Rails to Light

As I slipped out the back door, catching and closing the screen door softly so it wouldn’t bang, I wondered when I would return.  I could hear a dog barking a few houses away, and I was glad I had worn my jacket as the night air was chilly.

Now I found that I had to leave.  Maybe my dreams of travels and adventures would come true.  Adventure awaited me, just as it did all of the other hobo boys and girls who traveled during America’s Great Depression.  Driven by necessity, for the most part, they sought adventure nevertheless.  What did it matter that none of us could afford to pay our railroad fares?  Deep-grained necessity said we must travel, and the railroads beckoned with a call that rivaled that of the Sirens tempting Odysseus.  That temptation was no greater than those we endured as youth who needed to escape—to see our great country—to try to come to some acceptance of our maturing selves.

I headed for the train tracks and the Hooverville west of town.  I knew that men and women—even families—camped out there, and I expected that someone there would be able to tell me about catching a freight train to Kansas City, for that was where I had resolved to go.  If I caught a train soon, I could be in Kansas City by morning for it was only about a hundred miles west.

As I approached the camp, I saw the light of a campfire, glowing in the darkness.  The light came and went as someone walked between it and me.  The low sounds of voices in conversation reached me, too, but they stopped abruptly when I drew near. 

I strolled casually up to the fire.  Stopping, I leaned toward it to enjoy its warmth.

“Cold?” a voice asked.

“A little,” I answered.  “Seems damp out.”

“What you doing out here?”

“I thought I’d catch a train to Kansas City.”

“You ever ride the rails before?”  asked an old man with a dirty cap. 

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

He chuckled a bit.  “I can tell.  Calling me ‘sir.’  Well, I reckon you’ll be needing a lesson in how it’s done.”

“Yes, I guess I will.”

“Okay, the next west-bound freight is due through here at 2:30.  It slows down a bit for the grade just west of town, so that’s where we get on.”

I sat down on my heels to listen.

“What you do is you look for an empty box car with the door open.  Run alongside the train, jump up to the open doorway, and pull yourself in.  Or else grab for the ladder on the front of the car.  Not the back.  Think you can do that?”

“I think so.  I’m good at climbing trees.”

“Well, this ain’t no tree you’re climbing.  It’s a moving train, and if you slip, you can be killed.”  He sat without speaking for a few moments.  “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you better take some of this mulligan stew anyway; never can tell when you’ll get your next meal.”  He indicated a pot which sat on the coals of the fire.  There was a tin plate which I used to dip some of the stew into.  It was hot and smoky, fiery with pepper and bits of hamburger floating in a light film of grease on top.  I was surprised to find that I was hungry after all.