yes, I do as I do to survive, but not by means of a luxurious income and/or education.  I'm proud of what I do without disgracing the hobo community as they choose to know themselves.  It has often been told to me by people (who are wannabe influentials) that I am a disgrace in my means of survival, because I associate with folks who are different and who are not mainstream hoboes (and who are looked upon as total disgraces by mainstream society).  I have been called  an FTRA  member by these "influentials" but I have never (and will never) claim to be, though many are dear friends!

We must each look in our back yards and look for our own bad apples before we begin judging others!

I will never be political in the plight of those wishing to continue to dictate what is and is NOT a hobo."

Frog

Measuring authenticity

Here is an entry I made in my journal several years ago relating to Hobo authenticity.

It has always been a wonder to me how much Hobos' love trains. After all, does a cowboy love his horse, does a swagman love his walking stick, does a vagabond love his shoes or a hitchhiker his thumb?

The point is that measuring roadworthiness on tangible things like miles, diesel fuel ridden, technical rail know how and crew changes is nothing more than a chest beating exercise.

I measure road-worthiness by how self-reliant and free we are between our own ears. On whether we have discovered a "drift" in time and place that suspends the hold our ‘ought tos’ have on our will. Riding freight trains doesn't guarantee that one has found inner peace. It does, however offer the opportunity to free our minds from the committee of chaotic voices that scatter our inner peace. Some of us are capable of totally shedding responsibility for a time…to walk to the edge of a cliff…and purposely choose to live.

Freedom is about making choices.  Living in civilizations rut, our minds stuck on autopilot…routines followed rather than choices made…makes us a prisoner in the freest country on Earth. But being on the road...living spontaneously...confronting a myriad of incidences everyday, random events poping up so quickly we must read the situation, concoct a story and deliver it in the same moment is living fully and creatively where one cannot count on routine to survive. Having the audacity to live reckless and free in order to live a life in techno-color brilliance! And to do so while drifting across the Dakota’s in the dark of night to witness the firefly’s dance above the sleeping sunflower fields."

'The Drift'

...suddenly it was as if I stepped into a clearing where my spirit was set free. Home, the root that grounds the soul, had come unplugged from "place".  There I lay on the cold rusty steel bed of a piggy-back freight,  wrapped in what was left of my frayed sleeping bag..... feeling cozy, at peace and complete.  Not a soul in the universe knew where I was, yet I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather be with than me.  I had found home... on the road.... in what I would come to call, "The Drift".  And from that moment forward, I would pack myself up every morning and head for the nearest rail yard to catch-out any damn place I pleased...moving, always moving, but toward, no longer away from, life.

In 'The Drift', my life exists within a moment in a stream of moments.  If I was happy where I was, I saw no reason to rush off.  There were no plans and no destinations.  I couldn't get lost because I wasn't going anywhere in particular...and I was never late to nowhere.  Folks who liked me or didn't like me did so for who I was in that moment.  I had nothing to live up to or live down...there was no resting on my laurels but no baggage to carry either.  Guilt, the heaviest load of all... had evaporated.

America became my big back yard.  I traversed the country; catching freight trains like most New Yorkers catch taxi-cabs.  There wasn't a city in the nation that didn't see me as a local.  And yet, I was a visitor everywhere I traveled...peering, as a guest of the dark, at the faint blue light of late night TVs, reflecting through the windows of passing prairie farm houses and big city tenements. 

I owned the horizon, the sunsets, the sunrises, and the trees but I never paid a dimes worth of taxes. I contributed zero to the gross national product, but everything I owned to the gross national spirit.

Am I a Hobo?

I panhandled a dollar the other day to catch the bus to labor ready to get day labor, and I ate at the soup kitchen on my lunch break.  And I worked real hard stripping copper wire to junk for some cash, but since I stole the wire from a construction site, it was a hustle. I've been making bracelets too to earn some money, chain mail designs out of steel wire. They look really neat.  I took some of the money I earned and bought food stamps 50 cents on the dollar, welfare fraud. I'm going back to Minneapolis to do that UPS gig where they hire you to work there for a week at a time for 9 bucks an hour and I'm gonna apply to work the sugar beet harvest in the fall.  I'll probably hit up a few food banks while I'm there too and eat the free meals.  Good dumpsters in that town too.  I'll be sure to hit them up. I might even get drunk one of these nights and pass out in a ditch.

So what am I? A hobo a tramp or a bum?

Oh, and did I fail to mention, I haven't bathed in ... hmmm.  Can't remember how long it was, but I seem to remember having done so at Bruce's when I was last in Mpls.  You know, I'll gladly Accept the tramp or bum label to escape from the ridiculous high and mighty righteousness of this whole "I'm a true hobo" bullshit.  I do work hard, but I don't always get paid for it.  Sometimes I don't do nothin’
and get somethin’ for nothing.  The thing is, I've got nothing against hard work…

…and it makes me sad, when I hear Steamtrain talk about the days when you drink the water right out of the streams

…I'm just a little bear, riding my little trains all over the place, doing what I do and not giving a shit about whether you like it or not.  And when it comes down to it, that's really what its all about, right?

The National Hobo Association definition

THE HOBO HEART & SOUL

The keyword in describing the hobo is 'independence'. Unlike tramps or bums, the hoboes are usually very resourceful, self reliant and appreciative people. They display the quiet pride that comes from self confidence and the secure knowledge that they control their own destiny. As a group, they avoid long term work commitments, preferring to be free to follow the call of the open road when it comes. They are, in general, well read, artistic romantic and quick witted. They survive in hostile conditions that others would shun. They are creative, good natured and glib. They are NOT homeless. If they want a home, they'll get one when it suits them…

Some have hoboed in their past, some are currently on the 'Hobo Road'. Some have never hoboed but share the same core beliefs and views; in short, they have a 'hobo heart'. We warmly welcome them to share our stew and fellowship.

Get Britt Legit!

This piece was written in 1999 near the end of the Hobo Council’s battle with the Britt Chamber of Commerce over keeping the Hobo Convention authentic. The Chamber wanted to let citizens dressed up like Hoboes to run for Hobo King. The Hobo Council demanded that only authentic Hoboes who had been screened by the council to run. What was at stake was the ‘soul’ of the Hobo Convention!

Ultimately the Hobo Council prevailed. But much work was needed to repair the Hoboes relationship with the town of Britt.

This article was a first step toward respecting and working together to build a more authentic Hobo Convention and a stronger Britt Hobo Days celebration.

"Step back for a moment and take a look at what the National Hobo Convention is all about.

First you start with a collection of strong-minded, self-reliant personalities who represent every imaginable opposing faction in traditional society

Then you pack them together on a patch of Earth no larger than a city block for five intense days with the expectation that they will get along with each other as one big happy family.

Now, make it a celebration of personal freedom from the toils and responsibilities of the 'work-a-day' world; and do it in a small, hard working, conservative town in Iowa.

And expect a hero's welcome from the town along with food, shelter, bathrooms, firewood, showers, etc.

Awesome, huh? Yet it's been going on for 99 years!  There's more:

Mix in a healthy fear of 'Big City' crime coming to town with a small group of local/bum troublemakers and the usual calls for the cancellation of the event.

Then have the Mayor stand-up in front of the City Council and the public and choke back tears as he described his lifelong friendship with a hobo and his commitment to continue the event.

And now we're all talking about going for another 100 years! 

That's LOVE…from the Hoboes and the Town! And with all the activities the Hobo Council and the Town are planning for this year’s convention, I'd say it is a whole lotta love!

But there's trouble too!  And this year we need to re-invent the Hobo Convention in a way that stops all the 'politics', the drunkenness, disrespect, conflict, etc. and focus on creating more of what we love.

It doesn't have to be that hard! “

Source: brothers & sisters newsletter, Written and published by Adman Waters, spokesman for the Hobo Council, January 1999

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