From iconic figures such as labor martyr Joe Hill and socialist novelist Jack London through to pioneering blues and country musicians, and little-known correspondents for the likes of the Hobo News, the authors and songwriters contained in On the Fly! run the full gamut of Hobohemia’s wide cultural and geographical embrace. With little of the original memoirs, literature, and verse remaining in print, this collection, aided by a glossary of hobo vernacular and numerous illustrations and photos, provides a comprehensive and entertaining guide to the life and times of a uniquely American icon. Read on to enter a world where hoboes, tramps, radicals, and bums gather in jungles, flop houses, and boxcars; where gandy dancers, bindlestiffs, and timber beasts roam the rails once more.
From iconic figures such as labor martyr Joe Hill and socialist novelist Jack London through to pioneering blues and country musicians, and little-known correspondents for the likes of the Hobo News, the authors and songwriters contained in On the Fly! run the full gamut of Hobohemia’s wide cultural and geographical embrace. With little of the original memoirs, literature, and verse remaining in print, this collection, aided by a glossary of hobo vernacular and numerous illustrations and photos, provides a comprehensive and entertaining guide to the life and times of a uniquely American icon. Read on to enter a world where hoboes, tramps, radicals, and bums gather in jungles, flop houses, and boxcars; where gandy dancers, bindlestiffs, and timber beasts roam the rails once more.
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Overview
From iconic figures such as labor martyr Joe Hill and socialist novelist Jack London through to pioneering blues and country musicians, and little-known correspondents for the likes of the Hobo News, the authors and songwriters contained in On the Fly! run the full gamut of Hobohemia’s wide cultural and geographical embrace. With little of the original memoirs, literature, and verse remaining in print, this collection, aided by a glossary of hobo vernacular and numerous illustrations and photos, provides a comprehensive and entertaining guide to the life and times of a uniquely American icon. Read on to enter a world where hoboes, tramps, radicals, and bums gather in jungles, flop houses, and boxcars; where gandy dancers, bindlestiffs, and timber beasts roam the rails once more.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781629635187 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | PM Press |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2018 |
| Pages: | 544 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 8.90(h) x 1.60(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
A Tight Squeeze
William Staats
Although hobo life and lore were to change greatly over the next fifty or sixty years, one thing remained central: the excitement, hardship, and danger involved in hopping a train. By May 1869, the First Intercontinental Railway, linking the San Francisco Bay to the Missouri River, was completed and within four decades an extensive network, including 1,312 separate railroads, would allow travelers, paying or otherwise, to easily cross the country. Over time technological standardization, the increasing length of trains, and the large number of former railway workers forced out of work encouraged and facilitated a culture in which it became physically easier to grab a free ride and acquire the knowledge required to do so.
The ability to travel and find work, as well as build a reputation as a "profesh," or master rider, all hinged upon locating a locomotive and then hanging on for dear life while evading railroad police and unsympathetic workers. Little surprise then that almost every memoir and study of any length included one, if not many, tales of train hopping, as well as much philosophizing upon the subject. In this early hobo memoir from 1879 William Staats recounts his tutelage at the hands of the "Evangelist" in riding the rails and avoiding railroad employees who might remove him or demand payment for continued travel.
The two travelers boarded a western bound freight train at Brighton. There being no accessible boxcar, they were compelled to content themselves with a seat on the rear steps of the caboose, where they were discovered and incontinently "bounced" after being carried some twenty miles. Ben thought this ejectment finished their ride on that train, but the Evangelist — whose name was Horton — corrected him. Creeping along in the shadow of the train until it started, they again seated themselves on the steps. This time they made but ten miles before they were discovered, when some strong adjectives were used and some hard names called, and they were warned if caught on the train again they would be dealt with in a most summary manner.
"Wait for another train!" exclaimed the Evangelist. "Certainly not, why we have only been bounced twice!"
He instructed Ben to crouch under the cars at the center of the train, and when it started walk with it, so long as he could keep up. When he found the rate of speed getting too much for him, he was to mount a ladder but not put in appearance on the roof until positive that the crew was not around.
The crew of a freight train consists of the fireman and engineer, who remain in the locomotive's cab, a conductor, who, while the train is in motion, generally remains in his caboose, and two brakemen, front and rear, supposed to remain on top, but who, after the train has started, usually betake themselves to the engine-cab and caboose respectively. On the night runs all carry lanterns, and through them their approach is easily discernible by the sly tramp. It will now be understood why Ben was to delay mounting to the top.
Having clung to the ladder for some time he slowly raised his head above the roof and surveyed the situation. Not a light appeared in sight, but on the next car he saw the dark outlines of a man, and heard the Evangelist crooning to himself a revival hymn. He mounted to the roof, and both men sat down immediately over their respective ladders, ready to go down them on the slightest provocation. Much after the fashion of prairie-dogs, sitting at the mouth of their holes, prepared at the faintest disturbance to show a clean pair of heels and faint whisk of a tail. Several times during the ensuing hour the light of the front brakeman appeared as that individual attended to easing the train down grades. And each time our two travelers suddenly disappear; reappearing again when the coast was clear. Having gone about sixteen miles, the train side tracked to allow an eastern-bound express to pass. Ben and his companion crouched under the cars until they again started, when the ladders were resumed and ultimately the roof.
This method of travelling seemed quite pleasant to him and he was beginning to rest more at ease, and recline on his back, when a note of warning from the Evangelist aroused him, and glancing along the train he perceived lights approaching from both directions. The tramps immediately disappeared in the darkness, while the conductor and front brakeman met on the identical car to which our friend Ben was clinging. After some instructions had been given the brakeman, the political disquietudes of the day became a topic of conversation, and so interested did they become, that placing their lanterns on the roof they sat down themselves, to the intense disgust of our friend, who dared not elevate his head.
Unfortunately for him the train was a through freight and had just entered on one of the longest runs of the division. The perch that had been comfortable enough for a short occupancy, soon became quite unendurable with the continued jolting of the car. His feet grew stiff and his hands sore. Besides he had to cling close to the ladder in constant terror lest the timbers of the bridges they frequently crossed should sweep him off. To add to his misery both of the train men were great consumers of tobacco, and facing Ben's ladder they poured upon his devoted head a torrent of tobacco juice. Moments grew to the dignity of hours, minutes to ages. Never had he been so thoroughly disgusted with politics. He wished he belonged to a despotism where the discussion of them was punishable with death. Not only dared he not elevate his head, but he was afraid to turn his face skywards at all, lest he receive in the eyes and mouth a charge of the amber juice that was being so liberally bestowed upon him.
Our hero was certainly in an unenviable position. If he ascended to the roof and gave himself up, the conductor had threatened in case he was again caught on the train to hand him over to the authorities the first stop that was made; a procedure that, under the vagrant laws would insure him ninety days in the work house; enough to totally wreck his expectations. On the other hand if he fell to the ground he was sure to be either killed or badly mangled. In this sad predicament his over-strained feelings found vent in a groan.
Railroad men, as a class, are superstitious. There are spots along each crews' route that are vested with supernatural properties. We knew a practical man of good common sense, an engineer, who solemnly avers that on crossing a certain bridge at midnight, a large white dog always springs across the track immediately his engine leaves the bridge. Another man, a brakeman, would have deserted his train sooner than omit changing his lantern three times, from his right hand into his left, the first time he walked the train. Whatever it is in the human fabrication that yearns after the incomprehensible we know not; but that such a force is established there is verified by the scores of different religious beliefs; founded on faith or fancy as you please.
The Administration was receiving a hearty endorsement from the conductor when Ben's groan struck on his ear. A sudden silence ensued. The conductor looked at the brakeman, and the brakeman looked at the conductor. Neither spoke. Another smothered groan came floating from out the surrounding darkness. The conductor was suddenly reminded that his way bills needed overhauling and the brakeman discovered that his presence was needed at the front of the train. Ben was left master of the situation, though unaware of the influence his groans had had in placing him there. He dragged his stiffened limbs to the top of the car, and indulged in a luxurious rub of his bespattered countenance. Presently he was joined by the Evangelist and the two recounted their experiences.
By constant watchfulness and much dodging down the ladders, they retained possession of the train during the night, and the first glimpses of the morning sun found them at Columbus; having made over one hundred and twenty miles on the train Ben had thought it impossible to ride. Stiff, sore, tired and sleepy, but in possession of the satisfaction of having taken a long step on their journey, our friends dismounted and took a look around them. While they still stood by the train the conductor passed. He gave them one look of astonishment, and with the remark, "Well, I'll be blowed!" went on his way.
CHAPTER 2Only a Tramp
Unknown
This ballad decrying the maltreatment of tramps was first published in Henry de Marsan's Singers Journal in the 1870s. A number of later variations referring to boxcars, such as that recorded by Grand Ole Opry mainstays Sam and Kirk McGee, can be found in Norm Cohen's collection Long Steel Rail: The Railroad in American Folksong.
I'm a broken-down man, without money or credit,
My clothes are all tattered and torn;
Not a friend have I got in this cold, dreary world —
Oh! I wish I had never been born!
In vain I have searched for employment,
Sleeping out on the ground cold and damp;
I am stared in the face by starvation —
Oh! Pity the fate of a tramp!
Chorus:
They tell me to work for a living,
And not through the country to stamp;
And yet, when I ask for employment,
They say I am only a tramp.
Oh! the rich ones at home by their bright, cheery firesides,
With plenty so temptingly stored,
Have of times refused me and sneered with contempt,
When I asked for the crumbs from their board;
And if through the cravings of hunger,
With a loaf I should dare to decamp,
They at once set the dogs loose upon me,
Because I am only a tramp.
But the day will yet come when the rich man and me Will be laid 'neath the same mother earth;
His joys and my sorrows will then be forgotten.
When, I hope, better times will have birth;
Yet, my friends, you should sometimes remember That every poor man's not a scamp,
For there's many a true heart still beating Beneath the old coat of a tramp.
Leaves from a Diary: A Tramp Around the World
Sam Clover
Born in the UK, Sam Clover immigrated to the United States at the age of ten in 1869. Informed eleven years later that he would have to gain more life experience before taking up a position at the Chicago Times, he set off on a major journey, clocking up what he later claimed was forty thousand miles. Having seen the United States by boxcar and sailed as far as Australia and New Zealand, he gained the promised position sixteen months later and continued to work as a journalist for the rest of his life. Two books resulted from his time as a hobo, sailor, and circus hand, 1884's memoir Leaves from a Diary: A Tramp Around the World, from which this excerpt concerning rail riding and fairground hustles is drawn, and the 1897 semifictional Paul Travers' Adventures.
Upon inquiry we found that we had stumbled upon the Salt Lake branch road, so thanking our lucky stars, we kept steadily onward, hoping to reach the Mormon City before night. Here I was fortunate enough to fall in with an old Chicago friend, who treated us like princes during our short stay in that beautiful valley. But Utah was not California, and we were anxious to be moving, so on the third day I said good-bye to my hospitable friend, and with my comrade started back to Ogden.
We arrived just as an emigrant train was about to pull out, and, jumping aboard, I went to the conductor and told him our fix. He agreed to carry us to the end of his division, after a little parley, giving us to understand it was because we had not attempted to steal a ride that made him so lenient. At the end of this section a kind-hearted brakeman took us in charge, and we rode to the end of his division in the tool chest attached to the caboose, it being under his immediate supervision. The next ride we made was between the tender and mail car of a through express, which carried us to Reno, Nevada, before the conductor discovered our presence.
Then, for the first time, we did a little "drilling," i.e., walking, but, before night, at a small station, managed to bribe a brakeman on a freight train, with a pocket-knife and pair of suspenders, in consideration of which we were allowed to hang on to an iron ladder, between two cars, all night long. By carefully watching the conductor's movements, we managed to stick to that freight until it reached Sacramento, Cal.
Here Charley felt at home, and it being well toward evening, led the way to one of the river wharves. We found a boat almost ready to steam out for 'Frisco and by skillfully dodging the gate keeper managed to steal aboard unperceived, when we at once stowed away among a pile of freight on the lower deck forward. A calm sense of rest stole over me as I lay there, snugly hid, and gazed up at the shining moon, shedding her benignant rays upon the surface of the water, as we glided swiftly down the Sacramento river. The last I remember was kicking Charley for snoring so loudly, being afraid he would arouse the deck hands, and then I was in the land of dreams. When I awoke, we were moored to the wharf at San Francisco and the freight was being rapidly unloaded; our long and hard-fought trip was over, at least for the present, the Golden Gate lay right ahead and the city of hills and red-wood dwellings was open to our critical investigation.
Breakfast was naturally our first thought, the second, how to obtain it; neither of us had a cent, nor had we anything available to raise money upon; all desirable articles we possessed at the start, having long since been parted with to help soften the hearts of the various brakesmen we happened across while on the tramp, and into whose good graces we had been anxious to ingratiate ourselves.
My comrade, however, was not long in solving this conundrum, and confidently led the way up Market Street toward the business center of the city. Our road led past the magnificent Palace Hotel, with its hundreds of windows about which I had read not a little, but the hasty glance I gave it did not impress me very deeply as to its pre-eminence, so far as architecture went, over some others I had seen, and I thought of our State Street hostelrie, away back at home, and heartily wished I were inside it. A small, and very dingy-looking store on DuPont Street closely verging on the Chinese quarters, was where my companion finally halted and into which he at once entered. Fifteen minutes later he emerged, and in answer to my look of inquiry, carelessly jingled some silver pieces in his pocket; it was very evident his mission had been successful and we lost no time in getting outside of the first square meal it had been our good fortune to sit down to for weeks. Our hunger appeased, we began to review our position.
Charley's destination was Los Angeles, where his folks resided, and as he had been absent from them two years, he was naturally anxious to get home, and exhausted his best arguments in the vain effort to induce me to accompany him thither. I had other plans, however, and was not to be dissuaded from them, so, seeing I was determined as to my course, he finally gave in, and after generously dividing his stock of borrowed capital we parted.
The next three or four hours I spent in wandering aimlessly about the principal streets of the city and in feasting my eyes upon those prominent places of interest, more or less familiar to me from descriptive accounts gathered from time to time in newspaper articles. About three in the afternoon, as I stood in contemplative mood on the steps of the Post Office building, cogitating as to my next move, I was accosted by a rather dapper-looking, sharp-eyed man who inquired if I were not from Cincinnati. I quickly undeceived him on this point and in the conversation that ensued casually made known my situation, thinking perhaps he might be able to assist me in the furtherance of my scheme, which was to ship before the mast on any of the foreign-bound vessels then lying in port. Vessel business, however, was not in his line as I soon discovered.
Finding I had not dined he took me to dinner, and during the progress of the meal unfolded a little plan of his own to which he required an assistant. The State fair was about to be held at Sacramento and he wanted me to go with him there and "tend" a stand in a large booth, where I was to preside over the sale of some precious "eye-water," my new acquaintance giving me to understand that he was a "doctor" and the inventor and sole agent on the Pacific coast for the "most inestimable liquid treasure for weak eyes ever yet discovered."
He was a beautiful, smooth talker, this "Dr." Queechy, and I imagine there were few moves on the world's board that he was not fully posted on. While I felt confident he was a "quack" and his "medicine" trash, I thought there could be no harm in accepting his proposition for a few days, especially as he offered me a good percentage on all the "eye-water" lotion I should sell besides paying my food and lodging while the fair lasted; so I accepted his terms and agreed to go at once to Sacramento, as the fair opened next day.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "On the Fly!"
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction 1
A Tight Squeeze William Staats 13
Only a Tramp: Unknown 19
Leaves from a Diary: A Tramp Around the World Sam Clover 23
Hobo John: Unknown 29
A Watch-Night Service in San Francisco Morley Roberts 31
The Dying Hobo / Streams of Whiskey (The Hobo's Last Lament): Unknown 39
Two Thousand Stiffs Jack London 43
ARU: Unknown 55
One Night on the "Q" Josiah Flynt 57
The Wabash Cannonball: Unknown 65
In Partnership with a Burglar Leon Livingston 69
The Poor Tramp Has to Live: Unknown 75
The Camp William Henry Davies 79
Railroad Bill: Unknown 87
You Can't Win Jack Black 91
Big Rock Candy Mountain: Unknown 101
Death at My Feet William Z. Foster 105
My Wandering Boy: Unknown 109
Tramping on Life: An Autobiographical Narrative Harry Kemp 113
Can I Sleep in Your Barn Tonight, Mister: Unknown 119
Autobiography Carl Panzram 123
The Swede from North Dakota: Unknown 129
The Journey Overland Windy Bill (Ben Goodkind) 131
Hallelujah, Bum Again: Unknown 135
Thieves and Vagabonds Jim Tully 139
Experience: Unknown 151
IWW "Red Special" Overall Brigade J.H. Walsh 155
The Gila Monster Route Glen Norton L.F. Post 161
The Little Pittsburg of the West and Its Great Wrong Edwin Brown 165
The Bum Arturo Giovannitti 169
San Diego Free Speech Fight Alfred Tucker 175
The Dishwasher Jim Seymour 181
Riding the Rods Glen H. Mullin 185
Peripeties Haralambos Kambouris 195
Rambling Kid Charles Ashleigh 199
Hash Henry Herbert Knibbs 205
Liver à la Carte: A True Story of a Camp Kitchen T. O'Donnell 209
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay Joe Hill 215
The Modern Agricultural Slave E.W. Latchem 219
The Harvest Stiff's Tipperary Pat Brennan 225
The Susquehanna Flats William J. Quirke 229
The Mysteries of a Hobo's Life (The Job I Left Behind Me) T-Bone Slim 235
The Main Stem William Edge 239
The Bum on the Rods and the Bum on the Plush W.E. Jones 245
Siberian Methods in the United States: Schuettler's Spring Drive D.M.C. 249
The Hobo College Yell Bert L. Weber 255
Lady Hoboes Samuel Milton Elam 259
The Road Kid's Song: Unknown 271
Blood on the Forge William Attaway 273
The Timberbeast's Lament: Unknown 279
Bottom Dogs Edward Dahlberg 283
Hobo Convention Song George Liebst 289
Johnson the Gyppo Ralph Winstead (William Akers) 293
The Labor Shark (After Coleridge) Edward Connor 303
In a Southern Prison Camp Isaac H. Schwartz 307
The Great American Bum: Unknown 315
A Day in the Jungle A.W. Dragstedt 319
The Mulligan Stew: Unknown 325
The Hobo: The Sociology of the Homeless Man Nels Anderson 329
Wild and Reckless Hobo George Reneau | Traditional 339
The Passenger Stiff Henri Tascheraud 343
Frisco Whistle Blues Ed Bell 351
Sister of the Road: The Autobiography of Boxcar Bertha Ben Reitman 353
Hobo Blues Peg Leg Howell 365
Back Door Guest James Lennox Kerr 367
Railroadin' Some Henry Thomas 377
The Casanovas of Illinois Barbara Starke 381
The T&P Line: Unknown 389
Hungry Men Tom Kromer 393
No Room for a Tramp Roy Harvey 403
Bumming in California Eluard Luchel McDaniel 407
Toledo Slim: Unknown 413
The Battle of East St. Louis W.W. Waters 417
I.C Moan Blues Tampa Red 427
Heel, Toe, and a One-Two-Three-Four George Milburn 429
Jungle Man Peetie Wheatstraw 439
I've Got to Take a Chance Frank Bunce 443
Savannah Mama Blind Willie McTell 453
The Starvation Army: Part Two John Karazian 455
Hobo Jungle Blues Bumble Bee Slim 461
Their Tribal Life Thomas Minehan 465
Special Agent (Railroad Police Blues) Sleepy John Estes 471
Why Women Become Hoboes Walter Reckless "Mrs. Metzger" 473
Loveless CCC: Unknown 479
Homecoming Tom Tracy 483
Glossary of Hobo and Colloquial Terms of the 1870s-1940s 495
Secondary Sources and Post-1945 Memoirs of Rail Riding 503
About the Editor 508
Index 509